This article will appear in the Italian Roots and Genealogy blog in July. But, since it’s Father’s Day. I wanted to post it now.
As we know, I’ve been writing about Baseball lately, but this is for my dad.
We all know what Italy has given the world—pizza, pasta, tomato sauce, Sophia Loren. But do you know what we gave them? Nope, not Starbucks. Not even McDonald’s. Try: football. No, not soccer. The other one. Shoulder pads. Touchdowns. Tailgates.
Football, the Immigrant’s Game?
I grew up loving baseball—thanks to my grandfather—but I wanted to be like my dad, so I played football. My dad played in high school during the 1940s, despite my grandfather being a diehard baseball guy. For many immigrants, loving baseball or football was a shortcut to becoming “American.”
Why did Dad choose football over baseball? My theory: fall football fit better with his schedule. In spring, he was knee-deep in planting season and mushroom-farm work. Come fall, with crops harvested, there was time to hit the field. Most of his friends, guys that he bowled with into his 80s, were in a similar boat and played football.
Tony “The Roc” – 1944
His high school team of undersized immigrant kids nearly went the whole season without getting scored upon. This included beating the child of another immigrant, Don Shula who eventually played in the NFL and East Liverpool, OH (Dean Martin’s high school) that had two Big 10 linemen. Eighty years later, they’re still considered one of the best teams in Ohio—no small feat considering the sport was invented there.
My first coach, Mr. Vacca—who had played with my dad—told me at age 10, “If you become half the player your dad was, you’ll be something!” No pressure, right? I must’ve done okay—I played into college. Like many immigrant parents, his sole goal was for me to get to the next level – educationally!
Dad loved watching me play. But what really made him proud was seeing my son suit up for college ball near his home. He never missed a game before he passed. I’m just sorry that dad never had a chance to see his grandson go even further educationally.
Me and my son, his 1st College Game – on the same college field that I once played!
Football has been a constant in my life. I played, I coached, and I rarely miss a Browns, Buckeyes, or Penguins game (yes, I multitask across leagues).
Football in…Italy?
But here’s the kicker—whenever I’m in Italy during the fall, people ask about “American Football.” And once they hear I’m a Browns fan, they usually offer condolences. So, clearly, they’re informed.
One trip, I watched a Browns game on my phone while hiking Tuscan trails with a local. Browns lost (shocker), but the 5G was spectacular! Sharing “my” sport in the middle of wine country with someone who might be a distant cousin? Surreal.
On another spring trip, our daughter was invited to play calcio (soccer) in Tuscany. After her match, I spotted a group of Italian teens in full-on American football gear—pads, helmets, the works.
Naturally, I walked right over. Their English was way better than my Italian, but we bonded over blocking schemes and bad Browns seasons. I even gave them tips on long snapping—a family specialty.
Turns out, American football is booming in Italy. There’s even an Italian Championship of American Football—and this year, it’s in Toledo, Ohio on June 28, 2025. That’s right. Italian Bowl XLIV – Back in the Glass City Toledo, Ohio 2025.
If you want a fun read, check out Playing for Pizza by John Grisham. It’s about a washed-up NFL player who ends up on a team in Italy. Who knew Grisham had a comic side?
So yes—Dad gave football to me, but somehow, we gave football back to Italy. Not sure that compares to being gifted pizza though!
Michael Valleriano
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