The year was 1998. I was in Italy... Firenze to be exact. We were walking to a field where the game (broadcast live from France) was being played. There were thousands upon thousands of Italians, and I felt a million violin strings of tension. We had been bested by our enemies, the Brazilians, in the previous World Cup, coming so close as to taste the victory until R. Baggio rocked a ball off the crossbar to lose the game in shootouts.
But this time was different. Italy looked ever stronger, more poetic and involved than they had in the past. You see, to understand Italian soccer, you must first visit Italy and understand the people themselves. This is not like baseball, not the commercialized and overplayed passion of football americana. Calcio is an art as intrinsic to their culture as Michaelangelo. It isn't about point spreads or one on one matchups or averages, it's about human emotion.
We watched in dismay after opportunities were lost, as the game remained nil-nil until the end of 90 minutes. And then we entered into what all Italians must see as the deepest level of Dante's inferno: the shootout.
Roberto Baggio, il divin codino (the divine ponytail), stepped up after France scored the first kick. Just four years before, his miss had sent the Italian side home in the final. He slowly set his kick, and to an audible gasp of the crowd, rocked the ball into the upper v.
People went ape-shit. Flares were lit everywhere, we were all jumping up and down... then Albertini missed. Then DiBiago. And then we lost.
I walked back to town amongst thousands of dejected fans. Men and women alike were weeping openly, holding Italian flags to their chests in disbelief. It was to be our year. But we had lost in the quarters, not even getting our rematch with Brazil.
2002 was uneventful. A loss to S. Korea by golden goal that I'm still trying to forget.
But let's skip to 2006, because that's where the moral to this story is.
Anyone who really knows their stuff will tell you that 2006 was a bad year for Italian soccer. Imagine finding out that the Yankees had been buying umpires for the past couple years and would probably have to give back a couple championships. Imagine finding out that the manager had jumped off a 15th story balcony amidst the controversy and was in the hospital in critical condition. To many people, the curtain was falling on Italian soccer.
I remember watching Italy best Ghana 2-0 in the first round. It was as though they knew Rome was burning and they wouldn't have a place to go home to. Desperation doesn't begin to describe the way Italy played that year. It was as though they knew the whole of Italian football rested squarely on their shoulders.
And this team of relatively unknown Italians made it to the finals. Against the French. A bullshit penalty in the first ten minutes put France ahead with a Zidane kick. But then by the 20th we were even again with the brilliant goal of Materazzi. Then Zidane disgraced himself, and then we were in shootouts again.
At the time, I thought I might be witnessing the end of Calcio. I felt sick. I couldn't sit and watch. But I had to. I had to keep my faith in my team.
Italy made no mistakes this time, in fact, they did not miss in the shootout. And they went on to become the 2006 World Champions. During what could be called the worst year in Italian soccer, the national team was able to capture what had eluded them my entire life. Not by ignoring the whirlwind of media criticism, but by feeding off of it and playing harder than they had in decades. They needed to go through the crucible to get there, but they had... and were all the better for it.
Do you all understand what I am alluding to?