In Focus
In Focus
In-depth conversations with the voices shaping culture, calcio, and society. Explore unique perspectives, personal stories, and inspiring journeys from around the world.
Through the Theatre of Dreams
Photographer Jorge Barna reflects on the history, emotion, and unshakeable
Independiente Chose Me
The late afternoon light spills across the streets of Avellaneda,
Photographer Jorge Barna reflects on the history, emotion, and unshakeable devotion that define his love for Manchester United.
For Manchester-based photographer Jorge Barna, Manchester United is a story, a legacy, and a lifelong source of identity. Born into an era of dominance, raised on the mythology of Old Trafford, and shaped by the values and emotion that surround the badge, Jorge carries United with him wherever he goes. In his own words, he explores the culture, history, heartbreak, resilience, and unforgettable moments that make Manchester United, in his opinion, the biggest club in the world.
Words and Images by Jorge Barna
What makes Manchester United such a special, iconic club are its values and traditions — the belief in youth, the ability to produce a comeback, and the constant creation of superstars. Time and time again, this club has produced magical moments. That’s why they call Old Trafford the Theatre of Dreams. From the Busby Babes to the Munich Air Disaster and the rebuild that followed, United’s story is one of resilience, tragedy, and triumph. You can go anywhere in the world, and people will know Manchester United. It’s the biggest football club in the world — simple as that.
Growing Up United
My love for the club came from a young age. My brother made me a United fan. I was born the year United won the treble in 1999, but I would say my era was the team that came after that — the team that dominated the Premier League. We dominated the league during a period where all the rival teams were very strong as well, but the difference was Sir Alex Ferguson. We will never see a manager achieve what he did in England again. It was complete dominance.
The Magic of Old Trafford
Old Trafford is special because it’s where so many iconic moments have happened. From George Best to Cristiano Ronaldo, it’s where some of the greatest players of all time have performed. The stadium has not changed in my lifetime. Many clubs have brand new stadiums, but Old Trafford holds the memories of generations of fans and players. It’s timeless.
Belief in the Return
Do I think Manchester United will get back? One hundred per cent. Even during this era of the past 10 years, the obsession with United is still there. We say, “Hated, adored, but never ignored.” Sir Alex Ferguson is the greatest manager of all time — it was always going to take time to replace him, especially when the core of our team also retired. No matter where the club is in the table, everyone still speaks about Manchester United. Other fans are enjoying this difficult era for United, and it’s understandable — we dominated for 20 years.
Since the new owners have come in, it seems to be a new era. They are investing in players who fight for the badge and fit the system. It’s not about the big-name signing anymore. Even during one of our worst eras, we have still won trophies. The shirt is very heavy — some of the best players in the world have arrived and could not deliver. Manchester United is not a club that celebrates a top-four finish. We celebrate titles. We have seen it all — we have won the lot. You never write off Manchester United.
A Favourite Era
My favourite United moment? It’s hard to pick one. I have watched the club win everything. I would say the 2008 team was my favourite time — watching Ronaldo become the best player in the world, and watching Rooney, who I think is the best player to ever play for United. There will never be another player like him. Every player understood the values of playing for United — attacking football, where you could see the fear in the other teams. Three Champions League finals in four years and three league titles in a row. People often compare the ’99 team with ’08, but for me, this team was the best United side we ever had.
A Pilgrimage Worth Making
People should visit Old Trafford because it’s one of the most iconic stadiums in the world. A lot of the traditional old stadiums have gone now, but Old Trafford is still standing. It’s a place built on history, passion, and unforgettable moments.
All our thanks to Jorge Barna
You can follow Jorge on social media here.
The late afternoon light spills across the streets of Avellaneda, washing the red-and-white shopfronts in a warm glow. We’re sitting at a small café near Avenida Mitre, the kind of place where conversation hums and football talk never really stops. Across the table, photographer Lucio Cosenza stirs his coffee and smiles — the kind of smile that hints at stories tied to family, memory, and a lifelong love of Club Atlético Independiente.
“From the day I was born,” he says, almost matter-of-factly. “My membership card has the same date as my birth certificate. My dad is a die-hard fan too, and he passed it all on to me. I don’t have a single memory in my life without Independiente being part of it somehow.”
“Independiente isn’t just a club,” he says, his tone softening. “It’s something you inherit. A feeling passed down quietly from generation to generation. Its history is massive, full of glory, but what makes it truly unique is what it sparks in people. There’s something sacred in those colours, something that stays with you for life. You don’t choose to support Independiente. Independiente chooses you.”
It’s hard not to get swept up in his devotion. The way he speaks about his club feels almost spiritual, like a faith that you carry with you in everyday life. When matchday arrives, that faith becomes electric. “A home match is felt from the moment you wake up, heart racing, nerves building,” he says. “There’s something magical about the stadium, like the whole neighbourhood breathes football that day.”
And then there’s the derby, Independiente versus Racing Club, one of Argentina’s fiercest rivalries. “The derby against Racing… that’s not just a game,” Lucio says, eyes lighting up. “It’s pride, tension, passion — all mixed together. Everything else fades away. All that matters is Independiente. All that matters is winning.”
His favourite memories, though, aren’t necessarily about results or trophies. “My favourite memories are walking to the stadium with my grandad and my dad,” he recalls. “Those walks were more than just the journey to a match — they were a ritual, a story passed down through generations. Sometimes I can’t even remember the final score, but I’ll never forget those walks together.”
When the conversation turns to players, Lucio doesn’t hesitate. “If you say Independiente, you say Bochini,” he says with conviction. “You can’t think about the club without thinking of him. He played his whole career in our shirt. He won everything, but beyond the trophies, what he did with the ball was magic. He had that kind of class that made time stand still. It’s a love story between a player and his club — one that lasts a lifetime.”
As the café begins to fill with the evening crowd, the character of Buenos Aires becomes more apparent: its taxis, its laughter, and its ever-present talk of football surround us. Lucio looks out toward the street, where kids kick a battered ball against a wall painted red and white. “Football in Buenos Aires isn’t something you explain,” he says. “It’s something you live. People shape their lives around their club. Birthdays, weddings, plans — nothing matters more. Matchday is sacred. It’s pure passion. An emotional engine that brings people together, or tears them apart, but it’s always there.”
In Buenos Aires, football is like a heartbeat. And for Lucio Cosenza, that heartbeat will forever belong to Independiente.
All images and all our thanks to Lucio Consenza
“In the early ’90s, my dad took me to the Grünwalder Stadion for the first time,” Marco Watson says. “The atmosphere and energy of the compact and packed stadium really impressed me as a young boy. The fact that the stadium is right in the middle of the city also made the club especially interesting to me.”
It was there, in Giesing, that his life as a supporter began. The ground is not grand, not modern, not even especially comfortable. But its presence in the heart of the neighbourhood makes it inseparable from the everyday lives of those who live around it. For Watson, it became a place that would come to define not only his weekends but also his friendships and identity.
“My fascination with 1860 has never stopped since,” he says. “Over the years, not only have many friendships been formed, but also a true love, and everything to do with the club has become a kind of life’s purpose for me.”
A tradition that endures
He is not alone. 1860 Munich, known simply as die Löwen—the Lions—still command devotion across the city, despite decades of struggle and decline. “What’s special about TSV 1860 Munich is the incredible tradition in this club,” Watson explains. “The team was not only a founding member of the Bundesliga but also became German champion in 1966.”
But tradition is only part of the story. “On top of that, 1860 has a massive and incredibly dedicated fanbase. The club has basically gone through every imaginable success and failure for decades, yet it still has about 27,000 members. Every home game at the Grünwalder Stadion has been completely sold out for years, even though we only play in the 3. Liga.”
This is the paradox of 1860: the higher peaks belong to history, but the loyalty belongs to the present.
A stadium in the city
The connection is rooted in geography as much as memory. “The Grünwalder Stadion is located right in the Giesing district, making it super convenient to get to by bike, on foot, or with public transport,” Watson says. “There are lots of great places to eat and grab a drink around the stadium. When the Lions have a home game, the entire neighbourhood buzzes. And no matter if we win or lose, there’s always a celebration somewhere afterwards—it’s just about life and community.”
Here, matchdays are not contained within ninety minutes. They spill into the cafés, the beer gardens, the streets. To speak about 1860 Munich is also to speak about Giesing itself.
Days to remember
When Watson reflects on what stands out from his years as a supporter, he struggles to narrow it down. “Since I have so many great memories with the club, it’s hard for me to pick just one,” he admits. But he does recall the derbies. “All the derbies against the hated red neighbours from across the street. Back in the Bundesliga or a match between our amateur teams—you could always feel a special, electric atmosphere in the city for days beforehand.”
There was also the 2018 promotion, a moment that seemed to defy the decline of previous years. “Another highlight of my fan career was definitely the promotion from the Regionalliga to the 3. Liga in 2018. The whole season was like a single dream with many special away games in small villages somewhere in Bavaria. At the end, we had two incredibly exciting promotion playoff games against Saarbrücken, which were thrilling right up to the last minute.”
It was then that he experienced something he had imagined since childhood. “For the first time in my life, I got to run onto the sacred pitch at the Grünwalder Stadion, and after that, the entire Giesing district was literally ‘drunk dry’!”
A life’s purpose
Supporting 1860 Munich means living with contradiction: the pull of history against the push of the present, the joy of belonging against the disappointment of results. Yet for Watson, there is never doubt. “My fascination with 1860 has never stopped,” he says again, as if reminding himself. “Everything to do with the club has become a kind of life’s purpose for me.”
In Giesing, the stadium remains full. The streets remain alive. And for fans like Watson, 1860 Munich remains the centre of everything.
In the heart of Barcelona, steps away from Passeig de Gràcia and the iconic Casa Milà, Sir Victor Hotel offers a distinctive experience that blends contemporary design, cultural connection, and world-class hospitality.
As part of the Sircle Collection, Sir Victor reflects a commitment to integrating art, community, and thoughtful experiences, making it a standout destination for travellers and locals alike.
Van Martin, Marketing Manager for Sir Hotels in Spain, shares insights into what makes Sir Victor special. “Our goal is to create a warm, engaging atmosphere where every experience is memorable and deeply connected to Barcelona’s vibrant culture,” she explains.
With 91 beautifully designed rooms, a luxurious spa, a rooftop pool offering Mediterranean-inspired dining, and The Cover, a private members’ club, Sir Victor delivers more than a stay—it offers a gateway to the city’s energy and spirit.
Dining at Sir Victor is equally captivating. MR PORTER, the hotel’s chic steakhouse, combines refined dining with a lively lounge vibe, offering everything from rare cuts of steak to vegetarian dishes paired with inventive cocktails.
Meanwhile, The Rooftop provides breathtaking views of the city, complemented by fresh, locally inspired cuisine. “Whether it’s unwinding with cocktails or enjoying Tapas, Sir Victor captures the essence of Barcelona,” says Van.
Beyond its amenities, Sir Victor stands out by fostering connections to the city’s culture through curated events, art collections, and a commitment to sustainability. Van observes, “Travelers today seek real, local experiences and personalized stays. We respond by offering authentic interactions and wellness-focused options that resonate with guests on a deeper level.”
With its unbeatable location and curated Sir City Guide, Sir Victor ensures guests are well-equipped to explore the best of Barcelona, from iconic landmarks to hidden gems. Whether visiting for the vibrant local culture or a tranquil retreat, Sir Victor promises an experience that feels both luxurious and uniquely tied to the city.
Guests can expect a blend of luxury, culture, and contemporary design that reflects the values of the Sircle Collection. The rooms are bright and inviting, with some featuring balconies that offer stunning views of the city.
You can also relax at The Rooftop pool, rejuvenate in the spa, or enjoy delicious meals at the lively restaurant. Our goal is to create a warm, engaging atmosphere where every experience is memorable and deeply connected to Barcelona’s vibrant culture.
The Atlantic Dispatch sat down with Van Martin to learn more about what makes Sir Victor Hotel in Barcelona so unique, its dynamic cuisine, the changing trends in the hospitality industry, and why it should be on your list of places to stay in 2025.
“People are looking for real, local experiences more than ever. They want to connect with the place they’re visiting in meaningful ways and have more personalised stays.“
Born and raised in the picturesque seaside town of San Felice Circeo, Giulia Puspi’s story is one of passion, family, and big dreams. Although she still calls her small hometown home, she often feels its limits as she dreams of pursuing grander aspirations. Balancing work, family, and her love of football, Giulia has carved out a unique space for herself as a digital creator and Juventus supporter.
In this exclusive interview, Giulia shares how her father’s unwavering love for Juventus ignited her own lifelong passion for “la Vecchia Signora.” From cherished memories of Juventus’ nine years of dominance to her deep admiration for Alessandro Del Piero—whom she reverently describes as “not just a Juventus player, but Juventus itself”—her devotion to the club runs deep.
Giulia also opens up about her love for vintage fashion, particularly the iconic 2000 Juventus jersey, and how she incorporates Juve-inspired pieces into her casual, everyday style. For her, attending matches at the Juventus Stadium is more than just a sporting event; it’s a profound experience of belonging. She describes the joy of singing the anthem with fellow fans and the sense of home the stadium provides.
A passionate advocate for sharing her love of football with others, Giulia reveals how she has been connecting with fans for the past year, finding fulfillment in the camaraderie and support within the Juventus community. Outside of football, her days are filled with family, travel, and time spent at the gym—simple joys that ground her.
As a true optimist, Giulia reflects on the current challenges facing Juventus and her hopes for brighter days ahead. She remains steadfast in her belief in the team and its leadership, saying, “I just hope this darkness leads us to a brilliant light.”
Join us as we delve into Giulia’s journey, her unwavering support for Juventus, and her vision for the future, both as a digital creator and a devoted fan.
I was born and raised in a small seaside town, San Felice Circeo, where I still live today. However, I feel that this town is too small to hold the big dreams I have. Let’s just say I feel a bit confined. My life here revolves around work and family.
My love for football—and, by extension, for Juventus—comes from my father. A die-hard Juve fan and passionate supporter of “la Vecchia Signora,” he passed on all his enthusiasm to me from a young age.
My favorite memories are from the nine years of dominance Juventus enjoyed. I miss those times. I miss winning, the hunger Juventus had, and especially the fear we inspired in opposing teams whenever they faced the Bianconeri.
It’s never something I take for granted, and I love shouting it to the world: Alessandro Del Piero, to me, isn’t just a Juventus player—he is Juventus.
I love vintage, so my favorite jersey is from 2000. Typically, I like dressing casually, always wearing something Juve-related. I often pair it with a fuchsia cap and a scarf.
The stadium experience is truly beautiful. Beyond the stadium’s undeniable beauty, you genuinely feel at home when you step inside. My favorite moment is, without a doubt, when we all sing the anthem together.
I’ve been sharing my passion for just over a year now, and I love transmitting it to others—it’s a passion that isn’t mine alone. I enjoy the connection with other fans and especially appreciate their support.
I also love traveling and spending time with my nieces and nephews. A typical day for me, when I’m not at the stadium, is filled with work, family, and the gym.
I was very happy when he arrived, and I truly believed he could do well for Juve. To this day, I still can’t give a definitive opinion. I just hope this darkness leads us to a brilliant light. I still believe in the coach and hope he can find his balance here in Turin.
JU
In Focus
There are clubs you follow for trophies, and clubs you follow because they feel real. US Pergolettese sits firmly in the second category.
Based in Crema, in the flat heart of Lombardy, Pergolettese are a proper provincial football side. No glamour, no illusions. Just football that means something to the people who turn up every week.
They play in Serie C, Italy’s third tier, a division where nothing comes easy and everything has to be earned. That suits Pergo just fine.
From Pergoletto to Pergo
Football in Crema officially started in 1932, when the club was founded in Pergoletto, a suburb of the town. Over the years, the name changed, Pergolettese became Pergocrema, but the identity stayed the same: local, stubborn, and proud of it.
There were highs. Winning Serie C2 in 2007–08 and finishing 11th the following season remains the best result in the club’s history. There were also lows. In 2012, financial problems caught up with Pergocrema and the club went bankrupt. Doors shut. Silence followed.
But football in places like this doesn’t just disappear.
A year later, the title of Pizzighettone moved to Crema, the name US Pergolettese 1932 returned, and the story carried on. Promotion followed, and by 2019, Pergo were back in the professional game, this time holding their own against clubs with far bigger names and budgets.
The Cannibals
Pergolettese are known as I Cannibali. It’s not a nickname dreamed up by a marketing team. It comes from how they play.
This is football built on physicality, pressure and refusal to back down. They don’t try to outplay you. They don’t pretend to be something they’re not. They get close, they make it uncomfortable, and they keep going until you crack.
Small ground. Tight pitch. Fans right on top of you. Away teams know they’ve been somewhere after a visit to Crema. Around here, football has always been more of a contest than a performance.
The Stands and the City
Pergolettese share the Stadio Giuseppe Voltini with city rivals AC Crema, which only adds fuel to the local derby. Rivalries with Mantova, Pro Patria, Lecco and others run deep, while friendships with Piacenza supporters and even Union Saint-Gilloise fans show how these connections stretch well beyond Lombardy.
Crema itself often surprises people. It’s best known internationally for Call Me By Your Name, filmed among its streets and piazzas, but there’s more here than cinema tourism. Agriculture, cheese, small industry and a strong sense of local identity define the town.
And then there’s the food. Tortelli cremaschi — sweet, stuffed pasta that confuses first-timers — alongside salva cheese, winter dishes like pipèto, and pastries that belong to this place alone. Matchday doesn’t end at the final whistle. It spills into cafés, bakeries and late conversations.
Today’s Pergolettese
The current squad is exactly what you’d expect from Pergo: experienced Serie C heads, younger players on loan from bigger clubs, and a core that knows what it means to play here. Captain Mariano Arini sets the tone, while the team continues to lean into that Cannibals’ reputation — organised, intense and difficult to beat.
They’re not chasing fairy tales. Survival, stability and pride come first.
Why Pergolettese matter
US Pergolettese won’t dominate headlines. They won’t trend online. But they represent something essential about Italian football: community clubs, rebuilt after failure, still standing because people care enough to keep them alive.
In Crema, football isn’t about status. It’s about turning up, backing your side, and knowing exactly who you are. Pergolettese know that better than most.
All our thanks to Luca Gaiera and U.S. Pergolettese 1932
Latest
To celebrate the 80th anniversary of Sorrento Calcio, “Sorrento, Worn Over Time” is an editorial project accompanying the launch of the anniversary jersey designed by Ezeta. A story that chooses to begin with what makes this milestone truly meaningful: people, and the deep bond between a club and its city.
Shaping the visual narrative is the photographic gaze of Giuseppe Romano, who moves through Sorrento following gestures, places, and people that define the city’s identity every day. His images capture a living relationship between the jersey, the city, and those who wear it, leaving space for time rather than emphasis.
The project originates from a proposal by Ezeta, who envisioned this anniversary not as a purely aesthetic celebration but as an opportunity to give voice to a shared history. From this intuition came the collaboration with Magliofili and Sport Media House, who curated the creative direction of the project, bringing together different sensibilities and languages to build an editorial narrative that enhances the jersey’s design and cultural meaning.
This story did not start in a photographic studio, but in the streets of Sorrento. The project took shape by walking through the city, knocking on workshop doors, entering laboratories, and stopping in places of everyday life. Those who live and work in Sorrento were asked what the city represents to them, and to wear a jersey that celebrates eighty years of belonging, memory, and identity.
The jersey thus becomes something alive, far from a purely celebratory or symbolic representation. It is part of daily life: work, routine, effort, and joy. A legacy that is not preserved, but worn.
The two versions of the jersey, white and black, are interpreted by real citizens, chosen not as models but as protagonists. Not didactic portraits dividing generations, but images that speak of encounters, exchanges, and continuity between past and present.
Iconic and ordinary places throughout Sorrento become an integral part of the narrative. The city is not a backdrop, but a living context, naturally intertwined with the jersey and the situations of everyday life.
The editorial project will be presented through a selection of photographs and video content released on social channels, accompanying the launch of the anniversary jersey.
Because some stories do not belong to a single moment.
They live through time, and they continue to be worn.
Images by Giuseppe Romano,
Kit available at: Ezeta.
All words and images: Imma Rhamely Borrelli
They are quieter than the stories of the ultras, perhaps, but no less rich — lives shaped by football and devotion.
A December Ritual
December 8th marks the unofficial beginning of the Christmas holidays in Italy. Homes are dressed with fairy lights and mistletoe, while cities illuminate towering trees in both grand piazzas and quiet neighbourhood squares.
I, on the other hand, spend this day at the Partenio–Lombardi Stadium in Avellino for a Serie B clash between Avellino and Venezia.
Outside the Ground
The stadium’s perimeter walls tell their own story — a collage of murals and stickers, both historic and contemporary. In the car park opposite, makeshift stalls sell scarves and gadgets, while kiosks offer sandwiches and soft drinks. The air is thick with smoke, chatter, and that familiar pre-match adrenaline.
I follow the flow of supporters and enter the Tribuna Terminio. I never quite make it to my assigned seat in the press box, choosing instead the balcony. In Avellino, people are hospitable, open, and generous — something that cannot be taken for granted. They have no hesitation in making space for me, even as a foreigner with a camera slung around my neck, offering me a perfect vantage point of the pitch.
Colours from the Away End
According to official figures, around 120 Venezia supporters are present. My side-on view of the away section is partial, but close enough to hear them clearly during the brief moments when the home curva allows itself a pause. They are colourful, armed with flags, and in the first half even risk bare-chested chants. A strong showing, both in voice and presence.
The Heartbeat of the Curva Sud
The Curva Sud of Avellino, however, is a spectacle in itself. Hands rise into the air as voices thunder “LUPI!” before the flags of the various groups begin to wave in unison. It is a ritual, a collective ignition.
Watching a match from within the stands is something entirely different from viewing it from the sidelines, where attention gravitates towards technical details and tight angles. Among the fans, football becomes a collection of lives and stories.
Sunlight, Smoke, and Song
Beside me stands Mr Vincenzo, listening to live commentary through a small radio pressed to his ear. He tells me he has been coming to the stadium for forty years. He recalls journeys by train and bus, always following Avellino, always faithful, a true lupo. These encounters are only possible through proximity. They are quieter than the stories of the ultras, perhaps, but no less rich — lives shaped by football and devotion.
A generous winter sun warms the green land of Irpinia and those of us in the stands. The feeling of satisfaction I experience here — in this exact place — is complete and impossible to replicate elsewhere.
On the pitch, the match is lively. The crowd moves in rhythm with the game, voices rising and falling with every passage of play. When Avellino score, the stadium seems to shake. “Forza lupi!” shout the boys beside me, offering peanuts bought at the bar. One of them wears a faded, well-worn scarf — a living object that has clearly witnessed many afternoons like this.
Smoke bombs flare intermittently between the away section and the Curva Sud. A series of spectacular saves sends Vincenzo into rapture. He turns to me proudly: “Have you seen how beautiful my Avellino is?”
A Tense Finish
In the final minutes and added time, it becomes impossible not to put the camera aside and simply watch. The curva presses relentlessly, as does the entire stadium. Venezia score, but VAR intervenes — offside. The final whistle confirms a 1–1 draw.
At full time, the stadium becomes a wall of green scarves.
Lingering Moments
No one seems in a hurry to leave. While the away fans wait to be escorted out, the Curva Sud’s “third half” unfolds — chants of unity, freedom for ultras, and the right to travel freely. Eventually, the stewards arrive, gently urging people to clear the steps.
On my way out, I stop once more to photograph the stickers around the turnstiles. Leaving something beautiful is never easy, but memory helps soften the departure — sometimes even before the moment has fully passed.
Back in the car, as traffic inches forward and warm air fills the cabin, I begin to organise the experience in my mind, hoping to write about it with the care it deserves.
All words and images: Imma Rhamely Borrelli
All words and images: Josh Walker
“It was the most alive I think I’ve ever felt.”
On 12 December, Boca Juniors fans celebrate what they proudly call the Día del Hincha de Boca — the Day of the Boca Fan. It’s a date dedicated to the club’s so-called 12th man, a nod to the supporters who believe their presence, noise, and loyalty are as important as the players on the pitch. The day is also closely linked to La Doce, one of Boca’s most famous barra brava factions, and to the wider idea that at Boca, the crowd is never just the backdrop.
It’s that belief that brought Josh Walker to Buenos Aires, making his way to the city to experience its football culture first-hand.
Josh set out to understand what makes La Bombonera feel so different, why it moves, why it shakes, and why Boca’s supporters are spoken about with such reverence.
What follows is a personal reflection on seeing Boca Juniors up close, not just the club, but the people who give it its meaning, and the moments that make La Bombonera feel like a living thing.
Life in Blue and Gold
“My friend Lucas once told me that Boca is a way of seeing life. In his own words, ‘It’s what I see every day of my life, and what taught me to love unconditionally.’ Last month, I was lucky enough to finally find out exactly what he meant.
Over two weeks, we were fortunate enough to experience Boca twice. There were so many moments I could draw on, not least a Superclásico win and the full force of La Bombonera laid bare.
However, it was a week later, against Tigre, and a moment right at the end of the game that has truly stuck with me. The day itself had been incredible: beers and conversation leading up to kick-off, a goodbye to Lucas as we took our separate seats, and then, afterwards, a return to our own lives. I think I was feeling a quiet melancholy as the trip drew to a close, trying to soak in every last detail the stadium and its supporters had to offer before it was all over.
It took every bit of me to stay composed. The heartbeat of that stadium, the way Boca fans seem to experience a surge of being simply by standing in the presence of their team — and in the presence of each other — was overwhelming. It was the most alive I think I’ve ever felt. It was a different way of seeing life: the Boca way. And honestly, I don’t want to go back to any other way. In that moment, I finally understood what Lucas meant.
I once read a quote from a famous Boca fan, La Raulito, that has stayed with me: “Nobody made me a Boca fan; I already knew those colours would bring me so much joy.” In Argentina, life starts and ends with football. In La Boca, life loses all colour without blue and gold.
In my case, I couldn’t have imagined the joy those colours would bring me. Nobody made me a Boca fan either — except Boca itself, if that makes any sense at all. This mental club, and everything and everyone it encompasses, draws you in. If you get it, you get it. And if you don’t, well… shame on you.
Against the backdrop of a turbulent period for Argentina, the richness that football gives to the people of this country is beauty beyond belief—a special club, in a special part of the world.
Dale Boca. Forever.
All words and images: Josh Walker
Words and Images Luke Bajic
The whole city feels built around BVB
I arrived in Dortmund early, fresh off the train from Düsseldorf, teeth chattering in the cold, the station already buzzing. Yellow and black everywhere. People drifting between cans, conversations, and the hunt for a warm bar. I wandered up to Borsigplatz, BVB’s birthplace, before heading out to Westfalenstadion, and the nearer I got, the louder it felt.
Three hours before kick-off, and the whole place was already alive. Smoke hanging in the air from bratwurst stalls, half-and-half scarves, cans cracking open, and a small army darting around collecting empties for recycling.
A couple of locals clocked me blowing into my hands. “Kalt.” My limited German translated, and away we went, chatting about predictions. One lad confidently told me it would finish 3–3 — and he wasn’t wrong.
Up in the stand, I squeezed in next to two families and a group of eight mates who stand together every other week, some travelling over three hours for every match. Smiles, nods, hellos. The Wall was almost full before the warm-ups even began, people treating it the way we treat the pub back home: a beer, a chat, a few vocals. Then You’ll Never Walk Alone and every scarf in the air.
When Dortmund scored what everyone thought was a late winner, the guy next to me climbed the railings before his mates could grab him… only for Stuttgart to equalise seconds later. Full-time. 3–3. A boot slammed against the railing. He looked at me, “F***.”
A few fans stayed behind afterwards to finish beers, cigarettes, and cups of Glühwein. No rush. Just people being together because this is their place.
How Dortmund Compares to Stadiums Around the World
I’ve seen football in a few places, but the Yellow Wall isn’t just noise and flags. Even the silence spoke. The first twelve minutes felt weirdly flat until the young lad next to me explained there was a fan-led protest against proposed ID checks for ticket holders in German football — something that’s slowly creeping into the English game too. Tens of thousands of people falling silent on cue… and then erupting together in the 12th minute, orchestrated by megaphone.
Once the protest lifted, the Wall turned into exactly what you imagine it to be. Beer flying through the air, goal music thumping, strangers hugging. Locals sticking their hoods up for fear of flying Glühwein. When Dortmund scored, the whole stand moved as one. When they conceded 2–1, then 2–2, and finally 3–3, the groans rolled through the crowd, but the singing never stopped.
It felt like one big family. Honestly, it made me fall a little in love with live football again. As a Leicester fan, the last couple of years the stands have been full of disillusioned faces, but this reminded me of what it used to feel like… connected, buzzing.
Understanding Football Culture in Dortmund
With over 81,000 fans packing the place every matchday, Dortmund isn’t just a city’s club — it’s a region’s club. People travel in from all over northwest Germany (thanks to free public transport with matchday tickets) and even across Europe, and you feel that the moment you step off the train. Dortmund station is rammed from early, a tide of yellow and black spilling into the streets.
The whole city feels built around BVB. As soon as you leave the station, giant flags and murals guide you into town. Over in Borsigplatz, everything is drenched in club colours — the roundabout draped in yellow and black flags, corner shops painted and branded, even the bollards wearing BVB stripes. At the centre sits a community cage on Max Michallek Platz, where kids belt balls off the metal fencing surrounded by black-and-yellow artwork.
BVB lives well beyond Westfalenstadion.
All words and images by Jonas Zöller
“This whole scene, I feel, is somehow symbolic of the culture of football here. Football is family, and family is everything.“
North to Salvador
After our stop in Rio de Janeiro, we head north. Salvador de Bahia once served as a central hub for the Portuguese colonial slave trade, and its marks are still visible today. Salvador feels different from everywhere I’ve been so far. It feels like a different Brazil.
Into the Heat
When we make our way toward Arena Fonte Nova, the heat is blistering. I’ve been travelling across South America for more than two months now, and yet my skin is still so pale that I seem to get sunburned after ten minutes.
The stadium of Esporte Clube Bahia sits beside a lake, and the entire area transforms into the biggest prévia I’ve seen so far. Hundreds of stands sell fake shirts, food, and beer. We arrive early, but already thousands of people in blue and red shirts fill the area. We drift through the crowd, dive into the noise, and try whatever is offered. There’s just one problem: finding a vegetarian option is absolutely impossible. When my girlfriend asks an older woman at one of the stalls for something without meat, she gets only confused laughter from the vendor and everyone around.
The Camera Problem
As we leave the forecourt and head toward the entrance, the steward sees my camera and shakes his head. It takes me a few seconds to process what he means. Not once on this trip has anyone stopped me from taking my camera inside. I try explaining, but I don’t speak Portuguese, and too many people are pushing through the turnstiles for me to use my translator. My attempt to sneakily hand the camera to my girlfriend fails miserably.
Panic rises. After the disappointment in São Paulo, is Salvador slipping away, too? Do I part ways with the camera that has accompanied me through so many stadiums?
I step aside, trying to think clearly. A woman from security stands nearby. She must see the desperation on my face, because she asks what’s wrong and offers to keep the camera until shortly before the end of the match. I hesitate. I’m sceptical. But something in me trusts her.
We exchange numbers, and I hand her the camera. And still I’m not feeling good. So many memories are part of this camera, so many moments have been captured by it.
Inside the Arena
When we step into the stadium, my worry disappears for a few minutes. The stands are unbelievably steep and packed tight. The arena is open to one side, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The entire place seems to boil and sway, led by the Torcida Bamor. Even more than in Argentina, the torcida seems to dance to its own rhythms. The setting sun is making its way through the stadium’s open side, and for a moment, I feel like I’m part of the crowd.
A Moment of Faith
As halftime approaches, I write to the security woman again. I take a few minutes to explain how important the camera is to me. It was passed down from my grandfather. The signal is terrible, and I’m already preparing myself for the worst, trying to press this feeling down my throat.
The disappointment builds in my chest when someone suddenly taps my shoulder. I turn around and freeze. It’s her. For a moment, I can only stare. When she meets my eyes, she tells me—visibly moved—what family means to her. When she hands me my camera, relief floods through me all at once. After a tight hug, she disappears as quickly as she arrived.
This whole scene, I feel, is somehow symbolic of the culture of football here. Football is family, and family is everything.
The Explosive Finale
When the second half kicks off, I can hardly believe my luck—and it seems to rub off on the team too. Bahia equalise midway through the half, and when the winner comes in the 90th minute, the stadium explodes. People tumble over each other on the steep terraces, and the final seconds blur into euphoria. It’s not the shallow dancing to the rhythm now—it’s the pure, brutal noise that seems to soak into everyone in the arena for a moment.
A Different Kind of Connection
Later, as we wait for our Uber, adrenaline drains into gratitude. The stadium, the late winner, the camera I thought I’d lost. Maybe the thing that feels the most meaningful in this moment, though, is that I feel somehow more connected to Brazilian football now.
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There are places where football stops being a game and becomes something elemental, a form of survival, a map of identity, a pulse that passes from generation to generation. NO FAIR PLAY, the new exhibition at 2LAB in Catania, steps directly into that current.
Bringing together three archives from three cities with three radically different histories, the show looks beyond the pitch and into the lives of those who animate it. From the drenched terraces of England to the volcanic streets of Naples and the fiercely territorial world of Catania’s ultras, this is football as lived experience, ritual, defiance, and belonging.
The result is not an exhibition about football, but about the people who breathe life into it, and the images that become their living memory.
Lower Block: The British Game in Black & White Grit
Founded by Matt Lidbury, Lower Block is less an archive than a time machine. Its photographs and fanzines capture the raw, unvarnished feeling of British football culture — the walk to the ground, the smoke on the concourse, the cold chip-shop light after a night game.
It documents what the British game often hides: the devotion of away days, the humour in the chaos, the communities stitched together by shared ritual. Lower Block shows the terraces as theatres of identity — places where locality, class, and culture collide.
In NO FAIR PLAY, their presence becomes a grounding point, a reminder that the emotional intensity of fandom doesn’t begin in the stadium. It begins in the street.
Boogie’s Naples: Euphoria on the Edge of the Volcano
When Napoli won the Scudetto in 2023, the city didn’t celebrate — it erupted. And few photographers on earth could have captured that eruption better than Boogie, whose career has taken him from Belgrade’s underbelly to New York’s streets and Kingston’s tension-soaked corners.
Boogie shoots the world with unfiltered honesty. His images of Naples are alive with the electricity of a city experiencing itself fully: joy, defiance, identity, and release. Bodies climb lampposts, flags swallow entire streets, strangers become family for a night.
In NO FAIR PLAY, Boogie’s work becomes a portrait of a city in collective confession — its history, struggle and pride exploding in blue.
Emiliano Zingale: Catania, Territory, and the Architecture of Belonging
For Emiliano Zingale, Catania’s ultras are not subjects — they are a living ecosystem. His long-term project, Ultras Catania studies how identity forms inside a community that exists in constant negotiation with the world around it.
Supporters are shown not as caricatures of fanaticism but as complex social groups: devoted, rebellious, shaped by territory and economics and history. His images catch the quiet moments — the preparation of banners, the choreography of movement — as well as the charged ones.
Zingale’s work grounds the exhibition in Catania’s own heartbeat. For a city that has lived through crisis, rebirth, and reinvention, its ultras are a mirror of resilience.
2LAB: A Home for the Contemporary Archive
Founded by Carmelo and Mattia Stompo, 2LAB has become one of Italy’s most exciting independent spaces for contemporary photography. Based in the historic centre of Catania, it blends exhibitions, residencies, publishing, and education to build a community around visual culture.
NO FAIR PLAY is part of MotoImmobile, their biennial program dedicated to the photographic archive — to memory as both document and living organism.
What 2LAB has created with this exhibition is a triangulation of identity:
England. Naples. Catania.
Three cities whose stories could not be more different — yet whose football cultures share the same emotional DNA.
More Than Ultras, More Than Football
NO FAIR PLAY shows what happens when photography becomes anthropology, when images stop being decoration and become testimony.
Here, ultras are not mythologised, sanitised, or condemned. They are understood.
These photographs ask questions about:
– how identity is formed
– who gets to belong
– what it means to resist
– and how communities build themselves through ritual, territory, and memory
It is an exhibition for anyone who has ever stood in a stadium and felt part of something larger than themselves.
EXHIBITION INFORMATION
NO FAIR PLAY — Photography, Identity, Defiance
19 December 2025 – 18 January 2026
2LAB — Via Porta di Ferro 36/38, Catania
Opening: 19 December, 7 PM
Admission: Reserved for members (membership available at the venue)
More info: duelab.org | @duelab_____
