Carlo Ancelotti_ The Beautiful Games of an Ordinary Genius - Alessandro Alciato [70]
“Carletto, you really can’t remember what a fool you made of yourself that time?”
Okay, now I’m starting to remember. Unfortunately.
“We were in summer training at Trigoria; you, me, and Roberto Baggio all in the same room. It was hot out, the middle of the summer, and we were telling jokes and kidding around. At a certain point, you decided to exaggerate. You went too far. You opened the window and you took off your undershirt, with a draft right on your back. There was no air conditioning …”
“Okay, Stefano, that’s enough. This is ancient history.”
“No, no, let me tell the story. I told you it was damp out, that you could get sick, but you said not to worry, that you were defero. That’s right, with a Roman accent, de fero—an iron man. We were laughing and kidding around.”
Some people might wonder what was so bad about what I did, and, in fact, I asked Stefano the same thing (alas!). “The next morning, you woke up with a fever of 104 and strep throat. Baggio and I came to see you to ask how the iron man was doing. You threw a shoe at us. And you left summer training camp because you were a wreck.”
At that point, I really felt like an ass, for two reasons. First, that day at Trigoria I had proven that I was an ass. Second, I was an ass the first time I saw Stefano sick, because I thought that he was somehow different from me. In fact, I hadn’t understood a thing. When he was a soccer player, he was lazy, he lacked intensity in his playing, but now he has become a warrior. A soldier who never surrenders. He wants to win every battle, by whatever means necessary, and he will succeed this time, too.
I had misgivings about Stefano, and he helped me to overcome them. Me and many others—all his friends. And then Kaká and David Beckham, whom I took to his house. Stefano wanted to meet them in person to explain the situation to them. He believes that everyone can do something for him: support research to find a solution for his problem, and help the families of those afflicted with the disease, because treating the disease is often prohibitively expensive. Stefano already had Beckham’s autograph, on an England jersey that Capello had sent him. He had enormous respect for Kaká.
He tells everyone the same thing: “I know I can do this, but not alone. I need a team. The more of us there are, the better.”
I’m in, I can coach. Stefano’s the striker. The Bastard is the goalkeeper on the opposing team. We’ll force in a goal. We’ll win.
CHAPTER 28
Summoned by Abramovich. The End.
Thank you. Quite simply, thank you. If I am Carletto Ancelotti, I owe it all to Italian football. I feel like an authentic product of my homeland, a genuine, official soccer player and coach. A 100-percent Italian product. For export, sooner or later, because the soul never changes: it goes well beyond the concept of borders. They raised me the way my father cultivated the soil; I grew because I was nourished with passion. In much the same way that he could predict the weather by looking at the sky, I could tell the future by interpreting DVDs—my present and my future. Whatever team I may be coaching, my last thought is for many people. Thanks again. Grazie. Gracias. Thank you. Danke. In all the languages of Europe.
GRAZIE: I played in Serie A and on the national team, I won, I trained, I coached, and I won again. I passed the ball to van Basten, I tried to stop Maradona, I explained soccer to Del Piero, Maldini, Zidane, Kaká (and, in an attempt to win him over, the rich tycoons at Manchester City called me up in January 2009: that was their first time), Beckham, and Ronaldinho. I wept, I smiled, I lived just as I wanted to live, with excitement and passion. I always took home a salary without ever really noticing that I was working, like fat and happy pastry chefs. They eat to work, not the other way around, and that may be why I have a certain tendency to spread and grow. I have broad hips and a vast heart. I am head