‘The Maremmano is good,’ they would say. ‘He must’ve been trained with the wild colts. The herdsmen taught him a bunch of sly tricks.’

The gibes and taunts, since I was certain that they contained some sincere praise, did not in fact irritate me. I would smile and the others quickly fell silent. We were now close to the end of the championship with a good chance of coming in first, and I promised myself that, because of services rendered in the school’s honour – imagine a game won by a single point that I had scored – I would not be called ‘Maremmano’ in future. In the last match, however, an ugly incident occurred. On the way downfield I happened to turn my back to the opposing goal. They passed me the ball from the right. I turned to shoot on the volley. The goalie had guessed the move and dived forward to block both leg and ball, but my kick caught him squarely in the mouth. He passed out. I had broken three of his teeth. His mates heaped threats on me. I said that I hadn’t done it on purpose, it was an accident, I was a close friend of the goalie, who was staying in the very same pensione as me, but the students supporting the other squad, who were very numerous in the audience, began to shout, ‘Maremmano, Maremmano, Maremmano.’

I saw red, and turning towards the spectators who were shouting more loudly, I made an obscene gesture. The referee sent me off the field. As I was leaving, the shouts and insults intensified. I saw that even the girls were shouting.

‘Maremmano, Maremmano, Maremmano – he comes from G.’

My team-mates must have been among those who were shouting. How else could everyone know that I was born in G.? I felt deprived of any solidarity and, head lowered, I walked towards the dressing room.

‘Maremmano, Maremmano, Maremmano, you’re still wearing those shaggy knee socks.’

The fact that the others didn’t like my knee socks was unimportant to me. It was a question of taste. I have always liked woollen things, hand-made and rather heavy. To me the socks were very handsome, and I didn’t blame them for my troubles, even though they were constantly the object of critical remarks and satire. On that occasion too, I was angered above all by the injustice my tormentors were committing against G. by continuing to believe that it was located in the Maremma. I went back to the spectators and sought to explain the error that those ignorant people were making, but by dint of the laughter, shouts, pushes and even kicks in the trousers, I was chased to the dressing room.

The next day the headmaster summoned me and suspended me for a week because of the gesture I had made to the spectators, a gesture that dishonoured the school. I opened my heart to the headmaster, hoping that at least he might understand that G. was not in the Maremma. He listened to me at length, but his face wore the same derisive expression as my classmates’, and at the end of my speech, he confirmed the punishment. Perhaps he believed that I was something of an idiot.