Fortunately for Rick, the Allies leveled Ancona at the end of the war, and thus it was light on castles and palazzi. According to Livvy's collection of guidebooks, there was only an old cathedral worth looking at, and she was not keen to see it. Sunday, they slept late again, skipped the sightseeing, and finally found the football field. The Panthers arrived by bus at 1:30. Rick was alone in the locker room waiting for them. Livvy was alone in the bleachers reading an Italian Sunday newspaper. "Glad you could make it," Sam growled at his quarterback. "So you're in your usual happy mood, Coach."
"Oh yes. A four-hour bus ride always makes me happy." The great victory over Bergamo had yet to wear off, and Sam, as usual, was expecting a disaster against the Dolphins of Ancona. An upset, and the Panthers would miss the play-offs. He had pushed them hard Wednesday and Friday, but they were still reveling in their stunning disruption of the Great Streak. The Gazzetta di Parma ran a front-page story, complete with a large action shot of Fabrizio racing down the field. There was another story on Tuesday, one that featured Franco, Nino, Pietro, and Giancarlo. The Panthers were the hottest team in the league, and they were winning big with real Italian footballers. Only their quarterback was American. And so on. But Ancona had won only a single game, and lost six, most by wide margins. The Panthers were flat, as expected, but they had also slaughtered Bergamo, and that in itself was intimidating. Rick and Fabrizio hooked up twice in the first quarter, and Giancarlo cartwheeled and belly flopped for two more touchdowns in the second. Early in the fourth, Sam cleared the bench and Alberto took over on offense.
The regular season came to an end with the ball at midfield, both teams huddled over it like a rugby scrum, as the clock ticked down to the final seconds. The players ripped off their dirty jerseys and pads, and spent half an hour shaking hands and making promises about next year. The Ancona tailback was from Council Bluffs, Iowa, and had played at a small college in Minnesota. He had seen Rick play seven years earlier in a big Iowa-Wisconsin game, and they had a delightful time replaying it. One of Rick's better college efforts. It was nice to talk to someone with the same accent. They chatted about players and coaches they had known. The tailback had a flight the next day and couldn't wait to get home. Rick, of course, would stay through the play-offs, and beyond that had no plans. They wished each other well and promised to catch up later. Bergamo, evidently anxious to start a new streak, beat Rome by six touchdowns and finished the season at 7--1. Parma and Bologna tied for second at 6-2 and would play each other in the semifinals. The big news of the day was the upset at Bolzano. The Rhinos from Milan scored on the final play and sneaked into the play-offs.
They worked on their tans for another day, then grew tired of Sirolo. They drifted north, stopping for a day and a night at the medieval village of Urbino. Livvy had now seen thirteen of the twenty regions, and was hinting strongly at a prolonged tour that would include the other seven. But with an expired visa, how far could she go?
She preferred not to talk about it. And she did a remarkable job ignoring her family, as long as they ignored her. As they drove along the back roads of Umbria and Tuscany, she studied the maps and had a knack for finding tiny villages and wineries and ancient palazzi. She knew the history of the regions--the wars and conflicts, the rulers and their city-states, the influence of Rome and its decline. She could glance at a small village cathedral and say, "Baroque, late seventeenth century," or, "Romanesque, early twelfth century," and for good measure she might add, "But the dome was added a hundred years later by a classical architect." She knew the great artists, and not just their work but also their hometowns and training and eccentricities and all the important details of their careers. She knew Italian wine and made sense of the endless variety of grapes from the regions. If they were really thirsty, she would find a hidden winery. They would do a quick tour, then settle in for a free sample. They finally made it back to Parma, late Wednesday afternoon, in time for a very long practice. Livvy stayed at the apartment ("home") while Rick dragged himself to Stadio Lanfranchi to prepare once again for the Bologna Warriors.
Chapter 27
The oldest Panther was Tommaso, or simply Tommy. He was forty- two and had been playing for twenty years. It was his intention, shared much too often in the locker room, to retire only after Parma won its first Super Bowl. A few of his teammates thought he was long past retirement age, and his desire to hang on was just another good reason for the Panthers to hurry and win the big one. Tommy played defensive end and was effective for about a third of any game. He was tall and weighed around two hundred pounds, but sort of quick off the ball and a decent pass rusher. On running plays, though, he was no match for a charging lineman or fullback, and Sam was careful how he used Tommy. There were several Panthers, the older guys, who needed only a few snaps per game. Tommy was a career civil servant of some variety, with a nice secure job and thoroughly hip apartment in the center of town. Nothing was old but the building. Inside the apartment, Tommy had carefully removed any concession to age and history. The furniture was glass, chrome, and leather, the floors were unpolished blond oak, the walls were covered with baffling contemporary art, and arranged nicely throughout was every conceivable high-tech entertainment apparatus. His lady for the evening, certainly not a wife, fit in superbly with the decor. Her name was Maddalena, as tall as Tommy but a hundred pounds lighter and at least fifteen years younger. As Rick said hello to her, Tommy hugged and pecked Livvy and acted as though he might just lead her away to the bedroom. Livvy had caught the attention of the Panthers, and why not? A beautiful, young American girl living with their quarterback, right there in Parma. Being red-blooded Italians, they could not help but wiggle their way closer. There had always been invitations to dinner, but since her arrival Rick was really in demand. Rick managed to pry Livvy away and began admiring Tommy's collection of trophies and football memorabilia. There was a photo of Tommy with a young football team. "In Texas," Tommy said. "Near Waco. I go every year in August to practice with the team."
"High school?"
"Si. I take my vacation, and do what you call two-a-days. No?"
"Oh yes. Two-a-days, always in August." Rick was stunned. He had never met anyone who voluntarily submitted himself to the horrors of August two-a-days. And by August the Italian season was over, so why bother with all that brutal conditioning? "I know, it's crazy," Tommy was saying. "Yes, it is. You still go?"
"Oh no. Three years ago I quit. My wife, the second one, did not approve." At this, he cast his eyes warily at Maddalena for some reason, then continued: "She left, but I was too old. Those boys are just seventeen, too young for a forty-year-old man, don't you think?"
"No doubt." Rick moved on, still flabbergasted at the thought of Tommy, or anyone, spending his vacation in the Texas heat running wind sprints and slamming into blocking sleds. There was a rack of perfectly matched leather notebooks, each about an inch thick, with a year embossed in gold, one for each of Tommy's twenty seasons. "This is the first," Tommy said. Page one was a glossy Panther game schedule, with the scores added by hand. Four wins, four losses. Then game programs, newspaper articles, and pages of photographs. Tommy pointed to himself in a group shot and said, "That's me, number 82 back then even, thirty pounds bigger." He looked huge, and Rick almost said some of that bulk would be welcome now. But Tommy was a fashionista, dapper and always looking good. No doubt losing the extra weight had much to do with his love life.