‘He liked that people were scared of him’: my year unpicking fantasy and reality with a veteran of Italy’s football ultras

He Liked That People Were Scared of Him: A Year With Italy’s Football Ultras

The Echo of a Legend

He liked that people were scared of him—a phrase that encapsulated the essence of Alessandro Casolari’s persona as a veteran of Italy’s football ultras. Known as "Caso" within the subculture, his name had long been a fixture in my research, linking the raw intensity of English hooliganism to the strategic fervor of the Hells Angels. By 2026, I was deep into crafting a narrative that intertwined his legacy with the tumultuous history of Ferrara, a city where fog-draped streets and cultural festivals had shaped my own journey. Yet, it wasn’t until December 2024 that I finally connected with Caso, who had become a symbol of the shadowy world of organized football fanatics.

Our first conversation unfolded over a call, where Caso’s voice carried the weight of a man who had lived through extremes. He recounted his odyssey from the streets of Ferrara to the smuggling networks of northern Italy, fueled by a murder in 1998. A lottery win had spared a man’s life, but it had also set Caso on a path to Colombia, where he became entangled with the FARC guerrillas. His catchphrase—“hai capito?”—hinted at the layers of meaning behind his story, a tale that balanced personal conviction with the chaos of political upheaval.

“He liked that people were scared of him,” I mused, reflecting on the intensity of his narratives. It was a sentiment that underscored the duality of his existence: a man who embraced fear as a tool, yet was haunted by the consequences of his choices.

From Fear to Freedom

Caso’s life had transformed dramatically, from a defiant football fanatic to a smuggler navigating the complexities of war-torn regions. His wife, once a steadfast companion, had become a co-conspirator in his ventures, while his personal and political identity unraveled under the strain of incarceration. During his 177-day jail term, he was branded a "political prisoner," a label he claimed was as much a narrative as it was a reality. The charge of four slaps, which led to accusations of aggravated robbery and explosive device theft, became a pivot point in his story—a single act that redefined his trajectory.

His tales of prison life were vivid, almost theatrical. He spoke of solitary confinement, a broken nose, and a fractured cheekbone, painting a picture of a system that thrived on power and manipulation. Yet, the more I listened, the more I noticed the artistry in his storytelling. Was it fear that drove his actions, or was it the desire to craft a mythic identity? The tension between his self-perception and the official record fascinated me, as if his journey was not just about survival, but about shaping his own legend.

Interwoven Lives

As I traced Caso’s path, I found parallels between our lives. Both of us had married outside our nationalities, and both had children in their teens and twenties. His ideology—confrontation as the core of existence—resonated with my own beliefs, even as we diverged in political alignment. He was a Marxist-Leninist, while I leaned toward communalism. Still, the shared experience of navigating life’s uncertainties through passion and resilience bridged our differences.

Caso’s identity as a "freelance hustler" mirrored my own, creating an unexpected connection. We were both shaped by the unpredictable forces of our environments, yet each story unfolded in distinct ways. His time in Ferrara, marked by the city’s fog and melancholy, had forged a different kind of strength than the one I found in the corridors of a northern Italian prison. This duality—between the calm of Ferrara and the chaos of conflict—was central to his journey and to mine.

The Weight of Words

Caso’s narratives often veered into the poetic, yet they were grounded in the grit of real experiences. He described the Italian prison system as a "mafia-infested wormery," a metaphor that captured its systemic brutality. The four slaps, he argued, were the catalyst for a chain of events that culminated in his incarceration. Each story he told seemed to be a deliberate choice, shaping his legacy as a man who thrived on fear and intrigue.

His ability to spin his experiences into a compelling narrative was both impressive and unsettling. Was he a hero or a villain? The line blurred as I pieced together the fragments of his life. His pride in being a "loyal person" contrasted with the chaos he had perpetuated, and his insistence on truth coexisted with the embellishments that made his story unforgettable. It was a reminder that reality is often shaped by how we choose to tell it, especially when fear is the foundation of our identity.

The Return to Ferrara

In January 2025, I returned to Ferrara to meet Caso in person. Under house arrest, he lived in a modest flat, his trial still pending. His new lover had fractured his relationship with his former wife, who had left him behind. Despite this, Caso’s presence was magnetic, his skinhead and stubble framing a face that seemed both hardened and vulnerable. The city, with its fog and history, felt like a character in his story, an ever-present backdrop to his struggles and triumphs.

Our conversations revealed a man who had embraced the role of a legend, yet remained grounded in the reality of his choices. He liked that people were scared of him, not just as a result of his actions, but as a testament to his enduring influence. In Ferrara, where his roots lay, his story became a mirror to the city’s own resilience, a blend of myth and memory that defined his legacy. As I left, I realized that his journey was not just about survival, but about redefining the boundaries between fear, freedom, and identity.