From the ages of 7 to 17 I proudly was the one and only Italian following the Eurovision Song Contest. When I say ‘proudly’ I mean instead ‘scared gutless worrying that there must be something wrong with me.
Italy stopped broadcasting the live show long before stopping taking part, but I kept watching it on Slovenian and Croatian TV channels.
Then I moved abroad, and lo and behold, I found out I was not the only one! Needless to say, all the other fans I met were either gay or Icelandic (or both).
We previewed the songs. We had parties. We filled in scoresheets. We debated, discussed and showed outrage at the blatant regional voting.
Last year I made it to the host country for the first time, and I had a hell of a great time with a bunch of friends at the live event in Athens.
This year I listened to the songs in disbelief, and I instantly knew that it was not for me. I feel a bit like a fraud, like I’ve betrayed my own self.
You know how sometimes you wish you could go back and tell your teenage self ‘Do not worry; everything will turn out alright’? Well, I wish I could tell him ‘Go and listen to some decent music ferchrissakes!”
Having said that, tomorrow I’m going to a Eurovision Song Contest party. I have no idea who got through from last night’s semifinal (my wild guess is all the former Eastern bloc countries voted each other through). I’ve got a feeling there’s going to be a lot of Flying Your Fag (For You). I cannot wait.