At a very rough estimate I'd say the ground could hold upwards of 6 - 7,000 punters. The Albalonga game probably had less than a third of that. Still, a decent turnout for a league that gets little in the way of public recognition either on TV or in the weekly pink sports paper "Gazzetta Della Sport". Indeed, through pages and pages of Serie A complete with big bright pictures and loud headlines, you head into a few pages of Serie B, and a single page of Serie C (despite this league featuring many regional leagues). Turning over the page, fully expecting half a page on all the Serie D leagues, there's nothing. Well, basketball anyway. Who reads that?! Not sure about the other local teams around the Golfo di Napoli area, but Sorrento do their best to advertise their games pretty loudly on lurid posters around town. 1,500ish for a non game in a small city known more famously for its British, American and German tourists than its 'calcio' (pronounced 'kalcheeo'- football) is a damn fine turnout. Perhaps it's because Napoli have been so poor for so long that folks can no longer be bothered to take the 1 hour Circumvesuviana train ride to the region's capital. Who knows.

However, to this year. Sorrento's Serie D season so far has been excellent, by and large. Barring the annoying disappointment against lesser opponents where three points appeared a certainty pre-kick-off, Sorrento have had a damn fine season. Knocking on the door of the play-off zone for the past month or two, I get the impression it's a season to remember. Those 30 years away from Serie C have undoubtedly been tough - after all, it was probably the last time Panini featured them in it's Italia Calcio sticker book - and with their fate very much still in their own hands, promotion is a definite possibility.

On my way to the stadium I noticed something this year that I didn't recall from last year - traffic diversions away from the ground. Regardless, I headed onwards up the Via Correale towards the ground. Then the junction. Hmmm. Turn left onto Via Califano and head to the stand I was in last year, or turn right onto Via Rota to where the Hell's Army will be situated behind the goal? I HATE watching football from behind the goal as it gives such a skewed perspective of the game - particularly when the game's being played up the other end. TRUTH: All off-side protestations from these fans can safely be ignored. However, as the result didn't matter that much to me I chose having a skewed view of the match in order to experience life amongst the Hell's Army. I turned right onto Via Rota.

As soon as the sweep of the corner was negotiated the roar of the crowd was evident, bouncing off the walls of the surrounding hotels and apartments and seemingly rolling down from the hills above Sorrento as well. I was now gutted I'd missed the first 10 minutes but well pleased I'd made the effort. Missing the Town the day before, I was up for some football. I quickly bought my ticket from the guy in an unlit room, behind the thick metal barred hole in the thick cold concrete wall that looked for all the world like it was a WWII pill box gun emplacement. 'Perhaps they use it as such whenever they Napoli in the Coppa Italia', I thought. "Scusi, dici euro?", I asked the guy in nervous Italian, luckily understanding that I was after a 10 Euro ticket and not 10 Euros worth of sex. "Nord, Sud?" was his response. I chose the south terrace, anxiously. Forgetting Italian I asked for any merchandise "flags, shirts, scarves??", "No, sorry. Please take the ticket and turn at the first left - here" he indicated. Gutted, but never mind. Twenty yards later and I was at the Sud gate where I handed over my ticket to a stern looking local, who with no English spoken, obviously questioned my sanity for going 'Sud'. No, I insisted, I'm quite happy here. Safety was of no concern, after all I'd survived an hour in Llansantffraid after dark, what could the sleepy off-season riviera of the Amalfi coast conjure up?

I made my way down the slope towards the ground, past the rows of Caribinerei giving me the once over, and into the fray. And what a fray! The place was blummen packed. A good 4,000 I reckon. The stadium is pretty attractive compared to most WPL stadia, with three distinctive uncovered seating areas for supporters. I had a quick glance at the action and noticed immediately that one team was in black and white, and the other red and white. This was confusing, as Sorrento play in black and red stripes (similar to AC Milan). Are they the team with a bit of black, or the team with a bit of red? I'd find out when I took my 'seat' and settled into it I decided. I turned the corner to where the chanters, singers and moshers were and was confronted by over 1,000 Savioa fans decked out in black and white and wearing 'Savoia Ultras' hooded tops! I WAS IN THE WRONG END!! Unless there's been a change of policy, or by insistence of the Calcio Caribinerei (the special football police) due to Savoia's numbers, the fans had switched ends. I squinted my eyes down to the other end, and there were the Hell's Army, significantly smaller in numbers, situated at the temporary seating Nord stand that was unoccupied last year when I came.

Behind the goal is a 12ft high metal fence which arches over at the top in order to stop anybody clambering over. On top of this, to dissuade potential throwers of bottles and flares, is a further 15ft high catchment net. Today, it was working overtime. Directly behind the goal Savoia were attacking, the end with the away fans and myself, was a shirtless individual with a megaphone on top of the metal fence one minute cheerleading, the next minute barking obscenities to the Sorrento 'keeper. It was fun, and an eye-opener, but I felt a little uncomfortable being a Sorrento fan amongst this lot. Around the fringes of the Savioa Ultras (I also saw a30 foot banner exclaiming 'Piranhas!' too) were the families or blokes with their wives, girlfriends etc, mostly seated, mostly watching the match. Little kids were hurling plastic bottles at the fence everytime Sorrento got the ball - knowing full well they couldn't loft it over, after all if there's a net there to catch stuff you should at least throw stuff at it to make it worth while - while everybody else was happy enough to whistle furiously and constantly. Hell's Army, for all its knee-trembling bluster, were drowned out. It was like being locked in a room with over 1,000 excitable Neil Whites.

Then, disaster! A Sorrento player has handled the ball in the box and the ref, Mr di Campobasso, awards the 35th minute penalty. Meanwhile, the Savoia fans have really lost it now. Lots of rushing down to the fence to kick it, climb it, or to gob on the nearest Sorrento player available. The first 4 or 5 steps in the stand are empty because there are so many banners on the fence one has to be that high up to see the pitch. After the hail of abuse and celebration, most fans retreat back up their positions in order to see the penalty. Aruta, the Savoia #11 nonchalantly sticks it in and a great roar erupts from the away fans. Aruta and others all leap up onto the fence and the Savioa fans do likewise - rather like a passionate meeting in a prison between an inmate and his girl only to be divided by the glass. A.S. Sorrento 0 Savoia 1. Feck, this wasn't going to do Sorrento's play-off ambitions any good. Although Savioa are well away points wise from Sorrento, the holiday town team desperately need the 3 points. A loss is no disgrace, but the play-offs are agonisingly close.

In the Tribuna Sud stand, amongst the 'away' Savoia support. They've just gone 1 up. Note shirtless guy with megaphone.

I decided to swallow my pride and go back up the ramp to the main gate and up to the stern looking local who'd queried my intent for such an experience, and plead my case of dumb holiday-maker ignorance in order to blag myself into the Tribuna Nord or the Tribuna Centrale - anywhere where there were pro-Sorrento voices to be heard. With a deep sigh and the international language of eyeball rolling, the gateman called over a rather senior looking copper who then, after studying the ticket front and back (the back was blank!) and studying me for longer, the gateman I imagine said something along the lines of "this English pillock is on holiday and can't hack it with the piranhas". The policeman then signed the back of ticket and told me to take it to the Tribuna Nord gate. Excellent! Grazie!

Quickly jogging around the ground, spying oranges and lemons on the trees and thinking that you wouldn't see that in Porthmadog, I was gutted to find that the north gate was completely locked up. Bastardi! 'I'll be buggered if I'm going back up the other end again', I thought - and quite possibly literally too. Spotting an old guy across the road apparently, and bizarrely, listening to the match on the radio, I asked for assistance. Obviously pleased to help, he rapped on the gate and shouted out something in southern Italian; "Got a prat out here on holiday", presumably. The gate creaked open and a walkie-talkie holding person in snappy designer Dolce & Gabbana shades peered round. There was then a conversation between the two, but it wasn't looking good - after all, I did have an away ticket and wanted access to the home end. As a last ditch attempt, I took the ticket and showed him the signature on the back and exclaimed 'Tribuna Sud Caribinerei!'. A bit of a ropey excuse that but it flew and I was in!

The genial chap who assisted me then attempted to gain access for himself on the strength that, perhaps, I had to be looked after and he should come in with me. Unfortunately, no ticket no entry and he was shoved aside. I just had chance to shake his hand and say grazie and hear his 'prego, prego' with a disappointed tone before the gate was shut on him.

Making my way up the more civilised middle stand, the Tribuna Centrale, I had a terrific view of the match, the astro turf, and the stunning Campania backdrop. No sooner had I found a tiny spot for myself at the back (actually standing on the back wall of the stand holding tight to a fence), then there was a tap on my shoulder and the guy who had let me in motioned if I wanted to go into the Tribuna Nord with the Hell's Army. Great! I've since wondered about this, and why he did it. Was he worried I was a trouble maker and wanted me somewhere where I could be handled? An old man came across and unlocked a tall gate in the fence which led into what was to all intents and purposes a small pen. Once this gate was locked behind us, he unlocked the next one that led into the stand itself. It was like the opening sequence of 'Prisoner: Cell Block H'. I was rather moved that they were going to all this effort for little ol' me. It wasn't too long though that I thought that if it ever kicked-off in here, there'd be no way out. It was a concern. The complete and utter lack of stewarding and/or policing down this end was also a concern. Some old guy with a key?! Come on! You get use to the lack of stewarding and policing in the WPL of course, but if it gets nasty there you can simply hop over the nearest stile and leg it into the next county and chance you luck with the local sheep. Here I was, an obvious outsider with an away ticket locked amongst 4 or 5 hundred of Sorrento's most vociferous following - the Hell's Army. This certainly wasn't the sedate obscure mid-table clash of last year; there was honour at stake as well as points. How dare Savioa bring so many fans with them and whistle so loudly!

At half-time, after hearing other results come through, you can always let off smoke cannisters if you like.

Up the other end, the away fans respond in kind. (note ever present meshing!)
Sorrento were in change colours of white and red this time around.

Sadly, the Sorrento smoke appeared to take on a more orange tinge than blood-red, all good fun though.

One Sorrento fan, overweight and in his early 50s, hilariously had a 15ft piece of plastic piping. Other large plastic poles were present but these were holding flags, this guy just had a pole. Nevertheless, there he was swaying his pole above his head in wide sweeps as if there was some kind of invisible Sorrento flag attached - quite what the affect was from the other end of the ground I can't tell you. After a minute of this, he carefully placed it back on the ground up against the steps to the small stand out of harm's way. A little later, a kid in a Brazil top spotted the pole and went to pick it up but was spotted by the owner and was quickly rebuked. Was this a magic bit of piping? What was its appeal?

1-1! This exultant fan claws away desperately to reach his heroes.
Sorrento have just equalised from the penalty spot.

After a rare 2nd half Savioa attack, Sorrento get the spot-kick

Squeezed in with a shoe-horn, the Tribuna Centrale crowd look on

The singing, chanting and moshing was all Sorrento's. Savoia were reduced to whistling constantly, whether they had the ball briefly or not. Savoia were not getting a look in, it was impressive particularly as Savoia were 13 points higher up the table than Sorrento, comfortably in the play-off zone. Perhaps that was their problem - no hunger. It only seemed a matter of time before Sorrento would seriously threaten a winner. With minutes remaining, a screaming curling shot headed towards the Savoia goal's top-left corner and apparently crashed into the side netting sending more than a few of us up the other end shouting and jumping. Alas, I was the only one to shout "Yeessss!! Get in there!!" which caused a few turned heads, raised eyebrows, and a few titters.

More pressure, but the minutes were ticking away. Suddenly, mass confusion in the Savoia box and a few Sorrento players hugged each other on the halfway line. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still as players and thousands of fans silently consulted the ref and lino…

GOAL! 2-1! Serie C here we come!

The Hell's Army begin their celebrations as Sorrento go 2-1 up with minutes remaining - check out the 'keeper.

What better way to celebrate a goal than kicking a hole in the fence? Not sure if it's a family of fence climbers or not. You can still see Teta the goal scorer struggling with his shirt.

With minutes remaining, the Hell's Army sense that crucial victory coming their way

However, spotting a similarly positioned match poster as the one I took home as a memento last year, I guessed that a few minutes negotiating another memento wouldn't be noticed by the missus. With a disappointingly minor improvement in my Italian skills since last year, it was mostly hand signs that got me another poster ready to be framed. Tidy. All in all the experience was totally different to last year's match (7 goals in two games, not bad though), but was far more enjoyable. There was that one particular bowel-loosening moment soon after the final whistle when exit was denied and we remained locked up, but a buzz all the same.

Finally getting out of the ground, it was a short stroll up the Via Califano back into town. With a few others.

Gotta love that.

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