Waiting for the match…

The scene is ordinary, but that’s precisely why I stopped. A teenager in full Givova kit, perched on a cold cement bench in a bare piazza, killing time before football training. A gym bag tagged “Città di Giulianova 1924” anchors the narrative—it tells us this isn’t just a kid hanging out. This is ritual, anticipation, part of the social choreography that surrounds grassroots sport in small Italian towns.

Technically, it’s a straightforward frame, handheld and slightly imperfect—edges soft, shadows flat—but that rawness works here. The light is diffused under an overcast sky, producing a muted palette with little contrast. I let the saturation lean just enough to retain the plastic reds of the candy wrappers on the ground, the blue of the kit, the branded lettering. These minor elements betray the moment’s informality.

The composition is tight and horizontal. The bench forms a clean geometric line that divides the frame, while the boy’s posture subtly mimics the diagonal of the tree supports behind him, giving the static pose a slight sense of tension. His attention is split between his phone and the snack in his other hand—common gestures of waiting, made quietly theatrical by the surrounding emptiness.

What I like about this photo is how much it doesn’t try to say. It’s not a portrait in the formal sense, nor is it pure street. It sits in that in-between space: observational, quiet, devoid of drama but heavy with familiarity. The kind of image that makes sense to anyone who has ever stood on a wet pitch, waiting for the whistle.

This isn’t about the match. It’s about the minutes before it starts—the rituals, distractions, and solitude that fill the margins of amateur sport.