The lights are about to turn on

When I was a teenager, I played rugby on a team full of grown-ass men. As the youngest person on the roster, it was an educational experience. Not so much in the sport, perhaps, but the social aspect of rugby is well-documented and pretty true. The guys were a close-knit bunch and kindly opened their ranks to accept me, providing me with my first experience going out to the bars in the US.

It wasn’t just very cool to hang out with a bunch of ruggers as a kid. It opened doors for me, often literally: many of the bouncers at various venues around town were now teammates and would let me in without even checking my fake ID, which was a kindness but also hilariously irresponsible, given my immaturity. Fortunately, my natural introversion prevented me from getting too deep into the club scene, but as I blundered through my undergraduate studies, I ended up on a list of rugby players who worked as doormen. Cash money, hours outside class, and hanging out with acquaintances? Yeah, it was good work.

It was, for the most part, pretty tame. I had no Swayze-in-Roadhouse moments and spent most of the time sitting out front, bored as hell. By the end of the night, I was so ready for 1:55. It wasn’t just the usual joy of getting out of work. It was also the birdwatching aspect of seeing the overhead lights flick on as the dregs of the evening winced. I learned a lot about who hangs out until closing time on a Wednesday.

More than that, though, I relished the sweaty desperation of those newly light-bathed faces. Everyone who stuck it out that late was there looking for something, obviously. It wasn’t just someone to go home with, or at least not always. Many of the patrons just wanted someone to talk to, to connect with, to reach through the curtain and experience the proximity of another human being.

I’m not a sadist and seeing everyone’s blinking eyes rolling around, looking for someone who probably wasn’t even in the building didn’t bring me pleasure. Normally I felt a detached pity that they’d reached this point. But if you cut through the drunkenness and the forced bonhomie, there’s something elegiac about the yearning, the hunger on display and the way everyone’s trying to hide it. I thought I was a poet back then and felt like I was getting necessary glimpses into the human spirit.

That was nearly 20 years ago and I haven’t made it to 2 AM at a bar in a very long time but the impressions remain. And, as the clock ticks down on another transfer window, it’s exactly where Fiorentina is right now: there are less than 24 hours left until the transfer window slams shut again. For a team that’s about a dozen places lower in the table than it expected, that’s a problem.

While Roberto Goretti (and the shadowy fingers of Fabio Paratici) deserve credit for reshaping the squad by adding wingers (Manor Solomon, Jack Harrison) and mezzale (Marco Brescianini, Giovanni Fabbian) while shedding some of the summer’s larger blunders (Hans Nicolussi Caviglia, Simon Sohm, Edin Džeko), there are still some obvious holes in this roster.

The most obvious is another centerback. The rumor mill has churned out a steady stream of names: Diego Coppola, Radu Drăgușin, Diogo Leite, Axel Disasi, Daniele Rugani. There’ll probably be others. It’s obvious that the Viola need help at the back: Pietro Comuzzo and Marin Pongračić have been shaky, Luca Ranieri’s teetering on the brink of departure, Pablo Marí and Mattia Viti are already gone, and Eddy Kouadio and Eman Košpo are untested. Even if Ranieri stays, any absence to one of the top 3 centerbacks could plunge the team into disaster.

It’s not just the defense, though. Brescianini and Fabbian look like winning significant roles in this midfield already, battling with incumbents Nicolò Fagioli, Rolando Mandragora, and Cher Ndour for minutes. The problem is those are all midfielders who naturally get forward. There’s not a single water carrier among them and that’s exactly what Fiorentina needs: a donkey who’ll do the heavy lifting out of possession, win the ball, and protect the defense.

You could argue that there are other needs too. Recent injuries to Moise Kean and Roberto Piccoli, coupled with Džeko’s departure, mean that center forward is suddenly undermanned, although the brass may choose to let that one ride instead of investing further. The wings are also thin even with Solmon and Harrison arriving, although maybe Jacopo Fazzini can provide a bit of depth. Rightback’s also a mild concern since Vanoli doesn’t trust Niccolò Fortini much.

Basically, Fiorentina is sitting at the bar right now with its vision destroyed by the sudden appearance of overhead fluorescents and trying to figure out why there’s someone yelling, “Alright, finish your drinks and head for the exits.” It’s the time of the night (morning?) in which desperation seeps out through every pore and the worst decisions seem like strokes of genius. I’m intrigued but, like watching a bunch of drunks stumbling around the bar, I’m not optimistic about the immediate future.