we find our seats on bleachers on the red side. We’re at the back, but honestly that’s good enough for me. I wouldn’t want to get too close to the action if it’s as dangerous as I think it is.
It’s not long before the crowd starts chanting, waiting for the teams to come out. It’s close to five p.m. now and it’s hot as sin outside, made even hotter by all these people. Claudio tells me that almost seven thousand fans are gathered around us, most of them rabidly passionate for their neighborhood.
Finally, the men come out and the crowd erupts.
Twenty-seven players on each side.
Fifty-four of the roughest, toughest, most brutal looking men I’ve ever seen, nearly all of them shirtless and covered in tattoos. Surprisingly, there’s a wide range of body types, from thin and wiry, to lean and athletic, to tall and hulking, to big and bear-like. Not surprisingly, they all look like they’re about to murder someone.
“So, these are all professional athletes?” I ask Claudio, my voice barely audible above the crowd.
He shakes his head. “No. They train like they are, but they do not get paid to do this.”
“What do they get out of it?”
“Glory. Honor. And their neighborhood gets a feast, so that’s nice.”
Nice? These men look like they’re about to fight to the death, and all they get is some nice food to share? Wow.
“They are in it because their heart is in it,” Claudio says. “And your heart can convince you to do anything.”
His deep eyes linger on my face for a moment before he looks away, and I know he wasn’t just talking about the warrior’s hearts.
And so the game starts with a clash. The goal, I believe, is to get a ball in the net at either end, but in order to do that, you have to get through the players first. And that’s where the rugby aspect comes in.
Except in rugby you are not allowed to kick people in the head.
Or punch them in the face.
Or wrestle them to the ground and pin them there.
Or use MMA moves.
All of these techniques and more are being used to try to get the ball to the other side, blood spilling everywhere, ultimate carnage.
It is the most intensely violent thing I’ve ever watched. I’m not even sure it can be called it a game, it really is a war, a battle, and within minutes, half the players are on the ground. Stretchers are constantly taking people off the dirt, and then those same players will run back on with broken noses and head wounds and black eyes.
“I told you,” Vanni says to me, noting the grim expression on my face. “It is barbaric. Some play with broken ribs. Did you know that even popes used to play this game, but they were allowed to use swords? I’m not sure I could have watched that.”
Me neither. And yet I can’t look away.
Especially as Lorenzo is still playing. He’s really good, and his strength and bulk make it easy for him to fight his way across, taking punches but giving them even better.
I take out my phone to try and capture it all on camera, when I notice I have a missed call.
My heart drops through my chest.
It’s from Jana.
Jana hasn’t even called me once since I got here, not even after the big mix-up at the beginning. We’ve emailed a few times, but that’s been it. She’s left me alone, and I’ve been grateful for it.
It’s never good when your agent calls.
Unless it is good.
Hmmm.
Suddenly my mind is running away on me. Maybe this isn’t about my deadline, and maybe it’s not about Claudio or Vanni either, maybe we just sold movie rights or something like that.
“Is that my mother?” Vanni asks, peering at the missed call on the display.
“I missed her call,” I say feebly. “I better go and call her back.”
I don’t want to call her back, but I won’t be able to sit and watch the game if I don’t. “I’ll be back,” I tell them, then I make my way through the crowded stands until I’m free.
When I find a spot in the shade away from the noise and the crowds, I take out the phone and press redial with shaking hands.
She picks up on the first ring, giving me no time to freak out.
“Grace,” she says in her quick, clipped voice. “How are you?”
I swallow, trying to calm my racing heart. “I’m good. Sorry,