There was a time when Juventus didn’t celebrate victories. He counted them. One after the other, like stages of an inevitable path. Every three points were just one more signature on destiny. Success was not an event, but a habit. We celebrated at the end of the season, not at the end of a match. A trophy was celebrated, not a goal.

Today, however, Juventus – and its fans – seem to live in a different time. A time in which victory is no longer the rule but the exception, and in which every episode becomes a microcosm of pride. It is the sign of a profound transformation: not technical, but cultural. Juventus didn’t just lose their dominance on the pitch. He has lost his language.

From habits to nostalgia

When a team builds its identity on winning, stopping winning is like losing your voice. For decades, Juventus has represented certainty. The team that always arrived, that never got emotional, that knew how to win even without pleasure. That Savoyard rigor was its form of beauty: sober, inexorable, almost unpleasant.

Today, however, the air is different. Every success becomes a small redemption, every defeat a catastrophe. We live from day to day, as clubs do that no longer have a long-term perspective. It is the culture of the moment: we celebrate the goal in the 90th minute, we rejoice over the isolated achievement, we look for in a single episode what was once found in the entire season.

But Juventus had never been this. It was the antithesis of fleeting emotion. He lived on patience, not enthusiasm.

The euphoria of the little days

The paradox is that the very fans who for years have joked about those celebrating a semi-final or a draw now do the same. We celebrate a 4-3 win over Inter as if it were a trophy, we defend a “character” draw as proof of rediscovered identity, we sing after a goal as if that were enough to say “we’re back”.

But Juventus, when they were Juventus, didn’t look for confirmation. It was the team that didn’t need to prove anything, because every Sunday was a reminder. Today, however, the fans seem to live on momentary caresses, on small emotional satisfactions. As if “having fought” was enough to feel great again.

It is a transformation that goes beyond the pitch: it is psychological. From the security of habit to the fragility of hope.

Cheering as a mirror of time

It is no coincidence that all this happens today, in an era in which even attention spans have become short. We live on highlights, on thirty-second clips, on immediate reactions. And the Juventus support has adapted to this logic: fragmented, nervous, oscillating between anger and illusion.

The “Juventus mentality” had never been like this. It was method, not emotion. It was discipline, not improvisation. Winning was a duty, not a surprise. Yet now it seems that the fans themselves have accepted a new grammar: that of the continuous present, in which every little joy must be defended as if it were all that remains.

It is the clearest sign that Juventus, as a whole – team, club, public – has lost its moral compass. Not in the ethical sense, but in the identity sense: he has stopped knowing what he represents.

When greatness is measured in silence

There is a phrase that was once enough to define the Juve world: “Winning isn’t important, it’s the only thing that matters”. It wasn’t arrogance: it was a form of respect for one’s history. Today that phrase has become a tired slogan, emptied of content, repeated more out of habit than conviction.

Juventus today talks about “processes”, “reconstruction”, “new cycle”. Legitimate, necessary words, but which belong to clubs that must become something again. Juventus, on the other hand, was Already something. He had a precise idea of ​​himself, engraved in the collective memory of Italian football. Today that memory is a distant echo: you recognize it in the tone of the passing coach when he talks about “order”, in some well-played defensive match, but it rarely lasts more than ninety minutes.

The fans who are satisfied

The point is that Juventus has become what it derided for decades: a team that is content. Who finds dignity in effort and pride in survival. It is an almost literary parable, of a great fallen empire. And his fans are now part of this story: no longer the impassive and judgmental crowd, but an audience that seeks emotions like those who go to the theater.

Yet, Juventus has never been theatre. It was a factory. A machine that worked in silence, that churned out results like mass-produced products. That silence was scary, and at the same time it gave security. Today, however, the noise is back: chatter, social media, discussions. But noise, in the Juve world, has always been a sign of weakness.

Go back to demanding

Perhaps Juventus’ rebirth will not begin with a trophy, but with a change of outlook. From fans who return to expect, not to hope. From a club that returns to thinking of itself as a measure of Italian football, not as a part of it.

Being Juventus doesn’t mean winning one more match. It means never settling for just one game. It means carrying the weight of your past without nostalgia, but with discipline.

Because the real difference between those who win and those who dominate is not the quantity of trophies: it is the ability to consider them inevitable. And until Juventus – and its fans – go back to thinking like this, they will remain prisoners of those small victories that they once wouldn’t even have remembered.

Only when they stop celebrating Sundays, and start living for the months of May again, will they be able to truly say they are back.