I Think Therefore I Play by Andrea Pirlo, Alessandro Alciato Page A
Authors: Andrea Pirlo, Alessandro Alciato
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demons. To me, it seemed a complete waste of time. Superstitions tend to begin when something goes wrong. For a goalkeeper, it might be letting in too many goals. For a striker, a temporary inability to find the back of the net. For Inzaghi, a sudden strike at the Plasmon factory.
I manage to keep my head even in difficult times which, fortunately, have been few and far between. I reckon that people looking on from outside are pleased to see a pretty normal guy without too many excesses. I like it when I hear parents tell their kids: “Pirlo’s got his head screwed on. Follow his example.”
You can be a good player, a really good player, without going overboard on the pitch. You don’t have to have a crazy haircut to be a point of reference for the team. I don’t even really like tattoos, although I’ve actually got three small, well hidden ones: my son Niccolò’s name in Chinese letters on my neck; an ‘A’ for his sister Angela just below, and my wife Debora’s name on my ring finger, covered by my wedding band.
They’re invisible to others: some sentiments should belong to me alone. I feel them on my skin. I want them on my skin.
Compared to every other team I’ve played in, superstitious folks are thin on the ground at Juventus. Conte’s very religious: before he goes onto the pitch, he’ll kiss a crucifix and statuettes depicting saints, then move onto the Madonna and his rosary beads. I don’t think he’d put up with some of the more tribal stuff.
Come to think of it, however, there’s one exception to the rule: our president, Andrea Agnelli. During my first season at the club, he missed every single away game. “I feel sure of victory only when we’re playing in Turin,” he says. “Anywhere else, I pick up negative vibes.”
To win the scudetto , we beat Cagliari at the Stadio Nereo Rocco in Trieste. The president wasn’t there, but I’m saying nothing. The guy who pays my wages is always right.
35. Sandro Pertini was Italian president from 1978 to 1985. When Italy won the World Cup in 1982, he flew back from Spain with the team and was pictured playing cards with manager Enzo Bearzot as well as players Dino Zoff and Franco Causio. The World Cup itself was sat in the middle of the table
36. A club from the town of Biella in Piedmont, northwest Italy
37. Goalkeeper who started out with Cesena before spending over a decade at Milan
38. Goalkeeper who played for Roma, Juventus, Inter and Lazio, and was part of Italy’s World Cup winning squad in 2006
39. A jobbing right-back who saw service with Reggina, Atalanta and Siena
Chapter 15
Andrea had me in his sights after we won that first title. He took aim and fired, but it was flowers, not bullets that came flying out. Make love not war, he seemed to be saying. And if you’ve time left over, grab yourself a goal and dedicate it to me.
He appeared almost disbelieving as he lived out that dream in all its wonderful lightness. He was absolutely made up: in the seventh heaven of happiness. There were no clouds around, just 30 sunbeams shining on the pitch, one for each title. They say you shouldn’t stare at the sun, but Andrea seemed set on burning his retinas. When it’s paradise you’re beholding, you’ve no need to wear sunglasses. If anything, they spoil a smiling face, making it seem dull and coarse.
If we’re talking longing looks, however, nothing compares to the ones I got from André Schembri one ordinary night in Modena. I’m convinced the Malta midfielder had fallen for me: I could almost see the love hearts dancing about his face. He had his eyes glued on me from the very first minute of the match. Those eyes became fully his again only when we were back in our respective dressing rooms.
That game was in 2012, more precisely September 11 of that year. Schembri was like some kind of footballing kamikaze. Or perhaps just a kamikaze of love. He certainly had no interest in the ball – he treated it as if it was burst
I manage to keep my head even in difficult times which, fortunately, have been few and far between. I reckon that people looking on from outside are pleased to see a pretty normal guy without too many excesses. I like it when I hear parents tell their kids: “Pirlo’s got his head screwed on. Follow his example.”
You can be a good player, a really good player, without going overboard on the pitch. You don’t have to have a crazy haircut to be a point of reference for the team. I don’t even really like tattoos, although I’ve actually got three small, well hidden ones: my son Niccolò’s name in Chinese letters on my neck; an ‘A’ for his sister Angela just below, and my wife Debora’s name on my ring finger, covered by my wedding band.
They’re invisible to others: some sentiments should belong to me alone. I feel them on my skin. I want them on my skin.
Compared to every other team I’ve played in, superstitious folks are thin on the ground at Juventus. Conte’s very religious: before he goes onto the pitch, he’ll kiss a crucifix and statuettes depicting saints, then move onto the Madonna and his rosary beads. I don’t think he’d put up with some of the more tribal stuff.
Come to think of it, however, there’s one exception to the rule: our president, Andrea Agnelli. During my first season at the club, he missed every single away game. “I feel sure of victory only when we’re playing in Turin,” he says. “Anywhere else, I pick up negative vibes.”
To win the scudetto , we beat Cagliari at the Stadio Nereo Rocco in Trieste. The president wasn’t there, but I’m saying nothing. The guy who pays my wages is always right.
35. Sandro Pertini was Italian president from 1978 to 1985. When Italy won the World Cup in 1982, he flew back from Spain with the team and was pictured playing cards with manager Enzo Bearzot as well as players Dino Zoff and Franco Causio. The World Cup itself was sat in the middle of the table
36. A club from the town of Biella in Piedmont, northwest Italy
37. Goalkeeper who started out with Cesena before spending over a decade at Milan
38. Goalkeeper who played for Roma, Juventus, Inter and Lazio, and was part of Italy’s World Cup winning squad in 2006
39. A jobbing right-back who saw service with Reggina, Atalanta and Siena
Chapter 15
Andrea had me in his sights after we won that first title. He took aim and fired, but it was flowers, not bullets that came flying out. Make love not war, he seemed to be saying. And if you’ve time left over, grab yourself a goal and dedicate it to me.
He appeared almost disbelieving as he lived out that dream in all its wonderful lightness. He was absolutely made up: in the seventh heaven of happiness. There were no clouds around, just 30 sunbeams shining on the pitch, one for each title. They say you shouldn’t stare at the sun, but Andrea seemed set on burning his retinas. When it’s paradise you’re beholding, you’ve no need to wear sunglasses. If anything, they spoil a smiling face, making it seem dull and coarse.
If we’re talking longing looks, however, nothing compares to the ones I got from André Schembri one ordinary night in Modena. I’m convinced the Malta midfielder had fallen for me: I could almost see the love hearts dancing about his face. He had his eyes glued on me from the very first minute of the match. Those eyes became fully his again only when we were back in our respective dressing rooms.
That game was in 2012, more precisely September 11 of that year. Schembri was like some kind of footballing kamikaze. Or perhaps just a kamikaze of love. He certainly had no interest in the ball – he treated it as if it was burst
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