Words and images by Gonzalo Alfaro

Family, food, and football in the heart of Emilia-Romagna.

On an autumn Sunday afternoon, I made my way to Parma’s home game — a pilgrimage of sorts to one of Italy’s most understated football cities. Parma isn’t loud or chaotic; it’s calm, graceful, and steeped in history. Yet beneath that quiet surface lies a football culture full of pride, resilience, and devotion.

The best way to sum up a matchday in Parma is through your first impressions as soon as you arrive in the stadium area: families, a quiet neighbourhood embracing the Tardini, and a huge street closed off as fans arrive, with a roundabout connecting all the roads leading to the stadium arch.

When it comes to atmosphere, this is where you begin to see a half-hidden side of Parma beneath its traditional façade. Non-stop chants, flags waving all match long, and above all, a proud curva filled with tifosi who look out for their own.

Parma is, hands down, one of the biggest cult-classic teams of the ’90s. Despite not being a big club, it made serious history — winning not only domestically (’91–’92 and ’98–’99) but also in Europe (’92–’93, ’93, ’94–’95, and ’98–’99) — with a star-studded team built not just through big signings but by creating stars. Buffon, Thuram, Cannavaro, Verón, Crespo, Chiesa, Dino Baggio, and Asprilla are names worthy of carrying on your back with pride — especially if it’s from the team where they first made their mark.

The first thing you hear about Parma is the food. Parmigiano Reggiano is the obvious star, but the city’s identity goes far beyond that. Cold cuts like Prosciutto di Parma and a long tradition of food science — the city hosts the European Food Safety Authority — have shaped its global reputation. Beyond food, Parma’s cultural life spans theatre, music, puppetry, literature, and year-round festivals. Cross the river to Oltretorrente and you’ll find a more rebellious soul, tied to the partigiani and the city’s barricade history — books, wine, and countercultural spaces. Parma blends tradition and contrast: city life and the rural rhythms of the Po Valley, university students and bohemian currents — slow, quiet, and full of stories.

Exploring the city and speaking with locals, you can tell that, despite not being the noisiest fan base, Parma is filled with stories of strong, deep connections between the club, its staff, and its players. I heard stories from people my age who, as children, would knock on Crespo’s door just to say hello to their idol; fans who know exactly where to find Asprilla whenever he returns to visit old friends; and older tifosi who still insist they’ve never seen a foot like Verón’s on the pitch again.

For a club that’s been rattled by financial troubles, the idea of that glorious 1990s era gives fans hope — hope for a brighter future ahead.

All Words and images by Gonzalo Alfaro

Founded back in 1904, the story of its name alone is a perfect slice of Argentine football myth-making. Some say it came from an earthquake that hit Atlanta, Georgia. Others claim it was borrowed from a U.S. Navy ship that docked in Buenos Aires the same year. Either way, what began as a group of friends in the capital would become one of Argentina’s most beloved, wandering institutions.

The club’s iconic yellow and blue came straight from the striped awnings of Villa Crespo’s old shops — bright, proud, unmistakable. And that sense of colour, of character, has never left Atlanta since. Their first pitch was in Villa Luro, but the club rarely stayed put for long. They bounced from ground to ground, pitch to pitch — earning them the nickname that’s still sung proudly today: Los Bohemios.

From those early years, Atlanta’s story has been full of charm, chaos, and character. In 1907, they won their first title — the third division championship — thrashing Gimnasia y Esgrima 4–1 and, most famously, beating Independiente 21–1. Yes, twenty-one. A scoreline that still lives in Argentine football folklore. By 1908, they’d already won the Copa Bullrich, their first national cup, and cemented themselves as one of the country’s up-and-coming clubs.

Over the decades, Atlanta have lived a life of promotion, relegation, and resurrection. Titles in 1956, 1983, 1995, and 2011 tell the story of a team that has never stopped fighting its way back. Their home — the Estadio Don León Kolbovsky — is an icon of Villa Crespo. Once made of wood and affectionately dubbed El Monumental de Madera (The Wooden Monumental), it stands as a living piece of Buenos Aires football history.

Of course, no Buenos Aires club story is complete without a rivalry, and for Atlanta, it’s one of the fiercest: Chacarita Juniors. The two clubs were neighbours once upon a time, separated by little more than a few streets, and though Chacarita moved away decades ago, the animosity never did. When Atlanta play Chaca, it’s more than a match — it’s a street war written in chants and memories.

But the beauty of Atlanta goes beyond the pitch. The club’s home in Villa Crespo has long been tied to the Jewish community, and Atlanta has always been a reflection of that cultural mix — inclusive, diverse, and proudly local. The stands are filled with families, lifelong fans, and old-timers who’ve seen it all. There’s a sense of belonging that goes far beyond results.

And then there’s Napoleón, the dog. A legend in his own right. Adopted by players in the 1930s, he became Atlanta’s lucky charm — performing tricks before matches, barking at rivals, and following every ball that rolled across the pitch. When he died in 1938, newspapers wrote obituaries. His story, like Atlanta’s, lives on — quirky, passionate, unforgettable.

Today, Atlanta continues to fight in the Primera Nacional, Argentina’s second division. The results come and go, but the spirit of Los Bohemios endures. Their fans don’t just follow a club — they carry a story, a neighbourhood, a way of life.

All images by the excellent Dincolodestadion

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