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I may have been a bad writer, but apparently the prescription for the team’s crisis was always clear to me. Tragedy can only produce better performance. Either you emerge, all rowing in the same direction, or you’re done for.

The process of psychological reconstruction is a lengthy one, perhaps even too long. It took us the entire 2005–06 season to complete it. We didn’t win a thing that year—an unusual situation for our group of players and one we’d never experienced before.

While I’m on the subject, let me say something about a notion that is of interest to many people I’ve spoken to: perhaps the decline of Alberto Gilardino—who had just joined the team—began at this very point. Alberto is a somewhat fragile personality, and it wasn’t the dream of his life to be acquired by a club like A. C. Milan in the midst of such a troubled period. He was crushed by the ensuing pressure.

In any case, we emerged from the ordeal stronger. I may be crazy, but I think that the defeat at Istanbul wasn’t completely negative. It had its reasons and its value. We were ready to start over from scratch. All together, hand in hand, into the eye of the hurricane. The hurricane of the Italian soccer scandal: Calciopoli.

CHAPTER 23

An Impatient Pinocchio

The nose. It’s long—incredibly long. In the summer of 2006, Pinocchio had come to terms with us; he was practically a member of the A. C. Milan team. We even had his uniform ready. Ready for Zlatan Ibrahimović, the perfect striker, arriving from the distant shores of Juventus. Perfect in and of himself, and perfect for my team. An assault weapon in my hands, with the ammunition clip entrusted to Kaká. In my imagination, I was already training him, the tempered-steel tip of our little Christmas Tree.

The problem was that Ibra lacked the strength of character to wait patiently. Haste makes waste, but Massimo Moratti pays good money; so one more world-class soccer player went to Inter. It disappointed me. This was the first sting of the Calciopoli scandal, and, more than ointment, I needed a suit of armor to deal with what followed. In the summer of 2006, Ibra had been our major designated purchase, but we didn’t yet know whether we would be playing in Serie A or Serie B. He certainly didn’t want to drop down a ranking. So we asked him to give us a little more time until it became clear. He didn’t have any more time to give us, apparently. He changed his plans and his colors without changing his city. Too bad. He wanted to win the Champions League; we could have served that to him on a silver platter just a year later.

I was to console myself over our loss with a new acquaintance, Warrant Officer Auricchio, the great discovery of that period. Every day I read sensational new reports in the daily press; from time to time, the versions would change, usually for the worse. A. C. Milan in Serie A; Milan in Serie B; it could even go down to Serie C; Milan won’t be penalized; Milan will be penalized; Milan is going to compete in the Champions League; Milan out of the running for the European Cup; Milan guilty; Milan very guilty. I was ready at this point for anything, even the revelation that Galliani had assassinated JFK. It was the end of the world.

One day I was at home with a group of friends; we were talking about everything that was happening. I said I was amazed that the police hadn’t called me yet. They were questioning everyone they could think of. As if by stage direction, my cell phone rang at that very moment. It was from an unlisted number, caller unknown, which is like the signature of the classic prankster: “Hello, this is the carabinieri of Rome, I’m Warrant Officer Auricchio.”

“Oh, come on. You trying to pull my leg? Who is this?”

“Sir, believe me, I’m telling you the truth. I really am Warrant Officer Auricchio.”

Sure, Auricchio, like the brand of provolone cheese. Mmmm-mmm … Auricchio—tastes good, and good for you!

“Look, you can give me all the plausible details you want, my dear Auriemma.…”

“Auricchio!”

“Sure, right—Auricchio.