by Lorenzo Piccoli
So this weekend I missed an historical match. The intensity of a rugby game is impossible to describe, and I can only barely imagine Alvise suffering and swearing while watching the Italian pack defending the result on their own try line during the last few minutes of the match.
By the time Italy scored its second try, I was reaching the top of the mountain where I slept last summer with Fabio, Ghennet, Manuel, and Mindo. This time of the year it was a completely different setting.