The Run of Play is a blog about
the wonder and terror of soccer.
We left the window open during a match in October 2007 and a strange wind blew into the room.
Now we walk the forgotten byways of football with a lonely tread, searching for the beautiful, the bewildering, the haunting, and the absurd.
Hovering beside the last letter of the regret I feel at not being able to speak Italian is a tiny asterisk, which, when clicked, jumps your browser page down to the following sentence: “Regret does not apply within the confines of the Juventus locker room.” In the case of this commercial, incomprehension is a double blessing, because it also means I can invent a new script every time I watch it to explain why the Juventus players suddenly decide to forgive Amauri and send him on a tropical cruise at the end. Here’s what I’d like to think happens.
0:06 — Amauri is substituted for De Ceglie.
0:09 — Juventus play as if energized by Amauri’s departure. Camoranesi bears down on goal.
0:11 — Amauri, in the locker room, peels off his shirt, revealing his shining naked skin as the announcer cries out Camoranesi’s name.
0:13 — Unthinkingly, Amauri hangs his shirt on the master control switch for all the lights in the stadium, which is of course situated directly beside the team showers.
0:14 — The weight of the shirt pulls the switch down, plunging the stadium into a total blackout. “Noooo!” the announcer cries. “Are you just going to leave me like this?”
0:21 — All the Juventus players file into the locker room, because stadium maintenance issues are handled collectively by the entire Juventus team.
0:25 — Camoranesi finds Amauri’s shirt as Amauri, now wearing only a towel, strides toward him out of the showers.
0:27 — Playfully, Camoranesi throws the shirt at Amauri, who’s towelling off.
0:29 — Rubbing lightly at his tresses, Amauri proclaims, “I am a seasoned killer, and I will destroy you if you resist me.”
0:30 — The Juventus players are persuaded by Amauri’s logic.
0:31-0:40 — Amauri takes a cruise, where he receives a massage from a lady with a lint brush and engages a 9-year-old boy in a game of beach-ball head-tennis. A smoky, reassuring, grandfatherly voice—the president of Costa Cruciere cruise lines—pleads with the police to save the ship from Amauri, who has taken it over and set it on a course for the sheer ice cliffs of Antarctica.
[via The Beautiful Game]
Read More: Juventus
by Brian Phillips · January 19, 2009