The scent of old paper and the quiet rustle of archival documents fill the air, a stark contrast to the boisterous chants of a football stadium. Yet, within these carefully preserved records lies the surprising origin story of one of Naples’ most cherished symbols – the ‘Ciuccio,’ the beloved donkey mascot of the SSC Napoli football club.
A Pencil, a Passion, and a Prank Gone Right
This tale begins not on the pitch, but in the creative mind of Sebastiano Rosi, a gifted illustrator and, as it turns out, the father of the celebrated film director Francesco Rosi. His artistic hand, honed through the stark realities of World War I prison camps, gave form to a collective Neapolitan sentiment, transforming a jest into an enduring icon.
The discovery, brought to light by historian and archivist Maria Procino, reveals a fascinating intersection of art, sport, and Neapolitan identity. Procino, who meticulously cataloged the Rosi and De Filippo family archives, stumbled upon the truth between 2006 and 2008 while working with Francesco Rosi. “Among the volumes, we found a photocopy of a 1930s book that recounted the genesis of the symbol,” Procino recalls. “Francesco spoke to me about it, inviting me to read an article by his friend Antonio Ghirelli, who recalled that very story.”
From Prancing Horse to Resilient Donkey
The year was 1926. After a series of disappointing sporting failures, the SSC Napoli’s previous symbol, a prancing horse, seemed increasingly out of place. The team, still in its nascent stages, was struggling to find its footing, and the city’s collective wit soon found a more fitting, albeit self-deprecating, emblem. The turning point arrived in a newsroom, where an old fan, Raffaele Riano, exclaimed: “Me pare ‘o ciuccio ‘e Fechella: trentasei chiaje e ‘a coda fraceta!”
This vivid Neapolitan expression referred to a battered donkey belonging to a fruit vendor, a creature burdened with “thirty-six sores and a rotten tail” yet stubbornly refusing to give up. This image of popular resilience, of enduring hardship with an unwavering spirit, resonated deeply with the Neapolitan psyche.
Sebastiano Rosi: The Artist Behind the Icon
It was Sebastiano Rosi, known artistically as Rosy, along with his colleague Marino, who visually translated this sentiment for the satirical newspaper “Vaco ‘e pressa.” In a 1930 booklet titled “The Story of the Donkey as Told by the Sire of Vergy and Erre,” Rosi’s distinct style gave definitive shape to the blue symbol.
The newspaper itself captured the immediate impact of the new mascot: “The Ciuccio of Napoli was born suddenly, like a tram accident, a passage through a Sunday crowd, a slip on an unexpected melon peel. The Ciuccio is only three years old, but in these three years of its life, it has developed powerfully, and if it continues at this pace, it will eventually take on the proportions of a mammoth or a dinosaur.”
Born in Naples in 1895, Sebastiano Rosi was a popular caricaturist who honed his craft during his imprisonment in Mauthausen during World War I, where his portraits of Austrian officers earned him early repatriation. After World War II, Allied soldiers eagerly sought out his caricatures.
“His grandchildren, Carolina, Riccardo, and Antonella, remember him as a calm person, with a great sense of duty and a sometimes melancholic gaze,” explains Maria Procino. Sebastiano was a pioneer of imagery, developing photos in a small closet at home and obsessively taking his children to the “cinematograph.”
A Father’s Legacy in a Son’s Art
This artistic sensibility profoundly influenced his son, Francesco. “In the director’s aesthetic vision, we find the teachings of his father,” adds the archivist, citing the storyboard for “La terra trema” and the drawings in the scripts for “Cadaveri eccellenti.” Even the famous poster for the purgative chocolate “Kinglax,” which depicted a sleeping young Francesco, was his graphic work.
The story of the Ciuccio today is not just about a famous logo with high commercial value; it reveals a small, great masterpiece of 20th-century graphic design that connects the prominent families of Neapolitan culture. Carolina Rosi, Francesco’s daughter, married Luca De Filippo, “who passed away ten years ago, just as the archival research was progressing, in the same year as Francesco Rosi’s death,” Maria Procino comments, moved.
Sebastiano Rosi died in the summer of 1980, while his son Francesco was working on “Tre fratelli,” a film that contains direct tributes to his father. Recovering the “artisanal” origin of Napoli’s symbol today means returning to the city a piece of creativity that had remained in the shadows. “Some time ago, it was Carolina herself who told Aurelio De Laurentiis – a man of cinema and football – the story of the birth of Napoli’s Ciuccio, and the president was surprised,” Procino continues. “The Ciuccio has significant artistic, historical, and metaphorical value. Remembering artists like Sebastiano Rosi is fundamental for the cultural identity of the city and, naturally, of its team.”
The ‘Ciuccio’ stands as a testament to Neapolitan spirit – a symbol born of humor, resilience, and the quiet genius of an artist whose legacy continues to inspire, both on the football field and in the annals of cultural history.
