No place like Rome

THINGS You Don’t Really Want To Hear From Your Pilot, Number 173: “I know this feels uncomfortable but there is no operational or safety problem.”

Look, I understand that the man is an expert and was just trying to reassure us plebs but, up until he actually opened his mouth, I was mainly concerned with the discomfort – and specifically attempting to stop a cup of scalding coffee from jumping into my lap – as our plane was enveloped in an ominous grey fog somewhere high over France and, without warning, subjected to a series of seismic jolts.

“Only bad turbulence,” I reminded myself, one hand gripping the armrest and the other trying to hold the coffee steady as the blood visibly drained from the face of the elderly lady to my right and her companion began to silently mouth a prayer.

Then came the calming tones of the pilot and now I found myself turning words like “operational” and “safety” around in my mind, concepts I’d really rather not be thinking about at 35,000 feet with the great silver bird apparently suffering a bad dose of the hiccups.

As they say, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing but, no matter, the rude interlude was all over in 10 minutes, and we just as suddenly emerged from that unpleasant grey world to be rewarded with clear skies, brilliant sunshine and one of the great sights of European air travel: the glistening crescent shape of Lake Geneva reclining at the feet of the soaring, snow-capped Alps.

And just a couple of hours later I was on the boiling streets of Rome and thinking that being knocked around the sky is not such a bad thing, really. At least not when compared with trying to cross a road in the Eternal City.

One of the first things you’ll notice when you arrive here is that there are not too many zebras wandering about the place.

This, I would have to deduce, is because they have all been wiped out at their traditional crossing points. Never mind that classic wildlife footage of migrating striped lads being snapped up by crocs as the poor deranged beasts attempt to ford a river; just try using a pedestrian crossing in Rome and see how far you get before you’re creamed by a speeding car. And if the cars don’t get you, the scooters definitely will.

Ah, Roma – city of glorious antiquity, artistic richness and a near-death experience almost every time you step off the footpath.

The trick for the visiting hack, beyond the small matter of staying alive, is to somehow avoid resorting to cliché – when in, all road lead to etc – in this city which has strained superlatives for millennia, a place with more graceful immortal columns to its name than even Con Houlihan.

That the ancient and the modern, and the everyday and the eternal, live cheek by jowl in the capital of Italy is something tacitly acknowledged by UEFA who have chosen to locate their ‘Champions Festival’ for the fans in the very shadow of that original 50,000 all-seater stadium, the Coliseum. (Or the Aviva Coliseum, as controversially decreed by the Emperors Delanus and Brownus).

All manner of entertainment has been laid on there this week – though, apparently for security reasons, not a big screen to show the game itself for the expected ticketless hordes from Manchester and Barcelona – and the centrepiece, at 2pm this afternoon, is what they are calling ‘The Ultimate Champions’ match, an exhibition game between teams representing Italy and Europe, and featuring such household names as Rudi Voller, Rui Costa, Frank Rijkaard, Michael Laudrup, Bruno Conti, Ian Rush, Alessandro Costacurta, Leonardo and, er, Graham Le Saux.

One fears for the health of such grand old men, since Rome is currently baking in a freak, early summer heatwave with temperatures soaring into the 90s. When national television feels it’s a story worth covering and even the locals are complaining about the heat well, then, you know it’s strictly scorchio.

The relative cool of the evening is the time to get the sight-seeing in, a dander down the Via del Corso from the Piazza del Popolo to the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain and beyond, never failing to put a spring in even the most weary step.

Fortunately, I’ve been here before with rather more time on my hands, which means that, as they say, I’ve already ‘done’ the Vatican. (“Jeez, look at the ceiling” etc).

This saves me a return trip with its inherent risk of putting some kind of jinx on tonight’s big game. Many at home will have fond memories of Jack Charlton and the Irish team getting their special audience with the Pope during Italia ‘90.

But I think the godless Eamon McCann was the only national observer at the time who was bold enough to point out that Ireland’s World Cup campaign was going great guns up until the moment they sought out divine inspiration. One trip to the Vatican and one Papal blessing later and, undone by the natives in tonight’s venue, the Stadio Olimpico, Jack and the lads were on the flight home to Dublin.

So perhaps best not to invoke the supernatural this time; anyway, the natural should be super enough. Few football matches in recent times have created as much heady expectation as tonight’s meeting of Barcelona and Manchester United, widely billed as a dream final in a dream city.

Well, Rome never lets you down. Here’s hoping the footie follows suit.