Inheriting defeat at the Palio di Siena

By constantly chasing victory, one risks finding oneself mired in defeat. This is true of all sports, but it is particularly true of the Palio di Siena, a race that has nothing to do with the spirit of Coubertin, a horse race that is anything but chivalrous. The aim is to finish first, to hoist the banner and take it back to one’s headquarters after parading it triumphantly through the city’s streets. Nothing else matters. No medals for the runners-up. No records to go down in history. No fine performance to console oneself with. Victory is elevated to a system. Thus, defeat becomes a collective and shared condition. Every triumph is unique, recognisable, poised to go down in history for a single detail. Defeats, on the other hand, are all alike. You can lose by coming last or second, by metres or centimetres, by falling or by lagging behind. But in Siena, in a rather unique way, you can lose a Palio without even running it. Because the seven contrade that did not race on the tuff and merely watched the others did not even have the chance to end their winless streak. 

The boundary is absolute. A single millimetre is enough to separate liberation from an immediate return to waiting. Defeat thus becomes total and all-encompassing. Just consider that in Siena there is no word to describe the contrada that has won the most Palios, but there is one to refer to the one that has not won for the longest time. It is the ‘nonna’ – the one who wears the ‘cuffia’ that was once, indeed, worn by grandmothers. It is a symbol that becomes a fate. For it is not made of fabric, but of years. An acknowledgement that is both ironic and terrible, which becomes a public condition. The whole of Siena knows who is wearing it. And they do nothing but emphasise it. Each new race can reassign it or make it even harder to bear. But its cruellest feature is that it can be inherited. A contradaiolo may be born into a wait that began before his time, receiving not only the colours, rivalries, anthems and victories handed down through the generations, but also the void of a success never witnessed – a void that sometimes lasts a lifetime. The Leocorno went 72 consecutive years without a win (between 1704 and 1776 – some 26,300 days, enough time to see at least three generations come and go), wearing the "cuffia" for 55 races in a row. In more recent times, the Torre has been chasing victory for 44 years (from 16 August 1961 to 16 August 2005), the Bruco for 41 (from 2 July 1955 to 16 August 1996), and the Selva for 34 (from 16 August 1919 to 16 August 1953). The Nicchio and the Chiocciola are the only ones not yet to have triumphed in this century. 

At the Palio, however, accumulated time confers no rights. Each Carriera starts from scratch, without erasing the weight of previous ones. Thus, entire lives are spent dreaming of a success that may well drift further away rather than draw nearer. On the other hand, victory is unpredictable. A contrada may have been allocated the best horse and hired the most skilled jockey, but this merely increases the chances of success; it does not guarantee it. This is another reason why jockeys who manage to snatch victory from a contrada go down in legend. 

In the early 20th century, Alfonso Menichetti, known as Nappa, managed to "beat" Pantera (3 July 1904), Aquila (16 August 1906) and Chiocciola (2 July 1911). It was precisely this last feat that would go down in history. For, in an attempt to prevent him from winning, a local lad, known as Piaccina, threw his dog between the legs of Chiocciola’s horse. 

Stories from days gone by, when jockeys were nicknamed "assassins". But there are recent ones too. On 3 July, Tittia led the Aquila to victory. The contrada hadn’t won since 3 July 1992 and had been ‘nonna’ since July 2016, when the Lupa claimed the victory in July and then went on to complete a sensational ‘cappotto’ in August. On that day, the Nicchio contrada – which wasn’t even racing – became "nonna" "thanks" to a 28-year winless streak. It is a paradox that guarantees the very survival of the Palio. In sport, a run of defeats empties the stadiums and dampens enthusiasm. In Siena, exactly the opposite happens. Victory is the exception; defeat is the glue that holds all the contrade together. The more they lose, the more they hope, the more they unite, the more they identify with their territory, and the harder they strive to do better to defy fate. It’s all part of a cycle that repeats itself race after race. 

This is yet another reason why the crown cannot be destroyed. With every victory, it is snatched from one person and sewn onto another. L’Aquila waited thirty-four years to rid itself of something it had never worn. For Nicchio, simply seeing another’s horse arrive was enough for twenty-eight years of drought to become, in an instant, his own condemnation.

The Chiocciola will also be competing in this Palio; it has not won since 1999 and is first in line to succeed. Should the Nicchio win, the San Marco contrada will receive the cap in a sort of reverse coronation; otherwise, everything will remain as it is. Because at the Palio, the ‘nonna’ can only end her wait by passing it on to someone else.