Online Book Reader

Home Category

Carlo Ancelotti_ The Beautiful Games of an Ordinary Genius - Alessandro Alciato [39]

By Root 365 0
had limitless potential. I’d gotten a few things backward, which was absolutely my fault. Then Zola left, we sold Amaral, and we acquired Mario Stanic. So things were finally under control. At that point, this is what my Parma looked like: Buffon in goal; a four-man defense with Zé Maria, Thuram, Cannavaro, and Benarrivo; in midfield, from right to left, Stanic, Dino Baggio, Sensini, and Strada; Crespo and Chiesa as strikers. I still stand by it today. I was no visionary; back then, they were completely unknown. An incredible team, I know, but it’s easy to say that now. In the first few months, we just couldn’t work together; we were five teams from the bottom. Cavaliere (another knight of labor …) Tanzi got a new idea: “Let’s get rid of Ancelotti.” The usual earthquake, the usual lightning bolts, the usual burning sensation. In practical terms, I was the first man in history with stigmata on my ass.

CHAPTER 15

Ancelotti: Anti-Imagination

Maybe what Tanzi wanted was to take me to Parmalat. Print a nice SELL BY date on me, and sell me by the kilo—come to think of it, he would have made a good profit if he had. Carletto: best if consumed as soon as possible. Eat all you can.

Christmas was coming. The ultimatum came after a draw with Atalanta. There was only one condition: don’t lose. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure not losing would be enough. Before the break, we had two away games, at Vicenza and at the San Siro, against Sacchi’s A. C. Milan. The first match went well; Benarrivo saved me with a slicing shot from outside the penalty area. It was a lot more than just the goal of that Sunday; it was the goal of the entire week. The match ended 1–1; it could have gone worse, but according to Tanzi it had to go better. He didn’t like us much in those days, but he couldn’t cancel the Christmas dinner that he’d already planned at his house, just a few days before we left for Milan. We exchanged gifts; the players gave me a set of luggage. We were guests of someone who would gladly have skipped seeing us entirely. “Buona sera, Cavaliere.”

“Buona sera to you. Do you know that our team is doing badly?”

Let’s say I’d guessed it.

“Carletto, you should know that if you don’t win against A. C. Milan, I’m going to fire you.”

“Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, Cavaliere.”

I lost my appetite, and it was the first and only time in my life, I think. Beat A. C. Milan in their own stadium. Impossible, or something like it. Word got around, and even Tanzi’s closest advisers did their best to make him change his mind. “Mr. Chairman, we’re playing at San Siro. Wouldn’t a nice little draw be enough?”

“We have to win. And win we will.”

Unless I’m much mistaken, I’d heard that phrase once before. By the end of the meal, he had begun to believe that a single point would save me. And he hadn’t even had much to drink. Just a little two-percent Parmalat milk.

I had a bad feeling. I wasn’t feeling optimistic. But I decided to take the initiative: the evening before the game, I asked the entire team to come to my room at the Hotel Doria. We opened champagne and we toasted: “To us.” We said goodbye; we all agreed that it had been good working together. Short but intense. A farewell celebration—a sad occasion. Despite my sense of doom, the adventure continued. We won, 1–0. At San Siro. Against A. C. Milan. On the eve of the season’s winter break. I always suspected that it was a sort of Christmas gift from Sacchi; maybe he thought that if I’d been fired it would have been a defeat for him too.

After the holidays, we won 1–0 against Juventus too. In that season, we won eleven times with scores of 1–0. Eleven times. Because we had an unknown goalkeeper, Buffon. Two central defenders who weren’t anything special, Thuram and Cannavaro. An unimpressive striker, Crespo.

Another round, and the same gift. Just like in Reggio Emilia, in Parma we were turning the league on its head. From the bottom to the top, at the speed of sound. We let the Scudetto slip out of our hands in the return match against Milan, 1–1, but more importantly in Turin

Return Main Page Previous Page Next Page

®Online Book Reader