The first objective is the equestrian monument of Vittorio Emanuele II, which was erected in the centre of Piazza del Duomo. This spot is inaccessible every other day of the year, with only idle pigeons populating it, weary from begging for crumbs from tourists. However, on the day of celebration, it transforms into the space that fans are keen to storm the most. A land of conquest where flags are waved instead of driven; a privileged position from which to infuse symbolism into the chant "Milano, it’s us," sung at the feet of the Madonnina, shining under a haze of smoke bombs. 

It happened again a few months ago [April 2024] when Inter won the historic championship of the second star, and fans swarmed around the monument like bees in a hive. This was just a small portion of the 300,000 people who flooded the city to paint it black and blue. According to those who were there—though one only has to look at the pictures—it was one of the most incredible celebrations ever to take place in Milan. Inter’s managing director, Beppe Marotta—who, while at Juventus, won seven championships—stated he had never experienced such emotion, sharing this sentiment with some of the most recent Inter players, who were astonished by the warmth of the frenzied crowd.

The traditional grammar of celebrations took the stage: the streets flooded with people and emptied of rules; the city transformed into the set of a post-apocalyptic movie in which authorities disappeared and everything, or almost everything, was allowed. 

The traditional grammar of celebrations took the stage: the streets flooded with people and emptied of rules; the city transformed into the set of a post-apocalyptic movie in which authorities disappeared and everything, or almost everything, was allowed. In less than an hour, jubilant crowds overflowed the streets. Tractors, parade floats depicting Inter players, cars, and other vehicles personalised with the distinctive aesthetic of Inter fans blared their horns as they crawled along at five kilometres per hour. 

The images of the crowd, thronged in a slice of space, resemble impressionist paintings. The critical framework that, for more than a century, has underpinned philosophical theories on mass movements—the loss of values, control, and individual restraints alienated by the crowd—takes on an almost positive meaning. It is built, first and foremost, on love and passion. That night, people of all ages wore Inter t-shirts, both historic and new. Carrying celebratory objects, they joined groups of strangers to sing, jump, and dance.

Corso Sempione, Porta Venezia, piazza Cordusio—the city transformed into a concrete jungle, where crowds climbed onto traffic lights, lampposts, platform roofs, billboards, and any other street element to gain visibility and grasp the magnitude of the celebration. Hovering above the human wave, they carved out intimate spaces in this vast, experimental communion. Covering the seven kilometres of the celebratory walk planned from San Siro to Piazza del Duomo, took the two open-top coaches carrying Inter’s players and technical staff a staggering eight hours. Forced to slow to a crawl by the ecstatic crowd, they moved in a procession reminiscent of local festivals, where rivers of people follow the feretory bearing a saint’s simulacrum. 

They moved in a procession reminiscent of local festivals, where rivers of people follow the feretory bearing a saint’s simulacrum. 

Here, however, there was no reliquary bust to venerate, but players of flesh and blood to praise—and the devotion was expressed in far less restrained ways. In an atmosphere of pure ecstasy, Inter fans shouted words of love and gratitude to the players, offering t-shirts and cherished objects to be signed, waving flags, and displaying banners—one of which ended up in the hands of Denzel Dumfries, depicting him holding a leashed dog with the face of Theo Hernandez, the ultimate derby rival. A mockery gesture that unfailingly accompanies every celebration, and one that, in the days that follow—once the frenzy has subsided—sparks moralistic reactions and prompts the Federal Public Prosecutor’s Office to open an investigation.

At that moment, the threshold separating players from fans, and playgrounds from stands, disappears; both at the stadium and in life. During the celebration, they merge into one body, rejoicing together, exchanging chants that echo off on the buildings and the symbolic sites of a city split in two—half on the streets, half locked in their houses, waiting for the emotional storm to pass. The exciting Via Crucis concluded with the arrival in Piazza del Duomo, where, after midnight and an exhausting day, thousands of people had been waiting for hours for the team’s couches and the multitude of fans who had followed them along the way.

They then lit the last remaining smoke bombs, sang with what voice they had left, bounced with the final strength, and rejoiced at the players who overlooked the Duomo’s terrace: the pulpit from which they proclaimed their supremacy in the city. Two years earlier, we had witnessed the same scenes but painted in red and black. That celebration had been just as memorable. Milan hadn’t won the championship in eleven years, we were no longer used to seeing Milan transformed by collective ecstasy. Inter had won the year before, ending ten years of drought, but it was a time when curfews and social distancing were still in the air. The fans celebrated with restraint, shyly gathering, careful not to exchange too many droplets as they sang through their face masks.

Milan’s celebration marked the triumphant return of the football crowd’s power. The first true celebrations took place in a Milan that, during the dark decade of its two clubs, had completely transformed—renewing and modernising itself. But no restyling, progress, or sophistication can contain the explosion of tifo. Though polished and reshaped by make-up, Milan was overwhelmed by the flood of a population in celebration. Perhaps nothing captures the essence of festivity better than what happens when football fans take to the streets.