Crockett
The Heist

But what Davy Crockett and his notorious raccoon-tail hat. If you say Crockett to me, there's only one thing that comes to mind.

Or rather, one single phrase.

"Crockett and Tubbs, you go!"

It was always pronounced by Martin (Castillo), and the voice was that historic one of Oreste Rizzini - the Michael Douglas of the golden years. A voice unforgettable. And it was always pronounced from behind his desk, always full of papers, because at the Anti-drug unit, there was never a lack of work. Behind him, the glass window and the pink-hued backdrop of his office. Castillo never had a defined expression, with his scarred face. But that was the beauty of it.

"Crockett and Tubbs, you go!"

Because it was always them who went, when there was a hot case. Sometimes Tubbs would go with Switek - the great Stan, whose unmatched collection of shirts I envied - when Crockett wasn't there, maybe because he had taken a leave to visit his son in Atlanta. But the real pair was them: Sonny and Rico.

"We can nail them, Martin"

"No, we don't have enough evidence"

The basic script, even with the case variations, was almost always the same. Traffickers and big shots to nail, but never enough evidence. And a shipment that would arrive at the port, sooner or later. Because the shipment always arrived, from Panama or Barranquilla or someplace like that. And when the shipment landed, Sonny and Rico were ready to intercept it. Then Gina and Trudy arrived, maybe - strictly in heels and evening dress, but almost always after.

Traffickers (Cubans from Little Havana, Colombians, Nicaraguans: it made little difference) with the inevitable gold chains on their hairy chests, surrounded by a caravan of henchmen even when enjoying themselves in their harems, regularly hosted inside villas with pools and golf courses. The art-deco lines, the hi-tech interiors, the kitsch of classical statues that dominated the lounges: an unparalleled mix.

And you might strive to imagine a different Miami - but for those who haven't missed a single episode, Miami will always be that one. You watched and dreamed of it to the notes of Jan Hammer (ta-ta-ta-ta-ta) when the palm trees appeared and the theme started - and immediately after the pink flamingos, the boat speeding up, the white Ferrari racing, the Downtown skyscrapers. All this is Legend, simply. More than History.

And the clothes. Those pants in which you swam. That on screen made everyone look short and wide, the power of the oversized fashion. It's said today that the fashion of those years inspired Miami, but it was the other way around: it was Miami that inspired the fashion of those years. From Coconut Grove to Key Biscayne, Sonny and Rico set the trends. Pastel colors galore, lots of pink, yellow often recurring. The shoulder pads of astronomical sizes finished off fittingly the look of the two most glam officers on the small screen. Everything was wonderful.

'We are not just a unit, Martin: we are a team. This is our strength'. How to forget those often emotionally charged endings, similar to those on Sonny's boat: "It's the good and the bad of our job, Rico. But I would never change it".

And amidst many memories, I almost forget that - at least theoretically - I'm writing the review of a record.

But assume that I've already written it. Think of palms, think of 80s hotels, think of blue-pink-violet reflections on the veranda of a villa with a pool, think of a Ferrari ride along Ocean Drive. And a soundtrack made of Moroder-like synthesizers, sequential rhythms and effected breaks of drum machine, the kind declared illegal after 1989.

And think of Sonny and Rico, of Gina and Trudy, even of Switek inside his van, eavesdropping on conversations through a bug. How cool they were.

Or, of Martin behind his desk.

'No... we still don't have enough evidence'