From the stands to the pitch: the story of a hockey final filled with emotion, cheering, and photography.
- Gianvito Coco
- 5 days ago
- 6 min read
A photographic account of the Ice Hockey League final at the Intercable Arena in Brunico: from the stands to the pitch, amidst cheering, excitement, and photographic technique in the ice arena. A season spent immersed in passion and sports photography.
There are moments when the role changes, but the emotion remains. In fact, it amplifies. And sometimes you don't even notice when it happens: at a certain point, you simply stop being a mere spectator and start becoming part of the story.
My relationship with hockey in Brunico wasn't born today. It's a bond built over time, made up of sporadic visits, distant memories, and feelings that have settled slowly. I still remember one of the first times I entered the old facility: everything was different, rougher, more essential, but already incredibly real. There was something in the air, an intensity I couldn't yet explain, but which had clearly already captivated me.
Then, this summer, something shifted.
I had the opportunity to photograph the team's official presentation in the center of Brunico. It wasn't a game, it wasn't the ice, but everything was already there. The crowded square, the lights, the crowds, the curious and proud looks. An entire city that recognized itself in one team. In that moment, I realized I wasn't just observing, I was starting to tell the story.
From there, everything changed.
I began to follow the team more regularly, experiencing the games as a fan, in the stands, immersed in the noise, the tension, that collective energy that can't really be explained in words. At first, I was one of many. Then, without realizing it, you begin to become part of the human landscape around you. The same faces, the same places, the same pre-match gestures. A glance is enough to recognize each other. And that distance between "me" and "us" becomes increasingly narrow.
But today it's different.
Today I'm in the same world, but from a different perspective. For the first time, I'm covering an Ice Hockey League final not from the stands, but as a photographer. No longer just experienced emotion, but emotion observed, anticipated, translated into images. I'm between the field and the crowd, in that fragile yet powerful space where everything happens simultaneously.
Between the field and the crowd: the invisible boundary. Being courtside means living on a fine line. On one side, the ice, the speed, the extreme physicality of the game. On the other, the crowd, the noise, the emotional wave rising from the stands. In between, a narrow but dense space, shared with those who work behind the scenes: photographers, videographers, coaching staff, and production staff.
It's a privileged but also complex position. You no longer have the instinctive involvement of the curve, but you're not on the outside either. You're inside, but you need to stay clear. You have to observe as everything happens, anticipate as others react, make decisions as the action unfolds before you at breakneck speed.
And this is where the way you see everything changes.
The Tunnel: Where It All Begins
Before the match even begins, there's a moment that captures all the tension and energy of a final: the tunnel. It's there that the players prepare, look each other in the eyes, and convey grit and determination without words. Their gazes are focused, intense, and charged with meaning. Every gesture is measured, every moment suspended between calm and storm.
The crowd is right next to them, very close, almost in the same space. Even the youngest players approach with outstretched hands, waiting for a high five from their favorites. It's a simple yet powerful gesture, creating a direct connection between those playing and those experiencing the game from the stands, a human connection that precedes any action on the ice.
And it is precisely here that one of the most powerful images of the evening is born. Amidst that flow of people, almost by chance but with the quick wit that this job requires, I manage to capture a moment I will never forget: the young son of a player greeting him as he comes in for warmups. A look, a gesture, a minimal distance between the ice and real life. A simple yet profound moment, because it reveals everything that is often unseen: the human side behind the competition, the family behind the athlete, the emotion even before the game.
The shift in perspective: from fan to photographer
Changing perspective doesn't mean changing emotions, but transforming them. As a fan, you experience the game directly, impulsively, unfiltered. As a photographer, however, you need to enter a different rhythm. You need to understand before it happens, reading the game like a language.
Every play becomes a possibility. Every move a potential shot. But at the same time, you have to stay true to what's happening around you, because a final isn't just what happens on the ice, but everything that surrounds it.
And this completely changes the way of telling.
Equipment and controlled chaos
Photographing a hockey final means dealing with challenging conditions. The lighting in the ice arena is complex, artificial, and often uneven. The ice reflects, amplifies, and deceives. The plexiglass introduces distortions, reflections, and constant interference.
Hockey leaves you no room. It's a fast, direct sport, with no real pauses. You have to be ready for anything, always.
This is why point of view is crucial. There's no single correct position: on the sidelines you're inside the action, from above you're inside the atmosphere, behind the stands you're inside the crowd's breathing. Each angle tells a different part of the same story.
And only by putting them together does the story become complete.
Hearts in the stands: when everything becomes collective
Sports photography is never just about technique. It's about anticipation, instinct, presence. But above all, it's about people.
During this final, the Brunico Ice Stadium transformed into something bigger than a simple sports facility. Thousands of faces, thousands of eyes fixed on the ice, each with their own story, but all sharing the same emotion.
Hearts that do not beat separately, but together.
There are those who experience every action holding their breath, those who scream, those who cheer, those who suffer in silence, and those who explode uncontrollably. But in those moments, everything synchronizes. Time is no longer that of the clock, but that of the game.
And for a few hours, truly, the individual no longer exists. There is a single collective identity, fragile and powerful at the same time.
The yellow and black of the home fans mixes with the orange of the Graz99 visitors. Two opposing colors, two powerful presences, but a single energy that fills every space in the stadium.
It's not just cheering. It's something akin to the deepest sense of belonging.
When the game ends with emotion
The game ends. And not in the way we'd hoped.
The cup goes to their opponents, right here, at home. The disappointment is real, visible, almost physical. It's evident in their faces, in their slower steps, in the silences that deepen when the noise dies down.
Yet, in that same match, there was everything.
The lead, the 2-1, the explosion in the stadium, that moment when everything seemed possible. It's there that one of the most authentic shots of the evening was born: a moment that contains within it the hope, the tension, and the beauty of sport.
Then the game gets tougher, more intense, more inevitable.
When unity surpasses the result
By the final minutes, the game was already decided, but the stadium didn't give up. In fact, it lit up even more.
The crowd doesn't stop. Not because they think they can change the outcome, but because they want to be there until the end. They want to be with the team, even in the final moments.
And something rare happens there.
The pitch and the stands cease to be two separate worlds. The team, the fans, and the city become one voice. One presence. One heartbeat.
When unity is everything, the result loses its center.
The final embrace
In the end, what remains is what cannot be measured.
The scarves raised. The applause slowing. The tears undisguised.
And then the hug.
Between players and fans, between those who gave their all on the ice and those who supported without stopping. An embrace that doesn't really console, but it tells the story. It recounts a season, a journey, a shared identity.
Today I wasn't just a fan. And I wasn't just a photographer. I was both, at the same time.
Beyond the result
A defeat always leaves something behind. But it never just leaves a void. It leaves behind stories, images, fragments that remain.
That of a team. Of a stadium. Of an entire city that experiences sport as part of its identity.
And through this story and these images, I have tried to do only one thing: stop what cannot be stopped.
Because photography doesn't change the result. But it makes what you've experienced eternal.
