My Brother and I wanted to see a Serie A game whilst staying in Verona.
We arrived at Chievo's stadium looking naive, I gather, from the speed with which we were pounced on by a tout. We didn't speak much Italian. My brother came back from "the deal" happy enough, which said a lot because it was rare for my brother to hand over about £90 and feel happy about it. But our smiles were flipped upside down when a number of Italian fans, seeing the tout scamper off like a cat burgler, came over towards us to gesticulate that the tickets were "no good".
"How can they be no good?" I asked. Actually I said: "Errr... how come... no good?" (They knew what I meant.)
In reply I saw the sorriest of faces trying to explain to me that we had bought tickets for what appeared to be a little girl with big tits. Clearly the tickets were the same for women and children (but it took me months to figure that out). After many groans, sighs and scratches of heads, one of the fans decided to summon another tout. About eight Veronese stood around us gesticulating (the Italians do a lot of this) to one another as my brother and I prayed that eight Italians weren't about to scamper off in unison into a crowd like cat burglers. Instead, they got us tickets for the Internazionale end. My brother and I stood amongst smoke, flares and flags and sang "Veronese Pezzo De Merde" (to the tune of: You're so shit it's unbelievable). Apart from the eight superb gentlemen of Verona that had helped us earlier, we meant every Italian word.