Carlo Ancelotti_ The Beautiful Games of an Ordinary Genius - Alessandro Alciato [11]
“When would this be?”
“We know your contract with Parma still has a year to run, so from the coming season.”
“Listen, though, don’t you have Lippi? There’s no one better than him.”
“He’s not happy, he’s tired of being here, he’s decided this is his last year. So we thought of you.”
What did I think? I must have thought they were crazy and, as you know, it’s dangerous to contradict the mentally unstable, so I went along with them. After a few more hours of conversation, they had me sign their contract. First impression: three reliable, competent individuals, three talented executives.
They wrote out the contract by hand on a sheet of letterhead stationery, blue ink on white paper, twenty-three lines in total, not including signatures. Here are a few passages:
1) Signore Carlo Ancelotti will take on, with the responsibilities of coach, the technical management and training of the first team of Juventus F. C. beginning with the 1999–2000 championship season until 30 June 2001.
2) For this position, Juventus F. C. will pay Signore Carlo Ancelotti the sum of Italian Lire 1,800,000 (one billion eight hundred million) [$1.5 million], net of withholding, for the soccer year of 1999–2000 and Italian Lire 1,800,000 (one billion eight hundred million) net of withholding, for the soccer year of 2000–2001.
3) Signore Carlo Ancelotti assigns to Juventus F. C. the right to exercise an option for the athletic year of 2001–2002 at the salary, established as of the signing of this contract, of Italian Lire 2,000,000 (two billion) [$1.6 million] […].
The numerical sums were written as shown above, missing a comma and three zeros, in millions, not billions: luckily, my bank account was safeguarded by the sums expressed in words, set in parentheses. Three signatures on the left and one signature on the right: Bettega and I signed with the same black ink, while Moggi and Giraudo signed in blue ink. I was going to be Lippi’s successor; it was written on that sheet of paper.
I came home to Felegara, I summoned my family and friends, I was bursting with pride. Chest (and belly) protruding, I made the momentous announcement: “I’m the new Juventus manager.” They shouted back in unison: “Oh, go take a shit—va’ a cagher—you’ve lost your mind.” After that, I had to carry the contract with me in my jacket pocket. I had accepted an offer from Juventus, valid from the start of the following year, and no one believed a word I said. As it turned out, I wound up on the Juventus bench earlier than scheduled, in February 1999: Lippi was having problems, but that is another story.
Every time I agreed to coach a new team, the decision was always accompanied by fireworks and occasionally by a mushroom cloud; in any case, it was never easy or simple. Except for the time I left Reggiana to go to Parma—I didn’t have to think twice about that one. For that matter, from the Italian national team—where I was the assistant coach to the Maestro Arrigo Sacchi—to Reggiana, I gave up a safe perch for an uncertain future. Between Parma and Juventus, I was escaping the pressing tactics of the Turks.
Then came A. C. Milan in November 2001, and on that occasion I was fleeing the pursuit of Stefano Tanzi, who wanted to take me back to Parma. None of this is intentional, it just seems to happen to me; I move quicker than I mean to. Tanzi and I had a meeting on Friday and came to a verbal agreement; we agreed to meet at Parmalat headquarters the following Monday to get everything down in black and white. On Saturday, I rested up. On Sunday, I watched the Turin–Milan match on television with my old friend William Vecchi; and, to my surprise, I watched Stefano Tanzi announce on