This is how it feels. These are the moments when I miss home, Italy. I am writing from Finland, nice summer evening, sun falling slowly at the horizon, families in these block houses where we live that are having dinner. In few minutes will start the final of the World Cup, Italy-France. I know I will miss the Italian summer, the voice of TVs coming from neighbouring flats where the open windows make fresh air to flow in the rooms. TV getting louder the closer the match, friends gathering together to watch and shout and curse. This is what I miss now. While living abroad often it is easy to compare and write about what works here and what does not work back home. But these are the moments when I feel I pay the price. I miss the friends, the possibility to go to a bar to watch and exchagerate every comment, the glass of wine, the talks, everybody transforming himself in the Italian trainer. I do not know how it will go, in the end it does not matter so much. But if Italy scores, I will have the same feeling as in the semi-final: two minutes to go before the end of the second extra time, Grosso on the right end side of the penalty area. Converge to the centre; kick the ball with his left foot. A smooth shot that goes right in the goal, too far for the goalkeeper, the net that moves as wind. I stand up, got o the balcony, wanted to shout and what I can hear is the great silence of the night, a distant silence. Though inside, I heard the shouts from home.