My friends Ludovica and Nicola had a wedding party in Roma a week later the wedding, in a new place called THE APARTMENT, in San Lorenzo. They did it in order to have the chance to invite all their friends that couldn’t partipate at the wedding on the Island of Ponza. And since Nicola, besides being a brilliant film producer, has been a professional rugby player for a few years in Naples, he felt the duty to invite all his old team mates to the party. He knew what it have come out of this, I mean he certainly saw it coming, but he’s a man of honor and he did it. So at the wedding party you could see, among many glamourous people from the Italian film business (smiling distributors, beautiful actresses surrounding the directors, drunk screenwriters by themselves), a small group of big guys with incredibly large shoulders unconfortably wrapped in chip suites. Seeing those shoulders-sized guys speaking aming them with Neapolitan accent made me think of the Sopranos. Well, the show was about to begin. It all happened when the rugby old team got drunk. They soon felt the need from some tribal ritual. They chased poor Nicola, grabbed him, won his resistance, and in a few seconds they took his clothes off. He remained in under pants, brought him around the party as a trophy screaming and singing. But they weren’t happy yet. They wanted his underpants… And so, what they did? They took’em off from him and left him naked inside their screaming circle, on the balcony of this Apartment club. They tore his underpants up and sold the pieces away to the guests in a sort of improvised, grotesque auction. We – the guests – were laughing, but we were also a bit scared, inside. Thank God I played basketball.