Let me tell you a story about a boy.
12 years ago, then a Standard 6 student, was about to head off to school. But before he left the house to the side of the road for the school van, he just had to watch the TV screen first. Neatly dressed in his uniform, school bag at the ready, water bottle snugged nicely at the side, he stood transfixed at the penalty shoot-out between Brazil and Italy. It was the 1994 World Cup Final.
Weeks prior, he never quite understood what’s the big fuss about football, and especially the euphoria surrounding the World Cup. He knows that the point of the game was to put the ball into the back of the net. Until to that point, he never cared who or which team did it, as long as it happens, he was conveniently happy. But as this spectacle known as USA ’94 came underway and the continued persistence of his elder brother dragging this little boy along to watch the games live with him just for the sake of having some company, he began to fathom the true depth to what football is all about.
Although he fell asleep most of the time he strongly remembers the brutality of Hristo Stoitchkov in front of goal, the magical chemistry between Romario and Bebeto, and of course, the exquisite touches of Roberto Baggio. His brother had told him that at the time, that Baggio was the best footballer on the planet. And he could see why. To him, Baggio defined football in that tournament. The boy was such in awe and admiration that he thought that Baggio had the divine right to win the trophy.
So when that morning came, and he saw his new hero, blasted his spotkick over the crossbar, he just couldn’t believe what he just saw. 12 yards out, one-on-one with the keeper, it was impossible to miss, but yet he did. Arms at the hips and a despondent look upon his face, Baggio looked on as the backroom staff of Brazil ran onto the pitch, carrying the Brazilian flag above their shoulders. Halfway across the world the boy watched and was left speechless. As if his heart was suddenly snatched away. That was that and he had to go to school. It was heartbreak and for a very long day he kept saying to himself, “That shouldn’t have happened. Baggio was supposed to win and lift the trophy,”. His earlier sadness had turned into frustration and almost anger. And with intent filled so truth and pure, he made a vow. “One day we’ll win it. Make no mistake about that,” Thus, began his undying pledge to the Italian National Team.
Two years had gone by from that day and at England Euro 96, another adventure began but Italy was so humiliating that they went out at the first round which included an embarrassing defeat to the Czechs. He moved on. At France ’98, it was déjà vu all over again as he saw, this time Di Biagio skyrocketed his penalty shot into the Parisian sky. The boy only managed to hold his head in his hands, but he kept moving on. At Euro 2000, Italy came so close. So close that it felt like a heart attack for to be shun of your glory with seconds to go and then suddenly stabbed by David Trezeguet with a golden goal. At 2002, it was a mockery losing to a pittance like Ahn Jung Hwan but then again, Italy did spurn their chances. Mistake after mistake that finally came to haunt them. Yet, the boy moved on. At Euro 2004, Italy never looked threatening and bowed out at the group stage, blaming on the existence of other teams’ supposedly conspiracy theories to oust them out while in truth it was Italy itself persistent failure to create and score goals that contributed to its poor showing. Then came 2006.
Italy were the least favorite among the past winners to win the 2006 World Cup in Germany. Talks in the media were mostly about Brazil’s magnificent amount of offensive talent at their disposal, Germany’s home advantage, England’s golden generation, Argentina’s array of exciting young talent and France’s mixture of youth and experience. Italy, meanwhile, came to Germany without any superstar player of international recognition. Totti was a prime example. Brilliant for club but poor for country. Not to mention the match fixing scandal that was going on back home. Things didn’t look promising for Italy. But as the truest of fans, the boy stuck to his team even though he himself had doubts about how far Italy can go this time around. He even identified Italy’s weak points that could prove a potential downfall. But when July 9th came and he saw Italy made it all the way to Berlin and after 2 hours of football emerged victorious, he was ever so glad to be wrong. Among the things he pointed regarding Italy’s flaws were their uncreative forwards. He was right to a certain extent. Italy’s forwards didn’t impressed much in terms of goals tally but when your strikers couldn’t score, get your midfielders and even you defenders to chip in. A feat almost unheard of Italian football. But tremendously satisfying nonetheless. The match itself wasn’t as good as the semi-final but at the end of it the boy was jubilant and dancing.
As the sun rises on the morning of July 10th, the boy was making his way to work. Even after a mere 3 hours of sleep, as he turned the ignition and his car, Valerie, roared into life, his feeling of joy was beyond words. Alas, what he had dreamt had finally come true – Italy are the World Champions.
12 years ago, then a Standard 6 student, was about to head off to school. But before he left the house to the side of the road for the school van, he just had to watch the TV screen first. Neatly dressed in his uniform, school bag at the ready, water bottle snugged nicely at the side, he stood transfixed at the penalty shoot-out between Brazil and Italy. It was the 1994 World Cup Final.
Weeks prior, he never quite understood what’s the big fuss about football, and especially the euphoria surrounding the World Cup. He knows that the point of the game was to put the ball into the back of the net. Until to that point, he never cared who or which team did it, as long as it happens, he was conveniently happy. But as this spectacle known as USA ’94 came underway and the continued persistence of his elder brother dragging this little boy along to watch the games live with him just for the sake of having some company, he began to fathom the true depth to what football is all about.
Although he fell asleep most of the time he strongly remembers the brutality of Hristo Stoitchkov in front of goal, the magical chemistry between Romario and Bebeto, and of course, the exquisite touches of Roberto Baggio. His brother had told him that at the time, that Baggio was the best footballer on the planet. And he could see why. To him, Baggio defined football in that tournament. The boy was such in awe and admiration that he thought that Baggio had the divine right to win the trophy.
So when that morning came, and he saw his new hero, blasted his spotkick over the crossbar, he just couldn’t believe what he just saw. 12 yards out, one-on-one with the keeper, it was impossible to miss, but yet he did. Arms at the hips and a despondent look upon his face, Baggio looked on as the backroom staff of Brazil ran onto the pitch, carrying the Brazilian flag above their shoulders. Halfway across the world the boy watched and was left speechless. As if his heart was suddenly snatched away. That was that and he had to go to school. It was heartbreak and for a very long day he kept saying to himself, “That shouldn’t have happened. Baggio was supposed to win and lift the trophy,”. His earlier sadness had turned into frustration and almost anger. And with intent filled so truth and pure, he made a vow. “One day we’ll win it. Make no mistake about that,” Thus, began his undying pledge to the Italian National Team.
Two years had gone by from that day and at England Euro 96, another adventure began but Italy was so humiliating that they went out at the first round which included an embarrassing defeat to the Czechs. He moved on. At France ’98, it was déjà vu all over again as he saw, this time Di Biagio skyrocketed his penalty shot into the Parisian sky. The boy only managed to hold his head in his hands, but he kept moving on. At Euro 2000, Italy came so close. So close that it felt like a heart attack for to be shun of your glory with seconds to go and then suddenly stabbed by David Trezeguet with a golden goal. At 2002, it was a mockery losing to a pittance like Ahn Jung Hwan but then again, Italy did spurn their chances. Mistake after mistake that finally came to haunt them. Yet, the boy moved on. At Euro 2004, Italy never looked threatening and bowed out at the group stage, blaming on the existence of other teams’ supposedly conspiracy theories to oust them out while in truth it was Italy itself persistent failure to create and score goals that contributed to its poor showing. Then came 2006.
Italy were the least favorite among the past winners to win the 2006 World Cup in Germany. Talks in the media were mostly about Brazil’s magnificent amount of offensive talent at their disposal, Germany’s home advantage, England’s golden generation, Argentina’s array of exciting young talent and France’s mixture of youth and experience. Italy, meanwhile, came to Germany without any superstar player of international recognition. Totti was a prime example. Brilliant for club but poor for country. Not to mention the match fixing scandal that was going on back home. Things didn’t look promising for Italy. But as the truest of fans, the boy stuck to his team even though he himself had doubts about how far Italy can go this time around. He even identified Italy’s weak points that could prove a potential downfall. But when July 9th came and he saw Italy made it all the way to Berlin and after 2 hours of football emerged victorious, he was ever so glad to be wrong. Among the things he pointed regarding Italy’s flaws were their uncreative forwards. He was right to a certain extent. Italy’s forwards didn’t impressed much in terms of goals tally but when your strikers couldn’t score, get your midfielders and even you defenders to chip in. A feat almost unheard of Italian football. But tremendously satisfying nonetheless. The match itself wasn’t as good as the semi-final but at the end of it the boy was jubilant and dancing.
As the sun rises on the morning of July 10th, the boy was making his way to work. Even after a mere 3 hours of sleep, as he turned the ignition and his car, Valerie, roared into life, his feeling of joy was beyond words. Alas, what he had dreamt had finally come true – Italy are the World Champions.
Fratelli d'Italia
L'Italia s'è desta
Dell'elmo di Scipio
S'è cinta la testa.
Dove'è la Vittoria?.
Le porga la chioma;
Chè schiava di Roma
Iddio la creò.
Stringiamoci a coorte,
Siam pronti alla morte:
Italia chiamò!
Noi siamo da secoli
Calpesti e derisi,
Perchè non siam popolo,
Perchè siam divisi;
Raccolgaci un'unica
Bandiera, un speme;
Di fonderci insieme;
Già l'ora suonò.
Stringiamoci a coorte,
Siam pronti alla morte:
Italia chiamò!
Uniamoci, amiamoci;
L'unione e l'amore
Rivelano ai popoli
Le vie del Signore:
Giuriamo far libero
Il suolo natío;
Uniti per Dio
Chi vincer ci può?.
Stringiamoci a coorte,
Siam pronti alla morte:
Italia chiamò!
Dall'Alpi a Sicilia
Dovunque è Legnano
Ogni uom di Ferruccio:
Ha il cuor e la mano.
I bimbi d'Italia
Si chiamano Balilla:
Il suon d'ogni squilla
I vespri suonò.
Stringiamoci a coorte,
Siam pronti alla morte:
Italia chiamò!
Son giunchi che piegano
Le spade vendute:
Già l'Aquila d'Austria
Le penne ha perdute.
Il sangue d'Italia
E il sangue polacco
Bevè col Cosacco
Ma il cor le bruciò
Stringiamoci a coorte
Siam pronti alla morte:
Italia chiamò!
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