Coaching in Catania: The Sicilian Shuffle

Let me just start by saying no one died.

After a coaches meeting with the American players at the office of our team owner, Davide, Mel drove Luis and I to practice in our new Peugeot. Luis always gives me the death seat in front, purportedly so he can stretch his legs in the back, but we all know better. The Peugeot replaced the first car Mel wrecked on a trip back from Palermo when he missed about 5 miles of detour and speed limit warnings leading to the highway barrier that wedged itself under the car.

As we passed the Carne di Cavallo shop with a slab of horse ribs displayed on the sidewalk, and Mel once again describing the taste and texture of equineburgers, I could only sigh at the ultimate fate of those majestic, lean, beasts of burden seen trotting along the streets of Sicily with a rickshaw rider in tow. I returned my eyes to my window, only to see a motorcycle with 2 riders heading straight for me, about 10 feet away. In an instant, his bike slammed into my door and his helmet busted our windshield. The girl on the back, not wearing a helmet, began screaming uncontrollably while sitting in the street. A crowd quickly gathered, and I told Mel to call Davide, while others called 911. The riders were comforted where they fell, and I watched and listened in fear of a growing Sicilian lynch mob.

It quickly became obvious that the motorcycle driver ran a stop sign and struck our vehicle, and Mel had no culpability. (Fortunately, both vehicles had been travelling slowly.) In my medical opinion, as a juris doctor, neither rider appeared to sustain any serious injuries, though paramedics did put a neck brace on each of them before fumbling them onto stretchers and carrying them away in separate ambulances about an hour later. (We passed 2 other downed bikers later in the evening, and we see 1-2 per day on average; so these riders account for a large number of jobs in the emergency services sector.)

Because Mel had been driving without a license (not sure if he just forgot his wallet or ever had a license), which would apparently nullify the rental car insurance, Davide suggested maybe someone else might have been driving when the accident occurred. So, in the presence of about a hundred eye-witnesses, Mel informed me that I had been driving and he had to leave immediately to get to practice. I looked around, and Luis had already gotten the hell out of there, leaving just me, 2 bodies in the street, a wrecked car in the intersection, and a crowd of hostiles speaking gibberish and gesturing wildly. When Davide arrived, he confirmed I had been driving and then found and reviewed the rental car contract. When he determined the car had actually been rented in the name of Gustavo ("Goose"), a young Italian linebacker on the team, he quickly called Goose to advise he hustle to the scene of the accident, as the driver of our car. (Sometimes, you just have to admire Sicilian ways.) Happy to be off the hook, I informed Davide I must be on my way to practice, and left him there to address the police when they arrived. Hopefully, his newly designated driver would be there as well. (None of the bystanders seemed bothered in the least that all 3 people who were in the car had fled the scene.)

The good news is that we had a great practice (except for Goose and Davide), which is important because Milan has a solid team. Afterwards we walked back down the street in time to see the polizia wish Davide and Goose a pleasant evening. Mel and I then rode in the back of the car (the front passenger door no longer operable), and Luis drove us to get a kebab for dinner before seeking medicinal treatment at a new wine bar. Today, we will get a third car, if anyone will sign the rental contract...

Exhibit "A":

Last Sunday the Elephants had a pool barbecue at Christian's house after our game was cancelled. Christian plays outside linebacker at about 5'9' 170 pounds, and leads the IFL in tackles. Unfortunately, he doesn't speak a word of English, and yet Mel yells at him every practice screaming, "Why the #*&% do I have to tell you everything at least 8 *#&%* times!?"