The agonising international break, worse than coitus interruptus

It remains unclear who devised this three-week hiatus for the Nations League, but it is evident that navigating the interlude unscathed will require considerable fortitude—not only because the Premier League will be absent, but also because the international fixtures are less appealing than an evening without a properly poured lager. Two consecutive weekends without league fixtures, so soon after the campaign began, are particularly painful. Not only do they deprive us of the joy of witnessing goals and intricate plays, but they also subject us to an unrelenting barrage of media chatter: it is true that the summer break is longer, but at least the transfer window provides some compensation. In truth, few people genuinely care about the national teams—and this is particularly true in Italy: players are already withdrawing from training camps on the basis of medical reports that would make Molière blush; clubs complain about the call-ups but then become outraged if the national team fails to qualify for the World Cup; and supporters show little interest either. Generally speaking, even journalists pay little attention; apart from the brief periods immediately before and after the matches, they have little content with which to fill newspapers, websites and social media. And that is where the aforementioned nonsense comes in: jokes passed off as news, gossip masquerading as investigative reporting, trivia from the Turkish league presented as crucial, the inevitable interviews with the usual former players recounting for the hundredth time that one time when… and the media rummaging through the rubbish of footballers’ social media profiles whilst on holiday to let us know what the famous striker ate and which girl the well-known midfielder ‘liked’.

It is a problem that plagues everyone, let us be clear: yesterday, The Guardian opened its online sports page with a cartoon about the owner of Manchester United, before going on to criticise ‘the pseudoscience that is misleading football’ and having Aurélie Csillag of Liverpool explain her idea for making women’s football more inclusive (provided she doesn’t do as in the latest series of the TV show Ted Lasso, perhaps the worst advertisement for women’s football seen in the last ten years – women’s football matches excluded, of course). This is still preferable to the situation in Italy, where, as with any self-respecting league break, the obligatory Francesco Totti interview rolls around. This time it is the turn of extracts from his new book – “gnamme”, as she would say – in which he mixes amusing anecdotes with former teammates (to be recounted exclusively in Roman dialect), rehashed reflections on his relationship with Spalletti, and Hamlet-esque, titillating eighth-grade details about his relationship with Noemi (“do I stick my tongue out or not?”), and serious passages on coming to terms with grief. Yet there is no safe space: once Totti has been set aside, readers are presented with Costacurta’s affair as recounted by Martina Colombari, fans kissing the stone where Salah sat, Belen dating Okoye, and the Argentine giving the Nazi salute while wearing a Fiorentina shirt.

Do you realise, you bloody bastards who’ve come up with this international break – longer than a VAR review back in the good old days – what you’ve condemned us to for the next three weeks? At least apologise. And get me a drink straight away, please.