◉ 060 | Panini vs panini

I was born

a few months before

the 1982

FIFA World Cup

when Italy

won the title.

Of course,

I don’t

remember it.

I was four

when Maradona,

Hand of God,

and Argentina

won the title

in Mexico

in 1986.

I don’t

remember that one

either.

I was eight

when the 1990

FIFA World Cup

was played

in Italy.

I don’t

remember West Germany

winning the title

but I remember

the school trip

at the end

of second grade.

Mum

packed me food

and said:

“Here is some money

in case you get hungry.”

I ate half

of the bag

on our way

to Makarska.

I finished

a mortadella panini,

a bag of Smoki,

a Vindi mandarin-orange juice,

and a Mond candy bar.

All my classmates

were doing the same.

The bag noise

was tenfold

from the noise

you hear in a cinema

at the beginning

of a movie.

I didn’t care

about the bus

hanging

over the edge

of the wavy

coastal road.

I didn’t care

about

breathtaking

scenery.

I only cared

about the bag content

and it was

mid-year Christmas

to me.

It was

hot.

The road

notoriously busy.

The bus,

old smelly diesel.

No AC back then,

just sliding windows.

We arrived

two hours later.

Smashed.

My stomach was

in red alert mode.

But I was ok

as soon as I

dipped myself

in the sea.

We went

into mode

WILD.

Swimming,

diving,

smashing waves,

wrestling

in the water.

I was exhausted.

And

hungry

again.

I finished

the second

salami panini,

ate a banana,

and cleaned

the rest

of the bag.

And it wasn’t

even noon.

Laying down on

the beach,

blinded

by the sun,

Josip came

up to me

with a whole bunch

of Panini stickers

Italia 90.

He had

Ruud Gullit,

Lothar Matthäus,

Darko Pančev.

He also had some

rare ones,

Diego Armando Maradona,

Gheorghe Hagi,

and Romário.

But he was missing

the holy grail:

Roberto Baggio —

number 53.

He asked me

to come with him

to a kiosk

to buy more.

He tore

the packet

open.

His hands

were shaking.

Still,

no

Baggio.

He bought

more.

He got

the Argentinian

national team

emblem.

It was shiny,

silver with the

golden frame.

I was hooked.

So I bought

some for myself

with half the money

Mum gave me.

Josip didn’t get

Baggio.

Me neither.

Soon I knew

all the sticker games,

how to win,

how to lose,

what was common,

what was rare.

I started

trading.

Ten

for this

one,

five for that

one.

I was all in.

With the rest

of the money,

I bought

Italia 90

album.

448 empty

frames.

The lady

in the kiosk said:

“What will

your mum say?”

I didn’t care.

I was so pumped.

A brand new album

was mine.

I still

remember the smell

and sticking

my nose

right

in the middle.

I had

a Panini album

and not

a single panini

sandwich

Mum prepared

for me.

And no money.

We kept swimming,

beating the waves

and having fun.

But I was

only thinking

about the stickers

and new album.

I was hungry.

Someone

shared chips

with me.

It was almost dark

outside

when we came

back to town.

I was

sunburnt,

salty,

and tired

as a dog.

But more than

anything,

I was

hungry.

Hungry

for food.

And hungry

for football.

The game

just started.