Carlo Ancelotti_ The Beautiful Games of an Ordinary Genius - Alessandro Alciato [41]
I wasn’t popular with the old executives of Parma either, especially because I’d decided against signing Roberto Baggio; they never forgave me. At the end of my first season with Parma, Roberto had already come to an agreement with the club, but he wanted a regular starting position, and he even wanted to play behind the strikers, in a role that didn’t exist in 4-4-2. I wasn’t willing to change my formation, and I told him so. I had just gotten the team into the Champions League, and I had no intention of changing my system of play just then. I called him up: “I’d be delighted to have you on the team, but you should know that I have no plans for fielding you regularly. You’d be competing against Crespo and Chiesa.” I’d been rigid; I wasn’t looking for conflicts or problems. He disagreed; I could already imagine his ponytail rising in protest. His answer was crystal clear: “I want continuity, I need to play all the time.” And, in fact, from A. C. Milan he went to Bologna.
Now, years later, I regret how it went. I was wrong to be intransigent. Over time, I learned that there is always a way of allowing a lot of great and talented players to work together and get along. At Parma, I still thought that 4-4-2 was the ideal formation in all cases, but that’s not true. If I had a time machine, I’d go back and of course I’d take Baggio. I could have handled the situation very differently. All of this, of course, caused problems for me. I was branded a coach who was opposed to attacking midfielders, and that wasn’t entirely unfair. For that matter, the year before, I’d turned down Zola as well. Ancelotti, the anti-imagination. Give me anything, but not another number 10. The truth is that I was afraid of moving into territory that I thought I knew too little about. It was a lack of courage, but I made up for it in the years that followed. I found a new source of courage, in part because I went to coach Juventus. And I really couldn’t bench Zidane.
CHAPTER 16
Montero and the Avvocato, Both Crazy About Zizou
It felt more like a court of law than the locker room of Juventus F. C. The place was teeming with lawyers, all eager to defend Zidane; this is my first memory of the biancineri. When I think back to Turin, Zidane comes to mind. The Dream Player was presumed innocent, no matter what, and that presumption was defended ferociously by his incredibly expensive team of lawyers: Gianni Agnelli and Paolo Montero. Agnelli was the Avvocato, full stop—Italy’s national “Lawyer”—while Montero was a lawyer without a law degree, but ready to take on all comers. An odd couple. United in the name of Zizou, a fiery comet that fell to earth from the starry sky, a poster that stepped down from the wall. Welcome to the world of mortals, Our Lord of the Soccer Ball.
They were his shadows, they were his guardian angels, they never left his side. Agnelli was crazy about him; Montero was just plain crazy. When they looked at Zidane, they saw a pure and glowing light, a traffic light that was permanently green. A right of way to extraordinary transport, and he was certainly extraordinary; too bad for us if he often showed up late.
One day, during my first year on the Juventus bench (a year that began in February 1999), we were scheduled to leave for an away game, and Zidane hadn’t arrived yet. He’d vanished, and his cell phone was turned off. I waited for a while, then I made a decision: “Let’s go.”
“But, Carletto, how will he catch up with us?”
“That’s his problem.”
From the back of the team bus, Montero jumped to his feet, marching up the aisle toward me. “Coach, we need to talk.”
“Sure, Paolo. Let’s get this bus on the road, and then I’m all ears.” He marched up to the driver and crossed his arms. “No, that’s exactly what we need to talk about. No one is leaving here without Zidane.”
I took a few seconds to think it over. I evaluated the situation with a certain mental