I Think Therefore I Play (14 page)

Whenever Juventus play away, bodyguards travel with us. Special agents are also a fixed presence, but is that always going to be enough? It’s a terrible thing to contemplate, but I’d be lying if I said I never have. In any event, it’s right to talk about it. People need to know about this rotten stuff on the outer edges of our world. And it’s the same story in the north of Italy as it is in the centre or the south. Anyone who tries to make a geographical distinction is getting it badly wrong.

During the games themselves, Juventus are viewed like a bunch of Beagle Boys,
⁵³
robbers with stolen goods secreted about our persons. They call us thieves, an accusation with roots in the past. But if we’re talking about days gone by, let’s mention Serie B. A very recent, and very painful atonement that many people outside the club pretend to have forgotten. Too convenient, guys.

This business of singing songs against the other team is a very Italian speciality. The first commandment is ‘insult thy opposition’ and, if there’s time left over, by all means encourage your own team. Leaving aside the grounds where people remember I play for Italy, I’m a piece of shit or a son of a whore. If I get booted by one of their team, they tell me I need to die.

Let’s be honest about this: we’re not far away from the abyss. The risk of violence is ever greater. It won’t take much for us to topple over the edge, without even realising it’s happening.

The
ultras
consider just about every ground in Italy a place where anything goes. A place where they can do and say whatever comes into their head. If I stop someone on the street and call them a wanker, at the very least they’ll report me. But in the stands thousands of people do it all at the same time and nothing ever happens.

We lack that sporting culture you tend to see elsewhere. We can work on that, slowly, and we players can do our bit by not going overboard with what we say. But there’s also an obvious lack of legal powers and, above all, a shortage of grounds that are actually owned by the clubs who play there.

Juventus Stadium is an absolute diamond in this regard – it’s worth at least 10 points a year to us, thanks to the positive atmosphere it helps create. The authorities know the name of the fan sitting in every seat and there are stewards and CCTV as well. In an environment like that, if you do something you shouldn’t, it’ll be spotted in real time. They see you, and then they come to find you.

Ideally, you’d want people to behave because it’s the right thing to do but in certain cases it’s fine if they only do it because they’re afraid of ending up in the eye of the storm. It’s a start, if nothing else.

If I was a politician (and thank the Lord I’m not), I’d fight to have cells built into the stadiums. Mini prisons like you find at the English grounds. If someone’s acting up, stick them inside; don’t give them a good kicking then immediately release them. And once you’ve got them in the cell, throw open the windows. God knows we need some fresh air.

 

53.
The Beagle Boys were a gang of villainous dogs who constantly tried to rob Scrooge McDuck in the Disney cartoon

Chapter 18

We also need Mario Balotelli. I’m not sure he really appreciates it yet, but he’s a special kind of medicine, an antidote to the potentially lethal poison of the racists you find in Italian grounds.

They’re a truly horrendous bunch, a herd of frustrated individuals who’ve taken the worst of history and made it their own. And they’re more than just a minority, despite what certain mealy-mouthed spin doctors would have you believe. Those guys would use a fire extinguisher to put out a match.

Whenever I see Mario at an Italy training camp, I’ll give him a big smile. It’s my way of letting him know that I’m right behind him and that he mustn’t give up. A gesture that means ‘thank you’.

He’s often targeted and insulted by opposition fans. Let’s say that the way he goes about his business perhaps doesn’t help him get much love, but I’m still convinced that if he was white, people would leave him in peace.

‘Jump up high so Balotelli dies’ is an unspeakable chant that, sadly, I’ve heard at the Juventus Stadium amongst other places. Even worse are the monkey noises that I’ve listened to pretty much everywhere.

But instead of depressing Mario, moronic behaviour of that kind actually seems to fire him up. He won’t let this human trash get their way, and it’s the most intelligent response because if you listen to what a stupid person says, you elevate them to the position of interlocutor. If you simply ignore them (still acknowledging that, unfortunately, they exist) you’re leaving them to stew in their own polluted sea: one where there are no friends and no shore. The good news is that even sharks can die of loneliness after a while.

Prandelli has given us national team players some firm direction on the matter. “If you hear people in the stands disrespecting Mario, run over to him and hug him.” In that way, hate can be cancelled out by an equivalent dose of love. Not a fashionable choice, but a pretty forceful idea.

Speaking in purely theoretical terms, I wouldn’t be willing to walk off the pitch in protest like Kevin-Prince Boateng did during a friendly against Pro Patria, taking the rest of the Milan team with him.
⁵⁴
I don’t think it’s the best way to make a stand again racism: for me, it’s more a surrender than a reaction.

That said, if one of my team-mates was a victim of intolerance and refused to carry on playing, I’d go along with his wishes and those of the rest of the team. It would be up to him to tell us how he felt and to take the final decision. I’d leave the field only if the whole team was in agreement, though. I think you’d have to actually experience something like that to know how you’d react. It’s too delicate a subject to plan your response in advance.

I’m happy that Mario is the way he is. He’ll react (wrongly) to provocation on the pitch, but doesn’t let what’s going on in the crowd affect him. If he scores, he might put his finger to his lips to mock the opposition fans, something that really infuriates them, but if they tell him he’s got the wrong colour of skin he’ll simply laugh in their faces. He makes complete fools of them and emerges a convincing winner. The way I see it, he’s capable of becoming a symbol of the fight against racism, both in Italy and throughout the world.

In terms of footballing ability, Mario’s class is unquestionable. I’d have happily seen him end up in a Juventus shirt. Top players are in a position of real strength, in that they can basically pick their club. The problem for us, however, is that there’s only ever been one team in Mario’s head. “Boys, sooner or later I’ll sign for Milan,” is the refrain we’ve all heard, and his dream duly became reality. I’d have loved to set up a few goals for him, playing a part in his success as I do with the national team. Only once did I think it might happen, when he said in an interview with Sky: “I’d really like to change the Juve fans’ minds about me.”

Maybe one day in the future we’ll play in the same club side. I say that knowing that his agent, Mino Raiola, an absolutely world-class operator, would sell his own name to close a deal. And I mean that quite literally. He once admitted as much speaking to the co-author of this book.

“Mino, clear something up for me. How do you pronounce your surname? Is it
Rai
ola or Rai
ola
?

“Whatever you want, just as long as you pay me.”

Give that man a round of applause.

For Mario, Juventus would have been a hyperbaric chamber. Somewhere he could let it all out and keep the pressure around him at a constant, ideal level. Buffon, Chiellini, Marchisio: when you look at those guys you realise just where you are. They’re always happy, always ready to involve and excite you with their infectious enthusiasm. And, when required, they can also make you change your mind.

Balotelli would have been loved and nurtured by a dressing room where hard work is the order of the day. Where the spirit of sacrifice is an absolute must, not a request where you can shake your head and say ‘no’.

Nobody ever moans and there are a load of Italy players about the place – perhaps the most precious strength of that whole environment. They’re all steeped in the history of the club and know by heart the peaks and troughs it has experienced. They don’t need any hints or clues as to who the good guys are and whose name needs a little cross. The national team players pull everyone along – they’re our happy driving force.

It was the same at Milan, but it wasn’t like that at Inter. Prandelli knows how it works at Juventus, and he usually calls us up to his squad
en bloc
. There’s no one single person in command. The whole thing works so well because of the democratic spirit that reigns in the dressing room. If Buffon really wanted to, he could quite easily stand up and say: “I’ll decide what happens here. I’m the captain; I’ve played in Serie B with this shirt on.” But he’s never done that and never will. He’s too intelligent, too good, too everything really.

Lots of fans will go crazy when they read this, but I’m convinced our recent success has come about precisely because we were demoted. It helped amplify to the nth degree the sense of belonging at the club, which emerged from the whole thing strengthened. Getting back to Serie A was hard but, over the years, that pure anger has been transformed into something more positive. Now there’s no more room for shame: being a
Juventino
is to carry oneself with pride and dignity. Till the very end, as president Agnelli would say.

When the negative vibes were cleansed, the resulting explosion brought about something remarkable. It was a black-and-white Big Bang, the creation of a new world very similar to the old one. And that’s the really good news: Juventus descends from itself.

People are scared of us again, and it’s getting more and more that way. We’re reminded of that fact every day by numerous individuals, chief amongst them one Antonio Conte, when he sticks up on the dressing-room door the articles where opponents talk about us. He collects and cuts out these interviews with an almost maniacal zeal, attaching them to the entrance to that most secret room.

He takes a red highlighter to the bits he really wants us to read. People talk about the labourer president;
⁵⁵
well, we’ve got the newsagent manager. At least once a week there’s a summary session of what’s been said in the papers. The message is clear. When it’s Juventus they’re playing, everyone takes on a completely different character, even those without hope at the bottom of the league with nothing left to play for. They’ll try to claim a big scalp by getting under our skin. It’s all about provocation.

“Boys, have you seen what this guy’s saying?” Conte will ask. “He reckons we’ve got weak spots.”

“It’s all bullshit, coach,” we’ll say.

“It might be bullshit, but if we’re men, we need to stand up and show him he’s wrong. And look at this guy. He swears we’re going to go through a bad patch soon.”

“That’s a load of crap as well, coach.”

“Let’s not fall into this trap. There’s only one way to prove him wrong and that’s to win. Which reminds me – have you read this last line, the one I’ve circled?”

“Yes coach. That cretin says we’re the most unlovable team in the world and that everybody knows it.”

“He’s right about that. When we see him out on the pitch, we need to thank him for saying it. It’s a compliment: it means that we’re back. That people are scared of us, that we’re honouring the name we carry. Always remember this: opposition teams only really like those they know aren’t going to beat them.”

“Coach, he also says you’re crazy.”

“Do you see? In amongst the thousands of idiotic things he said, he’s had a moment of clarity. Now, you owe me one euro twenty.”

“What for?”

“The paper.”

 

54.
A friendly match between Milan and lower-league club Pro Patria in January 2013 was abandoned after players walked off in protest at racist chanting from fans. The game, played in Busto Arsizio near Milan, saw Pro Patria supporters single out Kevin-Prince Boateng and other black Milan players for abuse. Boateng tore off his shirt and walked off the pitch, and the rest of his team-mates followed him

55.
Silvio Berlusconi is known as the
presidente operaio
, a reference to his pride in being a self-made man

Chapter 19

Matri’s paying. Matri
⁵⁶
always pays, in a figurative sense as much as anything. Nesta’s emigrated to Canada, I only see De Rossi when we’re with the national team, and so Alessandro’s the last man standing. It’s an unwritten rule that my current roomie is always my first victim.

To be honest, sometimes it’s like shooting at the Red Cross, even if he’d prefer me to directly bomb a hospital. He’s a hypochondriac, you see. Reckons he’s got every disease going. It’s so bad he sometimes thinks he plays for Torino but, in actual fact, there’s nothing wrong with him.

He’ll sneeze and go: “I knew it. I’ve got pneumonia. Doctor…”

Or he’ll spy a single spot and it’s: “Told you, an allergic reaction to something I’ve eaten. Help, help, I’m dying. Doctor!”

Heaven forbid he gets an itchy nose. “No, not herpes, no! Doctor!”

It’s a similar story out on the pitch. He’ll mess up a shot, missing the target by miles, and all you’ll hear is: “
Mamma mia
, must be the conjunctivitis to blame there.”

At that point I’ll intervene and try to calm him down. “You’re absolutely fine, 100% healthy. Your only problem is you’re a wanker.”

He’ll laugh, but that just brings on toothache. So he’ll stop and his ears begin to burn. I know him, I like him and so I can’t help fooling around. “Ale, you’re losing blood from your nose.”

“Must be an epistaxis!”

“An epi- what?”

“An epistaxis – a really small haemorrhage.”