If you come by car, you may spot it from the motorway. Milan’s landscape is flat, its buildings low, so the enormous beams that criss-cross the stadium’s roof, 80 metres from the ground, are easy to see from afar.
If you come by tram, you’ll catch a glimpse somewhere along the Via dei Rospigliosi. Between the heads of your fellow passengers, you’ll see the easternmost roof beam as the ground draws nearer. It may be the trusses of the middle section or the tapered end that juts out over the Curva Sud, a wine-red blade slicing into the sky.
Your first sight of San Siro will be most dramatic, however, if you come on the metro. Arrive in daylight and you’ll be met with a tantalising semi-reveal as you ascend from the platform, the building’s imposing silhouette just visible through the metallic mesh that covers the station exit hall. When you step outside, you see the whole thing in all of its otherworldly glory; the famous columns, the ramps, the naked heft of the stands and the sheer neck-craning scale of the roof. How could anyone want to tear this temple down?
The basic argument is as follows: in order to keep up with their European competition, Milan and Inter must increase their incomes. To do this, both clubs need a new stadium. Either they demolish and rebuild at San Siro, or they leave and
