Imagine what might happen if the Atlas Lions were actually to win the cup. How many young French or Spanish people of Moroccan origin, second or third generation, would rediscover that their true sense of belonging lies elsewhere?

The rapper from Secondigliano and those phrases that could just as easily be uttered by a shop assistant in Orvieto, a physicist from Canicattì or a footballer from Mestrina. A single language unites the whole country: it is not Italian, even though it resembles it

The Strait of Hormuz reopens, oil prices fall, a glimmer of hope is in sight, but these genocidal regimes won’t give up – do they want to keep bombing even more than Trump?

What happens when an intellectual class systematically forces the society that hosts it – including other intellectuals – to deal with serious matters in a foolish way, or with foolish matters in a pedantic way? This is the situation in Italy

My niece played me a song by The Cure; in return, just for fun, I read her a short story of mine – I’d only just written it. It’s very short, a bit like "The Old Man and the Sea", but with an even older protagonist, and even shorter

 I share the patriotism and envy the enthusiasm of Futuro Nazionale, but I continue to applaud the old lion from Modena

Amidst family drama and kinship issues, Stefano Lorenzetto’s sleepless nights spent scrutinising the newspapers