Episode 185: Repaying Kindness with Enmity -4
If you were to ask Italian football fans which World Cup left the strongest impression on them, undoubtedly most would pick the 2006 Germany World Cup.
The 2006 Germany World Cup.
It was the very tournament where Italy last lifted the World Cup trophy.
Well, the truth is, there was no way that tournament couldn’t be memorable.
After winning that final championship, Italy had been eliminated in the group stages for the next two consecutive tournaments, and had then failed to even qualify for the main event in the following two.
So it might only be natural that the Germany World Cup from over 15 years ago remains the last memorable World Cup.
However, beyond that, there were many reasons the Germany World Cup became such a vivid memory for Italian fans.
For one, the host nation was Germany, a fellow European power and a long-standing rival they had clashed with for ages.
From the heart-fluttering, once-in-a-generation master strategist Marcello Lippi to Gianluigi Buffon, Fabio Cannavaro, Gennaro Gattuso, Andrea Pirlo, Francesco Totti, Luca Toni, and more.
The squad itself had been brimming with romance; it was, in some ways, the last generation of romance, which was also a memorable aspect in itself.
More than anything, the fact that they defeated Germany and France—greatest rivals who had fought for the seat of European supremacy for a long time—consecutively in the semifinals and final to claim the title would surely be the best memory for Italian fans.
Especially the final against France was, quite literally, a bloody battle.
Even after the 90 minutes of regular time plus 30 minutes of extra time, the two teams couldn’t settle the match, and only after going to a penalty shootout was the owner of the World Cup decided.
It was truly a final befitting the title of final of finals.
Though they unfortunately lost, it was an undeniable fact that France back then was also a team strong enough that it wouldn’t have been strange had they won.
But, however.
France hadn’t actually been touted as a championship favorite from the early stages of the tournament.
In the beginning, France was even being assessed as a faded team living off its name alone, a team past its prime.
Issues ranging from the manager’s squad selection, to the aging of key players, to creaking organizational cohesion.
In fact, France had barely advanced to the knockout stage by recording one win and two draws with lackluster performances even in the group stage, so such evaluations didn’t seem entirely wrong.
But the scent of France’s prime began to emanate starting from the quarterfinals.
The quarterfinal, the clash between France and Brazil.
In this match, France showed a completely different performance as if they had awakened, and eventually pulled off a shocking feat by defeating Brazil, rapidly rising as a powerful title contender.
Truthfully, this match had little to do with Italy, but the reason it became a huge topic even in Italy.
Was because Brazil had been considered the number one strongest title favorite even before the tournament began.
They were quite literally a super-luxurious star corps.
From Roberto Carlos to Cafu, Kaka, Ronaldinho, Adriano, and Ronaldo.
The Brazil of that time boasted a squad so powerful that one could wonder if such members could really come from a national team.
They even showed they weren’t just a collection of names by winning all four matches in the three group stage games and the Round of 16.
Therefore, there weren’t many predictions that France, who had failed to show impressive performance until then, could defeat Brazil.
So Italian fans watched this match with half a mind to see how well Brazil, a powerful championship competitor, was playing, and half a mind to see how splendidly their European rival France would get crushed.
In short, they were fully prepared to ridicule France as they got utterly dismantled by Brazil.
Since Italy had already beaten Ukraine 3-0 and advanced to the semifinals at that point.
But lo and behold.
As everyone knows, the result of the match was a victory for France.
Well, truthfully, France wasn’t so weak a team that you could call it a complete upset.
Still, Brazil’s quarterfinal elimination was an unexpected event to the point of being described as a “shock,” so it was an undoubtedly astounding result.
However, more surprising than the result itself was the match itself.
Well, if Brazil had lost due to some unfortunate overlapping circumstances, that would be one thing.
But that wasn’t it; those numerous stars had turned into ordinary players in front of one French player.
It was Zinedine Zidane.
Even the alien Ronaldinho, even the divinely gifted Ronaldo, even Kaka, the Ballon d’Or winner the following year.
In this match alone, they were merely supporting characters.
The protagonist was Zidane.
Those who watched this match all spoke with one voice, saying this:
When Zidane had the ball, it felt as though everything on the pitch adjusted itself to Zidane.
To that extent, Zidane seized the game by himself, matched the tempo of the match to his own tempo, making the star-studded Brazilian side run after him, showing the true face of a conductor who commanded even his opponents.
That match was, without a doubt, a match where one player completely dominated.
[“Not much time left in the second half. I don’t think the added time will be very long either.”]
[“Napoli are a team that can score two goals in three minutes, but today, well. The remaining five minutes seem like they will feel extremely tight.”]
[“Even now, yes. The ball goes to Ri. Hrošovský tries to close in quickly, but he can’t steal it. There is no easy giving up of possession, Lee.”]
So, at this very moment as Napoli and Fiorentina are playing.
The reason fans watching the match were somewhat suddenly recalling memories of that day from over 15 years ago.
Was because the boy conductor’s solo performance against Napoli reminded them of Zidane’s conducting of Brazil that day.
Of course, this wasn’t an attempt to dare place the two side by side.
No matter how many strong members Napoli possessed, it was far too much of a stretch to compare them to the Brazil of that era.
And comparing a boy who was just beginning to stretch his wings to Zidane was an even more absurd thing to say.
However, in their memories.
It was enough to faintly catch the scent of that day deeply embedded in their minds.
Everyone knew—Napoli fans, Fiorentina fans, just everyone—that Napoli wasn’t a team that played such a listless match.
Yet today, they couldn’t find their pace at all, staggering around like flies that had ingested poison.
That poison was that boy.
[“Ah, right now… Napoli are in a hurry to get going, but the referee declares a foul on Napoli.”]
[“A bit of an emotional foul there. The more urgent things get, the calmer you need to be, but that’s easier said than done.”]
[“Fiorentina have nothing to be urgent about.”]
The Italian people had given Zinedine Zidane, who had once played for Juventus, the nickname Maestro.
And 17 years after that Maestro had brilliantly performed the piece called Brazil on the World Cup quarterfinal stage.
A stage reminiscent of that one-man show was being presented anew from the feet of the boy conductor.
*
“You can sit there a bit longer. Adjust your stockings, tie your shoelaces again too.”
Following Saponara’s advice, I pointlessly pulled my stockings down and back up, untied my perfectly tied shoelaces and tied them again.
I had fallen to an opponent’s tackle while dribbling and changing direction.
My calf had been kicked, so it hurt a bit, but strangely, I felt like laughing inside.
89:41
NAP 0 : 1 FIO
I glanced at the scoreboard and saw that it was nearing the 90th minute.
If I roughly estimated including stoppage time, there were probably about 5 minutes left.
It wasn’t much time, but if I could earn even a little more of it, that would be good.
Hm.
To be honest, it didn’t feel like just a little bit of time at all.
Five minutes? An incredibly long time.
Especially if you are on the pitch, and if the scoreboard clock is ticking.
Five minutes is time for anything to happen.
So I took as long a breath as I could, slowly, squirming leisurely as if in bed on a weekend morning, and got up.
“Let’s focus! Just five minutes!”
“Calm down! Don’t get excited!”
This wouldn’t be a long time only for me.
Looking back, there had been quite a few times when we had been upset because of those five minutes.
The five minutes after kickoff, and the five minutes right before the end.
This was a time any team had to be careful of, but especially so for us.
Hadn’t we gotten scolded badly by the coach many times because of it?
What was so important about those five minutes?
We were each a father to a child outside, the head of a household, someone who was another’s hope.
Yet because of those five minutes, we had to get scolded like middle schoolers who hadn’t done their homework.
But what I feel now is that it had all been a good experience.
Of course, it was upsetting and difficult at the time, but wasn’t it ultimately becoming a page in the wrong-answer notebook, and now serving as the answer sheet for us?
If it were the old me, I might already be overexcited and thinking about other things.
No, I probably would have been.
Without any intention of focusing on the match until the end, my head would have been a mess with thoughts like, did Jiu see that just now, or how did I look to the spectators today.
But now I know.
That now isn’t the time for that, and that if I do, something will definitely go wrong.
Suddenly, a worn-out phrase I had only seen in books came to mind.
The saying that failure is the mother of success.
Honestly, when I was young, I had thought it was just something people said to give hope, a white lie, so to speak.
A kind of comfort that it was okay to fail.
But now, those words felt a little different.
Perhaps it had been meant exactly as it was.
Depending on how I took it, failure really could become the mother of success.
*Beep—!*
The whistle blew again, and since I shouldn’t get a pointless card.
I pretended to ponder where to pass for a moment before passing the ball and restarting the match.
And then, as if I had never dawdled, I played dumb and began busily moving my feet.
I had no intention of spending time half-heartedly just because the remaining time was short.
The idea of trying to win half-heartedly while the opponent was fighting with their lives on the line was nonsense.
I worked my head and feet simultaneously, trying to draw out the maximum this body could produce.
Thinking of the remaining 5 minutes as the 5 minutes after kickoff, no.
I decided to erase time itself from my head.
*Pa-a-ang—!*
Moving horizontally as if drawing a parallel line with the halfway line, I continuously exchanged one-two passes.
*Pa-a-ang—!*
There were so many people in the midfield that every time I exchanged a pass, the opponent in front of me changed.
Naturally, they would want to take the ball quickly and head toward our goal.
*Pa-a-ang—!*
Thanks to that, Khvicha’s face also brushed past; since he was a player with such good ball-carrying ability, I moved quickly with the thought that I absolutely must not let him steal it.
Before I knew it, I had gone from one end to the other.
*Tatat—!*
I changed direction toward our own half.
A U-turn here? Even though I don’t have a driver’s license, I know this is a dangerous maneuver.
It’s common sense that the closer to the goal you are, the more dangerous it is to lose the ball.
And conversely, that means from the opponent’s perspective, the higher up the pitch they steal the ball, the better the opportunity.
They weren’t opponents who would stay still upon seeing an opportunity.
*Tatatat—!*
I could feel the opposing players rushing in even faster.
Fast, fast.
Because of that, their strides were all large.
*Pa-a-ang—!*
I pulled the ball through the legs of the rushing opponent and escaped near the touchline.
At the same time, a narrow space that seemed impossible to escape from spread out before my eyes.
At a glance, there seemed to be four, maybe five of them.
Just how many had swarmed over here?
*Ppeo-eo-eo-eo-eong—!*
I kicked it long and forward.
That said, I didn’t kick it without a plan.
I saw Saponara standing blankly on the opposite side.
I sent it over there to tell him to run a bit.
*Syu-u-u-u-ung—*
But it seemed he didn’t feel like running.
The ball rose high into the sky and headed toward him, but he just stood in place watching it.
And then...
*Pa-a-ang—!*
He caught that ball with his hands.
For a moment I wondered what he was doing, but shortly after I understood the situation.
While the ball was floating in the air, the whistle had already blown.
“Yeeeeeah!”
“We won!”
I heard rasping voices along with the sounds of bodies collapsing here and there.
*Thud—*
I too plopped down onto the grass and laid my back against the turf.
“Hah, hah...”
The rising and falling of my chest showed no signs of calming down at all.
There was nothing I could do about this, so I decided to just look up at the sky and wait for it to calm down on its own.
...For some reason, the sky was especially beautiful today.
“...”
It was a good lesson.