This is not about football anymore.
It's about a man—a father, a husband, a lawyer—who went to work, made a call on a pitch, and came home to find his family terrorised. Federico La Penna, the referee who officiated the Inter-Juventus derby, has been forced to collect death threats like evidence in a criminal case. Because that's exactly what they are. "Ti sparo," "ti ammazzo," "ti veniamo a cercare, sappiamo dove abiti"—I'll shoot you, I'll kill you, we'll come find you, we know where you live.
Let that sink in.
A Referee, a Father, a Target
La Penna is also a practising lawyer. So when the messages flooded in after the derby—after Kalulu's red card, after the chaos of Bastoni's celebration, after the tunnel confrontation between Comolli, Chiellini, and the match officials—he did what any rational person would do. He gathered every comment, every message, every vile insult. And he filed a report with the postal police.
The police told him and his entire family—his wife, his two young daughters—to stay indoors.
I'll say that again. A man who refereed a football match was told to hide inside his own home.
The Rome Prosecutor's Office is now preparing to open a formal investigation, with the case expected to land on the desk of deputy prosecutor Sergio Colaiocco. The Italian Referees' Association didn't mince words either. Vice-president Francesco Massini said it plainly: "What happened to Federico La Penna has gone beyond every limit of civility and sportsmanship. A referee who has to fear for his family—for his wife and daughters—because of a decision made on the pitch is something that should outrage everyone, without exception"'s right. And yet here we are, having this conversation again.
The Disease Is Bigger Than One Match
La Penna wasn't the only target. Alessandro Bastoni—the Inter defender—and his wife received death wishes too, including threats aimed at their daughter. A child. Over a football simulation. Inter president Marotta acknowledged Bastoni's unsporting behaviour, calling it "a young man's mistake," but then pivoted to remind everyone of a 2021 Juventus penalty won through Cuadrado's simulation
And there it is—the deflection, the whataboutism, the endless cycle of grievance that Italian football feeds on like oxygen.
This isn't just an Italian problem, though Italy wears it loudly. Fiorentina had to take security measures after their own players and families received what the club called "unacceptable and shameful" threats following a loss to Sassuolo. The pattern repeats. A bad result, a controversial call, and suddenly real human beings become targets for anonymous cowards hiding behind keyboards.
What Kind of Culture Produces This?
I write this from my wheelchair in Tirana, but I spent most of my life in Italy—in Emilia-Romagna, where football is religion and the stadium is the cathedral. I love the sport. I love the passion. But passion without conscience is just violence wearing a scarf.
Think about what we're teaching the next generation. A child watches a match. Her team loses. She goes online and sees adults—grown men and women—threatening to murder a referee's family. What lesson does she absorb? That disagreement justifies destruction? That anger entitles you to terrorise strangers?
No sport is worth a single death threat. Not one.
The Change We Need
The solution isn't just legal, though prosecution matters. The solution is cultural. Clubs need to stop treating controversial decisions as existential crises. Pundits need to stop stoking fury for clicks. Social media platforms need to act faster—not days later, not after the damage is done, but in real time.
And fans—real fans—need to reclaim the word from those who weaponise it. Supporting a team doesn't mean destroying a person. Loving football doesn't mean hating the referee's children.
I've spent my life believing in one principle above all others: never give up. I've applied it to surgeries, to university exams, to building FreeAstroScience from nothing. But "never give up" means fighting for something worth having. A football culture where referees can do their jobs without fearing for their lives—that's worth fighting for.
Federico La Penna shouldn't need to be brave just to blow a whistle. His daughters shouldn't need police advice just because their father wore black on a Sunday.
We can do better. The question is whether we will.
Gerd Dani — FreeAstroScience
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