22 Hours in Milan: A Derby at San Siro Before It Disappears

Bucket-list trip to Milan. San Siro. Milan derby. Done.

In around 22 hours, Mrs Football Historian and I managed to squeeze an awful lot out of one of the great football cities.

It certainly didn’t start particularly well.

After landing at Milan Malpensa Airport, we spent almost two hours getting through passport control. That delay meant having to abandon and rearrange plans to visit two Serie C clubs who had been incredibly helpful in the build-up to the trip.

Not exactly the start I had imagined.

Thankfully, just about everything that followed made up for it.

Once we finally reached the centre of Milan, we did what you’re supposed to do when you only have a matter of hours in one of Europe’s great cities: tried to see as much as physically possible.

We walked around the city centre, visited the Duomo and Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, did some shopping in both the Inter and AC Milan stores and somehow found time for some brilliant food along the way.

It was a whistle-stop visit, but Milan left a really good impression.

What struck me initially was how relaxed everything felt.

This was derby day, but walking around the city there was very little obvious hostility. AC Milan and Inter colours mixed freely, supporters walked past each other and the atmosphere felt more excited than threatening.

Then we headed towards San Siro.

That was when everything changed.

The tram dropped us almost directly outside the stadium and suddenly the scale of the occasion became obvious.

Stalls selling scarves and flags lined the streets. Supporters were everywhere. And even from outside, you could already hear the noise coming from inside the ground.

We arrived around an hour before kick-off and San Siro was already alive.

There are certain football stadiums that you recognise instantly, even if you have never visited them before.

San Siro is one of them.

Those enormous spiral towers. The huge red roof supports. The sheer size of the structure.

And, of course, the history.

This was also my first visit knowing that the stadium’s future is now finite. After decades of debate, Milan’s clubs are moving towards a new home, meaning one of football’s most recognisable venues will eventually disappear.

Perhaps surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be much sentimentality around the stadium that night.

Nobody appeared to be treating the occasion like part of a farewell tour.

It was simply another Milan derby.

Two giants of European football meeting inside one of football’s great stadiums.

We were right at the top in the Terzo Verde Ovest, and getting there is an experience in itself.

You start walking up those famous spirals without really having any idea how far you have left to go. It was a cool evening and by the time I finally reached the top I was sweating as though I’d played the first half myself.

But the view was worth it.

Despite being high up, we had a brilliant perspective of the entire stadium. We were just behind the Inter supporters and directly opposite the AC Milan end, giving us a perfect view of the huge pre-match mosaic.

And then came the noise.

Italian supporter culture is noticeably different from what I am used to in England.

At the front of the Inter section there were several supporters who appeared to spend almost the entire game facing away from the pitch.

Their job was to lead.

Songs. Clapping. Gestures. Instructions.

At times they seemed more interested in making sure everybody else was supporting properly than actually watching the football.

Flags were waved almost continuously.

Inter fell behind, but the singing never stopped.

There were clearly areas of the stadium where the most committed supporters wanted to stand and, regardless of what was happening on the pitch, their support remained constant.

Our section was much more mixed.

There were Milan supporters, Inter supporters, tourists and people who simply appeared delighted to be inside San Siro for the derby.

Again, what surprised me was the lack of aggression.

There was plenty of passion and plenty of light-hearted interaction between opposing supporters, but very little that felt threatening.

Another thing that struck me was how unusual some of the stadium facilities felt.

Once you reached our level, there was hardly a conventional concourse at all. You essentially emerged from the stairwell and walked straight into the seating area.

Just before half-time we found one of the few bars.

The system was chaotic.

You queued first to purchase a receipt for whatever you wanted, then joined what felt like a completely separate free-for-all as staff collected receipts and handed drinks across the counter.

The room itself was tiny, with just a few people serving an enormous number of supporters and little porthole-style windows looking back towards the pitch.

If you wanted an argument for why the clubs believe they need a modern stadium capable of producing more matchday revenue, that small corner of San Siro probably provided one.

And yet, strangely, none of that made me want the stadium replaced.

Because the imperfections are part of what makes it memorable.

The match itself almost became secondary.

AC Milan took their chances and ultimately left with three goals and three points. Inter dominated long periods without finding the goal they needed.

But I have realised something after doing several of these Football Historian trips.

The football itself is often the least important part.

Of course I want to see a good match.

But when I think back to Belgium, Dublin and now Milan, what stays with me isn't necessarily a shot, tackle or tactical decision.

It is the stadium.

The supporters.

The noise.

The history.

The people.

The feeling of being somewhere where football matters.

Hearing Sarà perché ti amo inside San Siro was one of those goosebump-inducing football moments that television can never properly reproduce.

Watching the Inter flags move constantly for 90 minutes was incredible.

Seeing the Milan mosaic appear opposite us was spectacular.

And then there was an unexpected bonus.

Kaká was inducted into the club’s Hall of Fame before the match and ran towards the supporters who once sang his name as a player.

For someone who grew up watching him become one of the finest footballers in the world in that stadium, it was a lovely piece of football history to witness.

This was the third trip for The Football Historian (A).

Belgium. Ireland. Italy.

And strangely, Milan was probably the trip where I was given the least access.

There was no red carpet.

No behind-the-scenes tour.

No special position or interview access.

Just a seat high up in one of football’s greatest stadiums.

And perhaps that was enough.

The previous trips allowed me to meet brilliant people whose pride in their clubs made the stories special.

Milan showed me something slightly different.

An entire city built around two football institutions, sharing one iconic stadium and producing a matchday experience that supporters travel across the world to witness.

There is a good chance I will never return to San Siro before it disappears.

That makes me sad.

I understand why football clubs want modern stadiums. I understand the commercial realities and the limitations of an old ground.

But football loses something every time one of these places disappears.

A stadium can be rebuilt.

History cannot.

I feel incredibly lucky that before San Siro eventually becomes another famous ground spoken about in the past tense, I got to climb those spirals, hear that noise, see those flags and watch a Milan derby from the gods.

AC Milan left with three goals and three points.

I left with a memory I’ll never forget.