sovietcigarettesandstuff:

Two Italians, a Croatian guy, two Spanish guys, a Czech guy, a Polish guy, a Portuguese guy and two French guys meet after work to watch the match. 

They drink, they laugh, they swear, they order pizza, they cheerfully tell the French guys they’re screwed, they threaten a civil war during the Portugal-Poland match, they suffer, they randomly cuddle the Croatian guy (the so-called buffer zone between over-excited Spanish people and drama-prone Italians), they swear to god they’re gonna kick France’s arse because of reasons. 

Then, when the match is over, and Italy has won, they go for additional beers, and yours truly spends a couple of hours trying to plan an escape route all the way to the Balkans, all the way to Trieste. 

And you feel at home, you feel like you never left, you get carried away by the taste of memories and roads you could draw on a map with your eyes shut, and you are happy, and marginally drunk. 

And the lovely, kinda bratty sort-of-manager sends you a message to tell you Italy was great, and the chocolate you bought him to persuade him that being stuck at work didn’t suck that much was actually really nice. 

And you’re happy, planning to conquer the Balkans once again, and you shout in the Polish night that the Croatian guy should really learn the song about the tramway from Obcina. 

Because come on, if you managed, everyone can. 

WYGRALYSMY, KURWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! 

Esattamente questo, intendevo.