The recent collapse of plans to export yet another chunk of the Italian domestic calendar to foreign soil isn’t a logistical hiccup; it is a stay of execution for the identity of Italian football. For the suits in Via Rosellini, the cancellation of overseas Serie A fixtures is a line item loss. For those of us who have worshipped at the altar of Calcio for decades, it is, indeed, an early Christmas present. It is a victory of heritage over the sterile, homogenized content farm that modern football administrators seem hellbent on creating.
The obsession with playing the Supercoppa—or worse, hypothetical league matches—in Saudi Arabia or the United States is a symptom of a league insecure about its standing. It is a desperate pantomime of relevance, chasing the Premier League’s global footprint without understanding what made Serie A the center of the universe two decades ago. We are trading the fog of the San Siro for the air-conditioning of Riyadh, and in doing so, we are selling a Ferrari engine to buy a Fiat chassis.
The Ghost of the Sette Sorelle
To understand why keeping these games domestic matters, one must look back at the gold standard: the era of the Sette Sorelle (Seven Sisters). Between 1990 and 2005, Serie A didn’t need to go to the world; the world came to Serie A.
Let’s contextualize the level of talent we are discussing. In 2003, AC Milan lined up with a defense of Paolo Maldini, Alessandro Nesta, Cafu, and Jaap Stam shortly after. They didn't need a roadshow in New Jersey to prove their worth. That backline was a cultural monument. Compare that gravitational pull to the current scudetto holders, Inter. While Simone Inzaghi has built a formidable machine, and Lautaro Martinez is a world-class operator, the aura is fundamentally different.
When Andriy Shevchenko stared down Gianluigi Buffon at Old Trafford in 2003, or when Pavel Nedved was tearing through midfields in Turin, the intensity was derived from the tribalism of the Italian peninsula. The product was the passion. By exporting the game to neutral venues filled with casual tourists rather than the Ultras of the Curva Sud or Nord, you strip the match of the very tension that makes it marketable.
"Football without the native atmosphere is just 22 millionaires running on grass. The noise of the Olimpico during a Derby della Capitale is not a background track; it is the 12th player. You cannot export that. You can only destroy it."
Tactical Devolution: The Ancelotti Paradigm vs. The Algorithm
The drive for overseas games is often justified by "growing the brand," but it ignores the tactical dilution that occurs in these exhibition-style environments. Returns from past Supercoppa matches in the Middle East show a slower pace, less aggression, and a distinct lack of the tactical claustrophobia that defines Italian football.
Cast your mind back to Carlo Ancelotti’s AC Milan of the mid-2000s. The famous "Christmas Tree" formation (4-3-2-1) was a masterpiece of midfield density. With Pirlo, Gattuso, Seedorf, and Rui Costa (or Kaka), the football was intellectual warfare. It required a pitch, an atmosphere, and a context that demanded perfection.
Modern Serie A is faster, more vertical, and statistically more in line with European averages for high-pressing actions. However, when these teams play in lifeless, cavernous stadiums abroad, that intensity evaporates. We saw it in previous Supercoppa iterations; the players treat it like a pre-season friendly because the emotional stakes are artificial. You cannot replicate the pressure of a cold Sunday night in Bergamo by flying 3,000 miles to play in 30-degree heat.
The Totti Factor: Loyalty vs. Liquidity
The rejection of overseas games is also a rejection of the mercenary culture that has eroded the league's romance. Francesco Totti remains the ultimate symbol of this. He rejected the Galacticos of Real Madrid to stay in Rome. He understood that lifting a single Scudetto with Roma was worth ten trophies elsewhere.
Today’s administrators seem to resent that locality. They view the deeply rooted regionalism of Italian football—the parochial hatred between Fiorentina and Juventus, or Napoli and the North—as a bug, not a feature. They are wrong. That regionalism is the product.
Below is a comparison of the distinct "flavor" of the league from its peak compared to the modern export model:
| Element | Golden Era (c. 2004) | Modern Export Era (2024) |
|---|---|---|
| Star Power | Ballon d'Or winners in nearly every top team (Zidane, Nedved, Shevchenko, Kaka). | Developing stars and savvy veterans; few current top-5 world players. |
| Atmosphere | Hostile, smoke-filled, deafening, parochial. | Sanitized for TV, often seeking neutral "family-friendly" global audiences. |
| Ownership | Patron-led (Moratti, Berlusconi, Sensi). Passion projects. | Private Equity and Hedge Funds (RedBird, Oaktree). Asset management. |
| Focus | Winning the Scudetto at all costs. | Brand expansion, social media engagement, fiscal sustainability. |
The Financial Fallacy
Proponents of the overseas games argue it is necessary for financial survival. They point to the Premier League’s TV rights dominance. This is a lazy argument. The Premier League didn’t become a juggernaut by playing Manchester United vs. Arsenal in Dubai in 1998. They built a compelling domestic product with high production values and filled stadiums.
Serie A’s financial woes stem from decades of crumbling infrastructure and a refusal to modernize stadiums within Italy. Juventus showed the way with the Allianz Stadium—owned by the club, compact, loud, and profitable. The rest of the league, hampered by bureaucracy, still plays in municipal relics. Flying teams to Riyadh for a quick cash injection is putting a band-aid on a gunshot wound.
If the cancellation of these games forces the Lega Serie A to look inward—to fix the crumbling concrete of the Maradona or the San Siro, to improve the fan experience for the people who actually buy the tickets every week—then it is the greatest gift the league has received in years.
Reclaiming the Ritual
There is a sanctity to the Italian Sunday. The ritual of the espresso, the walk to the stadium, the collective groan or cheer that echoes through a city. When you move a game to a different continent for a paycheck, you sever the connection between the club and the community. You turn a religion into a roadshow circus.
We do not need to see Inter Milan play a "home" game in New York to validate the quality of the football. We need Inter Milan to play Juventus in a packed San Siro where the tension is so thick you can taste the sulfur of the flares. That is the product the world fell in love with.
The fans are right to celebrate this cancellation. It is a reminder that football, at its core, belongs to the people who suffer for it, not the tourists who consume it. Let the Premier League have its global roadshows. Let Serie A keep its soul.