A banner was unfurled on the curva sud an hour before kick-off here reminding, almost gently: "Easy to speak . . . difficult to pardon." Painful memories of the Heysel Stadium disaster hung heavy in this arena last night, with the local mood summed up neatly in those simple white letters on a red background. For many in Turin, it has not been possible to forget.
This was the first competitive meeting in this city since 39 Juventus supporters lost their lives when a wall collapsed after a charge by Liverpool fans before the 1985 European Cup final in Brussels. Attempts to cultivate a spirit of amicizia (friendship) in the first leg at Anfield last week had been greeted with derision by some Juve partisans, their ultras turning their backs on the pre-match ceremony aimed at reconciliation. For a while here last night, 20 years of simmering enmity threatened to boil over into violence.
There were ugly scenes both inside and outside the ground before kick-off, initially as a group of about 50 Juventus fans wielding batons clashed with riot police outside the stadium. The carabinieri, who were pelted with bottles and flares, took over 30 minutes to disperse the troublemakers - part of a larger group of about 150 locals - and two vehicles were left in flames. The offenders, wearing scarves over their faces, broke up into smaller groups as two police helicopters surveyed the scene.
Yet, though disturbances had been grimly anticipated outside the ground, events inside were shameful. A pitiful number of police and stewards had been stationed in the curva nord, and those few deployed were utterly incapable of preventing the torrent of missiles flung initially from home fans over no-man's land into the lower section of the visiting support. They responded, bottles arrowing back over the divide into the taunting Italians, with an extra line of riot police appearing only once kick-off approached. More stewards were belatedly deployed once the game was under way.
By then a message had twice been read out over the public address system, in Italian and English, warning offenders that anyone caught throwing objects or fireworks could face between six months and three years in prison under rules newly implemented by the Italian government. By the time that message was issued again at half-time the barrage of missiles had resumed, with a flare spouting fumes from the open terracing in front of the Juve supporters.
Perhaps the scenes were to be expected. This tie had become a nightmarish exercise in logistics for the authorities, though it had largely proved successful. Police had tightened security and drafted in undercover agents to help keep the peace, with the majority of English fans bused to the stadium from accommodation well outside Turin.
Many had been taken straight from the airport to restaurants and bars in neighbouring towns in an attempt to separate the two sets of fans. The 72-hour alcohol ban apparently imposed in Turin's centre - it applied to bars but not hotels or supermarkets - dissuaded others from venturing into areas which might have proved perilous. Even so, one fan had been attacked in a pub in the city by five Juventus fans wielding bottles and sticks.
That had set a worrying tone which lingered into the match, for all that the majority of fans treated the memories of Heysel with distinctly more dignity. The banners hanging at the opposite end of the ground, where hoardings bearing the date 1985 are permanent, read "The 39 angels look down with pride on us tonight" and "What is deep in the heart never dies". When the latter was unfurled, whistles from the home fans turned briefly into applause, though any sense of amicizia quickly dissipated.
