It was the last at San Siro, but it seemed like the first at La Scala. Eighty thousand people in the stands, endless applause, a continuous standing ovation that began already during the warm-up. Milan fans and Brescians together. Twinned, of course, but their hands were those of the whole of Italy, which applauded its champion one last time, the only one universally recognized as an Italian symbol. And the tears, even from the “tough guys” who pretended it was just sweat. In rivers, for those who had not yet consumed them all a week earlier when, at Rigamonti, Roberto Baggio he closed the door last after scoring a champion’s goal against Lazio, number two hundred and five.
The last of his career, spent between joys and obstacles: light flights like his dribbles that made you dream, painful and repeated injuries from which he always got back up. Brescia doesn’t have any trophies of great value to display on their showcase, they don’t play in European competitions, they are the club with the most participations in Serie B. But they had Roberto Baggio. Even more: when one of the most loved in the world said enough with football, he had the white vu on his chest and kissed the symbol of Brescia before taking the road for the last time – after the intense embrace with Paolo Maldini – via the changing rooms. This may not be a cup, but it is not a Pyrrhic victory: it is something that remains. Forever and For Always.
On that day twenty years ago a match was also played, Milan fresh from the Scudetto (Silvio Berlusconi, prime minister in office at the time, went down to the locker room and tried to convince him to join the Rossoneri’s world tour) beat Brescia 4-2 who he had celebrated salvation two weeks earlier in Siena, when Baggio managed to take the field for only a few minutes to defend the precious advantage signed by Brighi. He had made himself available that time too, like two years earlier in the match of the century against Bologna, however save Brescia from relegation.
Mission accomplished, amidst the tears of an entire stadium and a locker room in which the number ten started the first chant: «Vittorio Mero, Vittorio Mero». The salvation prize was given to the son of the companion and friend who was no longer there and who had helped them from heaven. This was Carletto’s Brescia: him like a father, the players like brothers, one for all and all for Roby, to whom they would also give their soul. In the last championship of his magical four-year period, Gianni De Biasi was on the bench but nothing changed: that was a group that ran on autopilot.
And the Corioni family had also found the right formula on the market: after all, with the gentleman wearing the number ten shirt, some would have played for free. The problems came soon after. The inconsolable cry of the people of Brescia, in a long farewell to football that had begun months earlier, a bit like Kobe Bryant in the NBA, was that of those who believed that “a dream like this will never come back”. Things were even worse than you might think. Without Roberto Baggio, the Swallows never survived in Serie A, a category in which they participated only three times.
In the first season without the Divine Codino, the doors of the cadetship were thrown open: a purgatory that only ended in 2010, for another twelve months of illusion, like those between 2019 and 2020. Yet, when they want to raise their heads, in every corner of the world, the swallows’ fans have a magical passepartout: just say “Roberto Baggio” to receive affection without distinction, to puff out your chest again and remember those happy days, that breeze of euphoria that a man with a pigtail was able to bring to a city. What is the noise of happiness? We knew it that day. He had a first and last name: Roberto Baggio. He was everyone’s man, but he was ours.
