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office of the Federation, again in Rome, and it was no fun at all. I left there with the distinct impression that they had it in for Milan. They took a tough attitude with me, their questions about Meani (who was and remains a close friend of mine) were pressing; they were doing their best to establish direct involvement on the club’s part. They almost seemed to take it for granted that we were guilty. I was very clear with the people who were questioning me: “Meani made those phone calls to protect A. C. Milan, to keep us from being continually penalized by specific calls by the referees.” In other words, no one had done anything illegal or scandalous. I knew we hadn’t done anything wrong, but we still had to suffer. I talked a lot with Galliani; he was very upset, the club’s public image was at stake. The situation just drove him into a fury. To reassure him, I said, “I’m staying, even if they bump us down into Serie B.” And the players with me.

In the end, we started eight points down in Serie A and from the preliminaries in the Champions League. Even today, I still believe that A. C. Milan was the victim of a terrible injustice. If we go back and closely examine the championship games in question, we certainly had no advantage over Juventus. If anything, it was the opposite, especially in the direct confrontations; on one occasion in Turin, the referee, Bertini, refused to allow two blindingly obvious penalties. He also disallowed the advantage rule when Kaká was still on his feet after being fouled while running toward our opponents’ goal. We were three against one, and the referee stopped play. Three against two, if you include Bertini. That time, they really took it too far: the perfect crime.

The summer of Calciopoli was a terrible time: we, as an Italian team, were world champions with a giant blot against our name. The Italian tricolor in the mud. For A. C. Milan, there was the preliminary round of the European Cup against Red Star Belgrade, and we needed to train and prepare. So I was forced to call all the players to Milanello early. Including the players who had just played the final against France in Berlin. I remember my conversation with Inzaghi: “Pippo, I’m sorry, but you have to come back. We need you.”

“Okay, coach, just give me a second.”

It really did just take a second; in fact, Pippo seemed to beam down to the training camp. He set a fine example for everyone—even for Pinocchio.

CHAPTER 24

There Is No Such Thing as the Malta Pact

If the Great Communicator, He who Knows, the Lord of the Press Conference, the Immense Provocateur, the Special Coach who never has to ask (although he was asked repeatedly about the Champions League at Chelsea, and seemed to offer no reply) had already been among us common mortals at the time, at the end of that cursed summer of 2006, he would certainly have stuck his nose into our business. And he would have said just one thing, with a Portuguese accent: “Zeru tituli for A. C. Milan.” Zero titles, no championships, no trophies on the horizon.

In reality, though, we were getting ready to make our move. Granted, we had drafted Daniele Bonera for the preliminary rounds of the Champions League, only to discover that he had been disqualified and wouldn’t be able to play. But otherwise all was good. We were, as usual, a trifle old, but actually in pretty good shape—Cafu in particular. He had surprised me. He showed up at Milanello just three days before the away game against Red Star, and he was in extraordinary condition. Every time he came back from Brazil, he looked like a brand new defender, fully rejuvenated. I never understood exactly what he did during his holidays, and I’m not sure I want to know. We won at home, and we won again at the away game; we qualified, and the Champions League couldn’t go on without us. And we couldn’t go on without the Champions League.

In that period, I was coaching two teams: officially, A. C. Milan, and in my heart, Liverpool. I was rooting for us and for them; I wanted to take both teams to the final match, which would be played