When I was in high school, in a corner of my classroom, a classmate had hung a newspaper clipping, a front page of the Journal, whose title was: “Thiago, the wall of Milan”. Considering the sad conditions in which the walls of the institute found themselves, the effect produced by that combination could even sound comical, if you didn’t follow football and let your mind wander on its behalf. If, however, you were a Rossoneri fan, that piece of newspaper hanging there not only represented a certificate of the player’s qualities, but served to crystallize the moment, to establish a fact against the evolving time and the continuous change of opinions, headlines and fashions. In short, it was the closest thing to a crucifix or a holy card that one could invent from the collection of figurines. As eternal as the days of May seem, when you are confined to a classroom and find yourself observing the world outside the window. Eternal until someone detached it out of disfigurement or duty. Eternal until the moment Thiago Silva went to be the wall of some other team. Remote hypothesis, almost impossible, not to say sacrilegious, during that Italian spring, when we were already thinking about the future, about the second star, about a Milan that would forever remain the Milan that doesn’t sell its champions, if still at its peak, as well as a team ready to take a leading role on the national scene and prove to be a dangerous outsider in Europe.
Instead, one season and a lost championship later, here is the demobilization. That summer, in those bitter days of July, although the ink on the renewal was still fresh, the rumors of his transfer to the Sheiks’ PSG began to be confirmed. And not just him. Even that of Ibrahimovic. Full package. Sixty million to quench the thirst for revenge. And sort out budgets. Sale or fire sale, it was the end of something beautiful that lasted too short. And the beginning of the analyses. I remember that in those days the number of pages on the sports forum I visited tripled in just a few hours. The analyzes were counterpointed by feelings, conspiracy theories, and the five stages of sports mourning. Thiago Silva who already knew about the transfer in May, Thiago Silva who refused to take the field due to a little pain, but at the same time Thiago Silva is a wreck – otherwise they wouldn’t have sold him – and Thiago Silva is a mercenary.
In short, anger and the feeling of abandonment dominated the stomachs and minds of many in those days. The sale of what was considered the best defender in the world at the time was among the first harmful effects of the Lodo Mondadori, but for some it was also proof that the team set up two years earlier had been the result of a reaction of pride to Treble for the Nerazzurri’s rivals, and not a move dictated by long-term planning. Programming which, at that point, no longer seemed sustainable. I don’t know if that piece of newspaper remained there afterwards, I had graduated in the season of the eighteenth championship, but I imagine not. And not due to the pedantry of some school collaborator: the hand of the market had taken care of taking down the effigy of Thiago Silva. And the wall had come down. The wall that protected the hearts of the fans was now exposed to a future that would prove to be anything but rosy. And the images of Thiago Silva as a spectator at San Siro, injured but smiling, apparently detached from the suffering of that Milan close to silverware, were salt on the broken hearts of the fans. Something had broken. Not only between the Milan fans and the Brazilian, but also in the Brazilian’s own career, who by accepting the transfer to France, at the court of a team with means far superior to their opponents, in a championship with less coat of arms, relegated himself in a context that would have reduced the perception of his qualities and his future victories.
Thiago Silva became the reflection of an interrupted adolescence for AC Milan fans. Anyone else would have enjoyed his robotic headers, his stern tackles and his leadership skills. But after a few months, between new problems and new idols, Rossoneri football would move forward. And the figure of Thiago Silva would soon emerge from the category of mercenaries and re-enter the category of heroes. Thanks to the subsequent Banter Era and the unworthy substitutes, the Rossoneri Thiago Silva was the bastion of a happy past for its old fans. The following Thiago Silva, however, thanks to a new geo-football distance from the Italian reality and other factors, stopped exciting us.
Let’s be clear, the Brazilian’s distinctive trait was the ability to stand out by wearing grey. Even when he took the ball and quickly released it, with the animalistic speed of thoroughbred raiders, possessed by the midfielder he was in his youth, he didn’t give the impression of wanting to focus the lights of the show on himself. The outings he hosted were spectacular, of course, but always dictated by the needs of the action and the match. In those dribbles there was none of the ostentatious, and at times melancholic, joy of the Brazilian tightrope walkers. Instead there was the elegance that the defensive art had shaped, if not denatured, into strength. And, obviously, an ability to serve the ball and throw the attacker deep – often Alexandre Pato, in his three-year spell at the Rossoneri – which resulted in winning passes, when he recovered the ball early and took advantage of open spaces. But in France, having abandoned the more rocking number 33 and wearing a more sober number 2, Thiago Silva continued to be this Thiago Silva until we forgot about him.
Captain, winning captain, unsurpassed centre-back, grim scorer who winked at the modernity of the defender, making everyone agree. Numerous championships won, various national cups and Super Cups. Equally numerous are the participations and placings in the Champions League, once an unattainable chimera for PSG and Thiago himself, struck down by tuberculosis on his first arrival in Europe, a lifetime before. A movable celebration, his eight years in France, at which however the guest of honour, the cup with the big ears, always took the last step. And which has not lacked unexpected events, such as the 2016/17 Ligue 1 loss to Monaco. Ultimately a rich, profitable and successful marriage, but also boring, monotonous, a reflection of the irreproachability of Thiago, who chose to spend his best years in a golden bubble, becoming the author of such a pragmatic path – where for “pragmatic ” means giving priority to money on the plate – how anti-climatic. And eight seasons in a bubble, although winning is always difficult, irremediably creates a distance. Not only between present and past, but also between idol and feeling. At a high school reunion, the classmate who had hung that front page of the newspaper on the wall told me that over time he had stopped following football and that he had almost forgotten the existence of Thiago Silva. «Does he still play at PSG?»
Not exactly. The year before he had won as captain, despite getting injured during the final, a Champions League with the Chelsea shirt, thus marking – by the skin of his teeth, given his age – the box that in the populist perception of football separates the great champions unfinished by the great champions stop. A result that in some way closed a circle, extinguishing the worry that he would never have succeeded, given the bad luck, the late arrival at high levels and the career choices. A concern only mine and that of a few others, as I later found, the memory of Thiago Silva having faded, in the few places I frequent, just as the time linked to the pinnacle in the Rossoneri shirt has faded. But such a late culmination is faithful to his parable. The parable of a footballer who over the years has revealed himself to be the antithesis of the stereotype of the Brazilian footballer suffering from saudade, who gives his best in the early years of his career and for a short time. On the contrary, his career had the classic times of a diesel-powered engine. A crescendo that developed quietly, like a fair in a neighboring city, or History when it passes us by.
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A few days ago, a video was released on Chelsea’s social channels where Thiago Silva announces his farewell to the club and his return to Brazil. You can find it above. He doesn’t seem to have aged a single line in the last fifteen years. And the heart that he put into every game action – between Milan, Paris and London – emerges through the ripples of his voice and the barely held back tears. More than a farewell to its current fans, as you may have guessed from the three cities mentioned above, I saw it as a farewell to European football. To a chapter in one’s life that once seemed like it wouldn’t even begin. Looking at him, as unfortunately often happens to me, gratitude was soon overwhelmed by resentment, by a feeling of greed that remained unsatisfied.
I’m sure I would have enjoyed Thiago Silva more if he had stayed in Italy or played for teams other than PSG and Chelsea. But this matters little now. What remains and will remain of Thiago Silva rightly surpasses personal opinions and regrets. Because his reliable spectacularity, his ability to synthesize toughness and fairness, his magnetic charisma in a contrast will remain forever imprinted on the game of football and on all fans. Even if in recent years we have forgotten about it, or have not paid attention to it, anesthetized by its consistency of performance and by the other things in life. Unable to see beyond the wall of memories.
