The end of the weekend...

...meant it was time for the Italy-France World Cup Final. Italy had made it through the quarter and semi final matches, but anxiety was at a nail-biting level when we headed into town. The match was set for 8. By 7:30, all the streets were empty and the shops were closed. People huddled around tiny TV screens outside bars or restaurants. We joined them and ordered a round of beers and fries. Over the next hour and a half each team scored one goal apiece. Every time the Italians got close to the goal, the Italians in the cafes stood up, pounded on tables, and shouted "Vai, Vai!" But the team didn't take the advice. The game dragged through two overtimes without a goal. In soccer, when the game has finished two overtimes, the teams decide who wins through a shoot out. I don't know that much about it, save that each team shoots 3-5 times and the team that scores the most wins. So the 2006 World Cup comes down to a shootout between Italy and France. Italy goes first and shoots 4 times. They make it each time, the entire crammed square goes crazy. The French step up and make their first goal. They miss their second. For a few seconds everyone stares in disbelief. "We won!" this old man shouts at last, and all of a sudden people are running through the streets again, waving flags, throwing beer bottles.

Despite the mayhem and mass celebration, it was the best-behaved mob I've ever seen. No one took anyone's purse, no tourists were threatened, no shops broken into. Just a lot of lunatics running around in the street waving flags, setting off fireworks, and getting rid of nervous energy.

In the picture above my friend Cara and I are both wearing Luca Toni's jersey. (Soccer fans know Luca Toni as one of the Italian forwards, others might recall him as the half-naked man who appeared earlier on my blog. Ahem.) I jumped in the fountain in the Piazza Erbe to celebrate. People kept throwing water at each other, singing the Italian fight song (a version of the White Stripes song 7-8-9) and stomping. It was the vilest water I've ever tasted (and I ended up tasting a bunch) but I didn't care then. I didn't even care that much when I had to walk back up the miles to the Collegio in my soaking wet Pumas and dripping jersey.

Between jumping in the fountain, swimming in the ocean, and dancing in the rain, I would say the theme of my weekend has been: "wet." But I mean that in a good way.