fucking furino!

The first leg of the semi-final of the European Cup; 11 April 1973 –
The Stadio Comunale, the black and the white; the black-and-white flags of 72,000 Juventus fans; Juventus, the Old Lady herself, in black and white:
Zoff. Spinosi. Marchetti. Furino. Morini. Salvadore. Causio. Cuccureddu. Anastasi, Capello and Altafini –
‘Dirty, dirty, dirty bastards,’ Pete is saying, saying before you even get to the bench, before you even get sat dowThe Stadio Comunale, the black and the white; the black-and-white flags of 72,000 Juventus fans; Juventus, the Old Lady herself, in black and white:
Zoff. Spinosi. Marchetti. Furino. Morini. Salvadore. Causio. Cuccureddu. Anastasi, Capello and Altafini –
‘Dirty, dirty, dirty bastards,’ Pete is saying, saying before you even get to the bench, before you even get sat down, before a ball has even been kicked.
For the first twenty-odd minutes, you ride the late tackles, the shirt-pulling and the gamesmanship –
‘They’re just bloody flinging themselves to the floor at the feet of the ref.’
The obstructing, the tripping, and the holding of players –
‘Dirty, diving, cheating, fucking Italian bastards.’
Then Furino puts his elbow in Archie Gemmill’s face. Gemmill trips him back, just a little trip, and Gemmill goes in the book –
‘Fuck off, ref! Fuck off!’ screams Pete. ‘What about fucking Furino?’