The City of Juventus

Buford finally made it to the home of the “Fucking Eyeties”, to the city of “Juventus”,  as a fellow friend of his from the ballistic crowd referred to.  He seems a little more comfortable mixing with the rest of the Hooligans, but once again his  caustic tone gives him away when he is forced to describe  “the murals on the flesh”(48). His corrosive comments about the satanic themed tattoos are already a sign that this guy is borderline freaked out! Still, in the mist of the forked tongues and abundance of flames tracing through their shoulders, Buford can still squeeze in a little humor here and there. An obsessively tattooed person could not be better described than a walking billboard because clearly “you could only conclude that this was what he had decided his function in life would be; it was his career” (49). But wait it gets better! Not only is he making himself extremely sarcastic while describing a situation that could turn into a blood bath (and it will), but he is using satire to make fun of those who are willing to tattoo the name of the mid field player across their forehead: “in the hope, perhaps, that Robson would neither be traded to another football club nor ever die” (49). He even uses a little bit of facetious humor when he describes Tony Roberts skin as the same as Michael Jackson’s…    JA          JA             JA.  Yes people if you got the joke it was supposed to make you laugh.

Once in Italy, Buford for the first time questions himself about the true meaning of his trip. He finally realized that his whole journey was a little crazy, probably making it a turn point if it weren’t for the story about the Star journalist. His whole purpose is finally clearer than ever and it’s no surprise that he wants to see the action, he wants to experience the sole thing the Hooligans are known for and banned for throughout the world: violence.