The Story of Grande Torino in My Novel

Every writer has their moments of unexpected inspiration—those seemingly ordinary experiences that quietly imprint themselves on the soul and later resurface on the page. For me, one of those moments occurred on a visit to Torino, Italy, where my sister and brother-in-law Michele live. I had no idea that a leisurely afternoon would end up influencing a key moment in the novel I would eventually write.

Michele, ever the gracious host and a man of deep pride in his city, brought me to the Basilica di Superga, perched on a hill overlooking Torino. The view was breathtaking, but what lingered wasn’t just the panorama—it was the story he shared with me there, a story of tragedy and legacy: the story of Grande Torino.

For those unfamiliar, Grande Torino refers to the Torino Football Club of the 1940s, widely regarded as one of the most dominant and elegant teams in football history. They were more than just champions; they were symbols of post-war hope, unity, and brilliance. Between 1943 and 1949, they won five Serie A titles and made up the backbone of the Italian national team, with nearly every starting player donning the maroon jersey.

Then came May 4th, 1949.

The team was returning from a friendly match in Lisbon when their plane crashed into the hill of Superga, right near the very basilica I was standing in front of. All 31 people on board perished, including 18 players. It was a loss that shattered not just a team but a nation. To this day, the back of the Basilica holds a memorial to Grande Torino—weathered, reverent, and quietly powerful. Names carved in stone, flowers lovingly left behind, scarves, flags… an entire country’s broken heartbeat preserved.

To say the story stayed with me would be an understatement. It settled deep within me, impossible to forget. So I did what many writers do, I gave it a place in my story.

In my novel, the memory of Grande Torino isn’t just a historical footnote; it becomes a symbolic thread, touching my characters in ways both subtle and profound. It reminds them—and us—of what it means to rise, to inspire, and to fall. It speaks to themes of loss, resilience, and the delicate echo of dreams left unfulfilled.

And yes, that year, I bought a Torino jersey. Not just as a souvenir, but as a gesture of gratitude to a team whose story helped shape mine.