Then little by little football, like society at large, changed and the boundaries between style, class, fashion and generations got mixed, entangled and shattered. Tattoos, shaved heads and mohawks became distinctive marks for the champions and for their fans. The world ran onto the pitch and the pitch became the world. Fanaticism, fashionism and feelings pervaded everything. Fashion was dragged into the world’s most popular sport by its coattails, and football was pulled out of the chalk lines on the pitch, out of the penalty area, by its jersey. The football player became an endorser or spokesman not only during the 90-minute match but for the rest of the day, month and year. He was no longer endorsing a beverage or cellphone brand but everything he was wearing. It’s no accident that David Beckham was recently appointed ambassador of British fashion. There are brilliant players like Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi who, more than influencers, seem like models who have been styled by tailors Facis or just stepped out of the Riconda store on Via del Corso in Florence – a store which in the 1960s blared from the city’s municipal stadium’s loudspeakers that it was “a brand that means quality, etcetera, etcetera, etcet- era.” If you bought your clothes at Riconda and only Riconda, you would have wanted to sing the jingle, and both Messi and Rolando seem to harbor this hidden desire even if they don’t know what Riconda was about – that is, to be common phenomena or phenomenal commoners. In the meantime, someone like Pogba is dragging fashion into a wild world transforming himself – for example under a Rick Owens’ hood – into a character from the new “Star Wars” series or into a prince from the “Black Panther” tribe. Both fashion and football are tied to the seasons that are getting shorter and shorter – or perhaps getting longer and longer depending on your point of view.