Reagan Connelly: Il Burattinaio Irlandese

Wow, what a journey Cecillia has been on in her life so far!

Very interesting to see the story from both the perspective of Reagen and Cecilia. Two different apples now on the same tree

Definitely stayed for the ham.

Il Ragazzo

Parma, Italy, 2002
On my way from Florence to Milan I stopped in the city of Parma in April of 2002. I could slowly feel the bit of money I had getting smaller and smaller. I used almost all of my last funds to get a flat for a few months in Parma. It wasn’t anything amazing. It had a bed, a shower and a kitchen, and when I say kitchen, I mean one microwave which didn’t properly work and a small fridge.

I tried picking up my painting, but after a month of not selling nearly enough to cover my expenses, I retired my brush. I had rented the flat for another 4 months, thus moving out wasn’t an option, so I had to take on an actual job. While living in Parma I worked in a small family-owned restaurant named Paolo’s in the city centre. I hated every second of every minute of every hour of it. Truly despised it, I worked 10 to 16-hour shifts, got home with blisters on my feet, slept and repeat the same exact cycle. The job had one advantage, I got paid, well.

In July 2002 I had saved up a decent amount to enjoy one more month of Parma and then leave for Milan. That was the plan at least. I had put all my belongings in my old backpack, returned my key and was ready to hit the road again. On my way to the train station I stopped at Paolo’s one last time.

It was a beautiful morning and that was evident by the crowds. Paolo’s was packed and the entire terrace was full apart from one seat. The seat was at a table with a young man. He couldn’t have been much older to me, and he was definitely foreign, which I figured by his expression while reading a newspaper with an English-Italian dictionary next to him.

“Is this seat taken” I, stuttered in my best English."
“No go ahead, you can take it.” He replied. He looked up to me and looked straight back into his dictionary.
Some of silent minutes later, the guy tapped my shoulder and said: “è una bella giornale.”

What he meant to say was 'è una bella giornato.' or 'It’s a beautiful day'. But, instead he told me his newspaper was beautiful, which could’ve very well been true too. It was an adorable sight, so I asked him why he was in town.

I caught myself developing a crush on him, his sweet, polite manners, his beautiful voice and his kindness all made me develop a love, I never really felt before. It got me that far, I promised him to show him around town later that week.

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TheLFCFan: And it's just the beginning as well....
Eoin: All paths lead to Rome, or well Parma in this story.
Justice: Wouldn't blame her

Look at Reagan the little charmer, flirting with his newspaper!

2019-11-26 00:11#263210 TheLFCFan : Look at Reagan the little charmer, flirting with his newspaper!

Nothing wrong with flirting with some paper and ink LFC! haha

No messing about. She's got her sights firmly on the prize.

The Return

Rome, Italy, July 2003
Aeroporto di Roma Ciampino was exactly what you’d expect in the summer, crowded, very crowded. But for some reason, despite all I could hear is the ticking clock which is hanging on the wall above my seat. I sat there because it wouldn’t allow me to look at the slightly inaccurate clock. But the ticking was so loud, I could count the seconds. I looked in front of me, staring to all the people in front of me.

I had been awake for about 30 hours, the slowly ticking of the clock was working as a metronome and fatigue started kicking in. Slowly but surely, the people in front of me got blurry as I was fighting an impossible battle against sleep.

As I drank my 5th coffee, the ticking of the clock seemed to go slower, and slower, and slower. 2 hours passed and the atmosphere of the room changed, slowly tourists were swapped with journalists, as expected. The ticking of the clock accelerated, as the crowd got bigger I started pacing around the room, slowly getting more and more nervous.

As time passed on, my pacing got more nervous, the mix of English and Italian chatter got louder and with more excitement and the tension rose to an extreme. Suddenly the sliding door which was separating incoming passengers with us opened up. Two big guys came into our room first, followed by an older man in a suit and one more person, Reagan.

“He is actually here, pinch me, this can’t be real.” I told myself, but the pinching didn’t do its job, I didn’t wake up in an old flat in Parma, or an empty train which is going to Milan. I was awake, wide awake. As camera flashes and the journalists got louder and louder, all I tried to do is get a glimpse, a meeting of our eyes, but I had no luck.

Tears started to form in my eyes, the shattered hope I had, the tiredness it all became a bit much. I stormed out of the room, ordered another coffee and left the airport. The tears slowly started pouring from my eyes and I left the airport in the background.

The romantic in me hoped for a fairy-tale ending, with Reagan sprinting behind me and declaring his love for me, I stopped walking three times, turned around and looked, hoping to see him storming out of the airport and falling into his arms. Total radio-silence, that’s all I got, no Reagan, no fairytale ending, nothing.

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TheLFCFan and Griffo: It was a beautiful newspaper to be honest.
Scott: She does indeed.

Took me a couple of minutes to understand what's going on, but then I clocked it.

Reagan the heart breaker, although I have a feeling that they may well meet one day

FIVE COFFEEEEESS!!!

How are you not dead on the ground...

Poor lass

The Arrival

Milan, Italy, July 2003
My arrival in Milan was intense, thousands of fans circled my car as I arrived at the AC Milan training complex. The bodyguards pushed me into the building, but I wanted to take a second, to take in the atmosphere, the passion from all those fans and, more importantly, look for a familiar face. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get time to really do any of those and my eyes swiftly glanced at all the fans chanting my name.

My medical went by smoothly and only a few more hours would separate me from officially being an AC Milan player. I put on my brand-new shirt, took some photos and was finally ready to meet the fans. I walked out the building and what seemed to be an even bigger crowd was waiting for me.

I spent an eternity meeting fans, autographing all kinds of stuff and taking pictures. Meanwhile, my eyes kept scanning the crowd, all in the search of one person, Cecilia. But I had no luck in my search. I returned to the car and got back to the hotel I was staying.

I spent my night in my hotel room, looking at the window of my hotel room and watching some TV in the meantime. Of course, I couldn’t understand a word of it, but it was better than the silence. Dinner time was upon us, and I regretfully went down to the hotel’s restaurant.

I felt conflicted, happy because I was an AC Milan player, but sad at the same time. Sad, because my eyes couldn’t meet Cecilia’s one more time. Sad, because I had no way of knowing if my eyes ever will. My brother and I were talking as suddenly a waitress neared our table. I didn’t look up from my menu at first and ordered my food. The waitress politely left the table and as she did, I looked up at her to try to be polite and as my eyes met her face, I fell in love again.

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Jopa: Maybe it's time for you to get out
TheLFCFan: Who knows
Griffo: Italian DNA allows you to consume as many coffee as you want
Scott::

Either Reagan is a dog or we have a true love story on our hands!

He's fucked it with Cecilia, so now he's eyeing up waitresses.... oh dear, Reagan.