Life and mythology in Cagliari in the early 1980s.

It must be said right away that being a teenager at that time was fun but it came with some risks.

One of the greatest fortunes was to experience the world epic of our 1982 football team.

One of the biggest risks, when bullying was not yet codified, was going out and then returning home with a torn shirt and a swollen eye.

But let's go in order.

As many know, in Cagliari there were many patchy areas where a boy or a girl did not have to go.

There were many nefarious creeks that presided over the territory.

Today there are grown men who will never admit that at the time they were taken by professional sballadoris.

People who beat you up with unlikely excuses:

- Are you looking at me wrong?

- Are you the one who hit my little brother?

Which also had the variant: They told me you beat my little brother in Piazza Giovanni

Finally: you were looking at my sister, weren't you?

Arrexionaus stood out among them.

Arrexionaus was a sort of Trojan horse in the open field challenges between rival groups.

Repeating endlessly:

-Guys, quiet, good, let's think, arrexionaus!

He proposed himself as an ambassador of peace, a mediator ready for reasoning and not at hand.

Advancing with his arms outstretched, almost a Christ on the cross, submissive, Gandian, pacifist, he reached a whisker from the face of the enemy leader.

And as he repeated again: Arrexionaus! Arrexionaus!

He knocked him down with a masterful header, starting the fight with a point of advantage.

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