Look, it’s a little complicated to write. But it’s a precise feeling. This: seen live, here, now, on the lawn of the Olympiastadion, while they linger before going out, and pat each other, and blow phrases while holding their hand over their mouth, carefully observed, here, the blues seem relieved.
Keep in mind: lift up.
In a few paragraphs you will understand better why.
Immediately, in the heat of the moment, a few lines of heartbreaking and painful news: because it is one mortifying, dramatic, memorable evening for Italian football. Switzerland humiliated us. It’s not just the story of a defeat with which we were thrown out of the European Championship. We are in something deeper and more radical. Historic, perhaps.
But let’s get straight to the point: Is Luciano Spalletti at fault? Yes, of course, of course. Okay: which ones? It must be explained like this: the citizen has a high opinion of himself, and he deserves it (or deserved it, some will object). Anyway: when he arrives at the helm of the national team he realizes that he has at his disposal a human material that is, to say the least, modest. It has no players of international standing (apart from Donnarumma). It has no men of personality and experience. He has no playmakers. He has no center forward. He must choose from the very little that our championship offers.
But instead of imagining a team that plays simple, accessible, dignified football, he decides that the best way forward is to put his own spin on it. That is, more or less, think: I improve these kids with my visions. It’s not presumption: it’s Spalletti. Walter Sabatini, loving him, claims that he is a “neighbor of madness”. Because Spalletti’s football has always been a wonderful mix of pure tactical genius and fussiness bordering on obsession. So, when we arrived in Germany, he began to explain to us his “perimeter football”, which then had to become “relational”. We journalists, frankly, understood little of it. The huge problem is that not even his players understood it (to teach certain patterns requires daily exercises and months of psychological sessions).
One of the worst early times
The match against Albania it was a colossal misunderstanding. Spain then hit us with balls. We suffer against Croatia until the 98th minute, when Zaccagni enters and throws it in. Zaccagni, at that point, is described in some generous titles as a cross between Bruno Conti and Claudio Sala: but it is Zaccagni. Spalletti, against the Swiss, even prefers El Shaarawy, who is a reserve in Rome. Changing, again, formation and schemes. This time it should be a rather academic 4-3-3, but we struggle terribly. We close, one goal down, perhaps the worst first half ever played by the Azzurri in the last fifty years. They are almost just notes from memory. It’s all so bad that it remains engraved. Di Lorenzo, embarrassing. Damn, irritating. They have this Xhaka, who is an excellent director: but he seems like Schiaffino, between Barella (badly) and Fagioli. Who plays in place of Jorginho. Let’s say that, seeing him in action, it remains rather incomprehensible why he was called up, despite the fact that he still had the stench of a suspension on him, and he hadn’t played for seven months. But we’re talking about gossip.
Azzurri emerge almost relieved
The truth is that our players, even throughout the recovery, are struggling in an obscure way, almost irrational, making mistakes in doubles, diagonals, when coming out we lose absurd balls and then we understand that not only do they have a self-esteem problem (understandable, after you’ve seen people like Rodri, Yamal, Modric up close), but they are confused and tired in the head. The closed retreat imposed by Spalletti – and here, probably, there is another serious error of judgment – has plunged them into a state of pure claustrophobia. The referee who blows the final whistle takes them out of a nightmare. Their relieved looks, which I spoke about at the beginning of the piece, can be explained like this.
Of course, there is still a lot to explain. Where is the president of the Football Federation, Gabriele Gravina? What do you think of this disaster, of this abysmal crisis of ours? Do you know, President, that now it is unfortunately also legitimate to be assailed by the doubt that in London, three years ago, we won only due to a generous stroke of benevolence – let’s call it that – from fate? But Gravina doesn’t speak. They saw him leave with the Minister for Sport, Andrea Abodi. Even Spalletti now goes towards the bus.
The blues are already on board. With headphones on their ears and their toiletries full of Japanese oils and anti-wrinkle creams. Just one thing, guys: on holiday – when you are in the Maldives and Porto Cervo – think again. And feel a bit of shame, anyway.
