CRAVING U (The Rook Café) (33 page)

Matteo was
startled by the sudden jostling of the train as it arrived in the Milan
station.  125 miles in 110 minutes of scar tissue and the sense of adventure. 
It was 7:25 in the evening and it was time for him to let go of his fears and
enter the light.

Nelson Mandela
once said,
“
Our deepest fear is not that we are
inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our
light, not our darkness that most frightens us
.”

He couldn’t turn back.  Right or wrong,
the past could not be rewritten.  And so he might as well take up arms against
the world and come out victorious.  He could return to the one he loved in his
victory armor.  Too bad, though, that he hadn’t taken the quirks of fate into
consideration, with all of the changes, big or small, that they bring.

One of Canosi’s assistants was waiting for
him on a bench, dressed to the nines in a dark blue silk suit.  “Did you have a
good trip?” he asked him, shaking his hand.

“I did, thanks.”  Matteo followed him out
front where a silver Audi A4 Avant was waiting to take them to the Hotel
Residence de Neige.  It was the same place he had stayed before in the
neighborhood of Corso Buenos Aires, less than fifteen minutes from the
San
Carlo
sports center by shuttle.

Room 410
.  “Take your time, and
when you’re ready, come downstairs.  We’ll be in the restaurant having dinner.” 
The assistant politely took his leave, handing over Matteo’s pass for the
residence, as if he were an employee working the reception desk.

The strong scent of lavender took over his
senses as he sat down on a bed next to the French windows and tried to get used
to the idea that this room would be his home for the next two months.  He was
on the top floor of the hotel, and it was larger than the one he had stayed in
before, with nicer furnishings, including Napoleon III antiques and walls that
had been hand-decorated with an ocher-tinted sponge brush.  It was a
twin-bedroom apartment divided into sleeping area and kitchen/living area.

To the side, pushed up against the wall,
there was a second bed completely buried under a huge pile of clothes.  He
stood up to snoop through them and try to figure out who they belonged to when
the door to the bathroom, all marble and mosaic, opened and a lilting, familiar
voice bowled him over.  “Bem-vindo!”  He was welcomed in festive-sounding
Portuguese by a big, smiling guy with a sunny disposition and skin that shone
like ebony.

Nilton Ramos de Souza was his name, but
everyone knew him as Pão, center fullback for
Liberdade
, the team that
had won last year’s Copa do Brasil.  He was extremely religious, and had grown
up in the town of Pão de Açúcar in the state of Alagoas in northeastern
Brazil.  It was a farming community that had been founded on sugar cane and
cotton plantations and whose name referred to the large number of lagoons –
lagoas
– in the region, the former district of Pernambuco.

“It’s so great to see you, man!”  They
greeted each other with the same kind of chest bump that is so popular among
college athletes.  “I was hoping to find you here.”  Matteo seemed  galvanized
by the presence of the very guy who had been his roommate during the brief
period of preliminary medical and behavioral tests.

“I got here this morning, most of the
others are already here.”  Pão gave him all the news as he wandered about the
room, inspecting the wonders of Milanese interior design.  “Next week another
couple of Brazilians are going to be joining us too: the last ones for this
round of try-outs.”

“Are they any good?”  The young midfielder
smelled a challenge while he stared at his reflection in the steamy water of
the jacuzzi tub that was set into the parquet floor of the bathroom.

“Very good,” he said, making a face.  “But
don’t worry.  One of them is a center fullback like me... well, not exactly
like me,” he boasted.

“And the other?” 

“Ninho is a center forward,” he said, “a
big strong striker with feet good enough to carry the ball up from midfield. 
He’s got superstar potential, and he’s a real
filho da puta
, but in a
good way!” he concluded, smiling.  “We’ve been friends for years.  We both play
in the top league in Brazil, the Brasileirão, but he could make even a saint
lose his temper.”

At dinner, Matteo reconnected with the
other guys from the weekend of exams and they all traded their first
impressions.  The climate was relaxed, though very few of them could totally put
tomorrow out of their minds.  Michele Canosi, who gave them all one of those
welcoming speeches that he always kept at the ready in the inside pocket of his
jacket, walked from table to table giving them all slaps to the back and
fatherly advice.  At 11:30, curfew!

***

Sunday, wake-up
call at 7:30 for a
guided visit of the
Visconti
,
as the
San Carlo
sports complex was colloquially called in honor of
Pietro Maria Visconti, the legendary benefactor of sports teams throughout
Lombardy and founder of
San Carlo
in 1932.  They were allowed to sit in
on the press conference at which recruiting and acquisition strategies were
being discussed, as well as the ramifications of the pause in league play while
the national teams played their qualifying matches.

“Coach, what are the objectives for next
season?” a sports correspondent from a national TV network asked from the third
row.

“It’s too early to talk about that.  There’s
still more than a month to go this season and we still aren’t totally out of
the red zone for relegation.”  The
San Carlo
coach leaned forward toward
the microphone.  “Let’s just focus on the present.”

“You can never be too careful,” the
journalist rebutted, making fun of his reply.  “There are, nevertheless,
stories about your club being active in the trade market.  And so, you will
allow me to ask again, what are your objectives for new acquisitions as you
look ahead to the next season in Serie A?”  The rest of the press corps
murmured its assent.  “You will agree with me that your current place in the
rankings puts you in a relatively safe position from which to start looking
toward the future even now.”

“Remaining in Serie A and avoiding
relegation is the only objective that the team is currently interested in.” 
The
San Carlo
coach, Claudio Agostini, a forty-eight year old man of
great experience, a soccer guy through and through with little interest in
anything else, blunt and taciturn, had only this to say about the follow-up
question.  “We’re only worried about saving ourselves by continuing to play the
way we’ve been playing all year.”

“Obviously.”  A second reporter took the
floor and tried to get more out of the coach by dangling the lure of the Europa
League in front of him.  “But considering the amazing climb by the team in the past
years and its excellent debut in Serie A, are you thinking about trying to
reach the upper ranks of UEFA qualifiers, like Chievo Verona before you?”  The
journalists knew the type of man they had before them, and knew that he wasn’t
easily tricked by flattery, but also that he never dodged a question just
because it was uncomfortable.

“I don’t think it is realistic, sitting
here today, to say what we may be capable of in a month or a year’s time.  All
I can say is that the club is making all the right moves in order to try to
reach important goals.”  With distinction and diplomacy, Agostini held his own
against the media firing squad, which was armed with carrots rather than
sticks, given the excellent season that the team was having.

“Thanks, Coach.”  The journalist turned to
the general manager of the team.  “If you want to be competitive in the Europa
League, you’re going to need backups.  What are your plans for beefing up the
roster that Agostini can ultimately choose from?”

“First of all, we’re going to rely on the
excellent young talent that we have coming up through our farm teams.  I remind
you of the excellent results achieved by our youth squad led by Beretta in
their league, not to mention their second place finish in the group stage of the
Viareggio Cup.”  Mr. Parini,
San Carlo
’s general manager, was the
son-in-law of the honorary President of the team, Carlo Maria Visconti – heir
to the family construction and shipbuilding business – and CEO of the Visconti
District Holding Corp., majority owner of the soccer club.  “I can promise you
that we are still looking at new young talent to insert into our roster,
including active players in foreign leagues.”  The GM was an expert at creating
high expectations that translated into season ticket sales and higher
bargaining power for television rights.  In fact, he had been the one to
orchestrate this press conference so as to leak the club’s latest moves
directly to the most prominent journalists.

At the end of the press conference, the
recruits, known officially as “cadets”, were taken to the central practice
field for an official encounter with the director of the youth squad and the
coaching staff: Coach Beretta, his assistant coach, and the trainers, who they
had already met during the weeks leading up to the try-outs.

Despite being surrounded by the excited
voices of his teammates, all of whom were thrilled by the situation and the
luxuries of the practice facilities, Matteo simply couldn’t share in the spirit
of being on an all-expense paid vacation; the tension was high, like being
alone in front of the goal for a penalty kick, and the very grass itself, thick
and lush under their feet, transmitted even more nervous energy as he walked
out on to the field.

Braidi was there, representing the central
authority figure who everyone could count on.  He was dressed perfectly in a
khaki-colored linen suit and warmly introduced the cadets to Beretta’s staff,
but not before hammering home the importance of education for becoming successful
in life.  “Those of you who are still finishing high school, I remind you that
you will be going to lessons every morning.  You will be provided with all of
the necessary school materials and books, and a team shuttle will be made
available to get you from here to school and back.”  He stepped out from the
line-up of staff members and paced up and down an imaginary catwalk.  “I
encourage you most heartily not to take this responsibility lightly, because in
June, the majority of you will have to take your final high school exams.”  He
stopped short and raised his voice a notch.  “And do not forget that for each
and every one of you, this is a TRY-OUT, and nothing more than a try-out.”  He
wanted to make sure they understood how precarious their situation was.  “Many
kids have passed through here and have heard these words, but very few of them
have actually gone on to make a career and a living out of this sport.”

Matteo was silent and focused, hungry for
glory, and a rush of hormones flowed through his veins as he contemplated that
remote chance.

“The probability of being signed to the
team is incredibly small, and don’t deceive yourselves that it is otherwise.” 
He continued with his sermon.  “Take the positives that this opportunity is
offering you, but don’t bet your entire future on it.”  Braidi grew silent and
returned to his place in line with the other team representatives.

The next to speak was the training
coordinator.  “Good morning everyone.”  His deep, ponderous voice contrasted
with his skinny body.  “My name is Salvatore Olderico and I am in charge of
coordinating all coaching and training activities.”  In unison, the cadets
responded to his greeting, glad to be out from under the harsh, almost
pessimistic barrage launched by Braidi.  “I just want to say that you will be
working out with our youth squad, which is currently fighting to clinch a spot
in the playoffs for the Primavera Championship final round.  The practice
schedule is as follows: meetings and workouts on Tuesday and Thursday at 3 pm,
on-field practice Monday and Friday at 2:30 pm, rest on Wednesday and Sunday. 
You will be under the watchful eyes of the professional staff of our head
coach, Achille Beretta.”

The coach then introduced himself formally
to the group, welcoming them and saying a few words of congratulations to them
and their local teams for having helped them grow as athletes and as men.

At the conclusion of this official
encounter, the cadets were taken back to their residence-hotel, where they were
expected to eat and rest up for the start of their try-outs tomorrow.

 The management and staff, on the other
hand, headed into the club meeting room.  Here they read through a brief
biography and report on each of the recruits, staring with the goalkeepers. 
After them, the first name that came up on the list of defenders was that of
Pão.

“Nilton Ramos de Souza, 18 years old,
Brazilian with Italian citizenship, 6 feet tall, 175 pounds, center fullback
from
Liberdade
.  Good with his head, he moves and jumps well, very fast,
and very accurate with his tackles.  He’s big but agile.  Strong and has good
stamina.”

“He’s a good one,” the assistant coach
commented.  “I’ve seen him play and he’s more mature than his age.  He’s
talented and can get better, plus he has the advantage of already having played
with a professional team.”