Carlo Ancelotti: The Beautiful Games of an Ordinary Genius by Alessandro Alciato; Carlo Ancelotti; Paolo Maldini

Author:Alessandro Alciato; Carlo Ancelotti; Paolo Maldini
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Sports
ISBN: 9780847835386
Publisher: Rizzoli
Published: 2010-10-19T10:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Ancelotti: Anti-Imagination

Maybe what Tanzi wanted was to take me to Parmalat. Print a nice SELL BY date on me, and sell me by the kilo—come to think of it, he would have made a good profit if he had. Carletto: best if consumed as soon as possible. Eat all you can.

Christmas was coming. The ultimatum came after a draw with Atalanta. There was only one condition: don’t lose. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure not losing would be enough. Before the break, we had two away games, at Vicenza and at the San Siro, against Sacchi’s A. C. Milan. The first match went well; Benarrivo saved me with a slicing shot from outside the penalty area. It was a lot more than just the goal of that Sunday; it was the goal of the entire week. The match ended 1–1; it could have gone worse, but according to Tanzi it had to go better. He didn’t like us much in those days, but he couldn’t cancel the Christmas dinner that he’d already planned at his house, just a few days before we left for Milan. We exchanged gifts; the players gave me a set of luggage. We were guests of someone who would gladly have skipped seeing us entirely. “Buona sera, Cavaliere.”

“Buona sera to you. Do you know that our team is doing badly?”

Let’s say I’d guessed it.

“Carletto, you should know that if you don’t win against A. C. Milan, I’m going to fire you.”

“Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, Cavaliere.”

I lost my appetite, and it was the first and only time in my life, I think. Beat A. C. Milan in their own stadium. Impossible, or something like it. Word got around, and even Tanzi’s closest advisers did their best to make him change his mind. “Mr. Chairman, we’re playing at San Siro. Wouldn’t a nice little draw be enough?”

“We have to win. And win we will.”

Unless I’m much mistaken, I’d heard that phrase once before. By the end of the meal, he had begun to believe that a single point would save me. And he hadn’t even had much to drink. Just a little two-percent Parmalat milk.

I had a bad feeling. I wasn’t feeling optimistic. But I decided to take the initiative: the evening before the game, I asked the entire team to come to my room at the Hotel Doria. We opened champagne and we toasted: “To us.” We said goodbye; we all agreed that it had been good working together. Short but intense. A farewell celebration—a sad occasion. Despite my sense of doom, the adventure continued. We won, 1–0. At San Siro. Against A. C. Milan. On the eve of the season’s winter break. I always suspected that it was a sort of Christmas gift from Sacchi; maybe he thought that if I’d been fired it would have been a defeat for him too.

After the holidays, we won 1–0 against Juventus too. In that season, we won eleven times with scores of 1–0. Eleven times.

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