Roberto Mancini E-Book

Luca Caioli

• Herausgeber: Icon Books
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Serie: Luca Caioli
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Seitenzahl: 507

Beschreibung

When Manchester City's owners appointed Roberto Mancini in late 2009, the message was clear: this was the man who would overtake the Blues' illustrious neighbours and restore the club to the pinnacle of English football. The former Italy playmaker swiftly repaid their faith, following up an FA Cup triumph in his first full season with the Premier League title – won in the most heartstopping fashion imaginable – to continue a success story that had taken him from early stardom in Bologna to back-to-back league titles as Inter Milan manager. Now, renowned Italian sports writer Luca Caioli gives the full inside story of Mancini's rollercoaster life in football – from his early days as a firebrand centre forward, through glory days with Sampdoria and Lazio, to his emergence as a charismatic, if controversial, pitch-side leader. Featuring insights from those who know him best – including family members, former teammates and managers, as well as an exclusive interview with Mancini himself, it provides a unique and revealing portrait of the man behind the Blue revolution.

Leseprobe

Printed edition published in the UK in 2012 by

Corinthian Books, an imprint of

Icon Books Ltd, Omnibus Business Centre,

39–41 North Road, London N7 9DP

email: [email protected]

www.corinthianbooks.net

This electronic edition published in 2012 by

Corinthian Books, an imprint of Icon Books Ltd

ISBN 978-1-90685-045-6 (ePub format)

ISBN 978-1-90685-046-3 (Adobe ebook format)

Text copyright © 2012 Luca Caioli

Translated by Alia Nardini

The author has asserted his moral rights.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Typeset in New Baskerville by Marie Doherty

Contents

Title page

Copyright information

‘In the Blue, Painted Blue’

You can praise God with a football, too

Passing the ball

A Conversation with Aldo Mancini

Wrong address

Football intelligence

A conversation with Marino Perani

The Boy

The best years

A conversation with Marco Macina

1981

I’ll play him

A conversation with Tarcisio Burgnich

Enfant prodige

A conversation with Franco Colomba

Mister Five Billion

‘You will be Sampdoria’s standard-bearer’

A conversation with Paolo Bórea

Genoa for us

When I was 19 I was just the same

A conversation with Graeme Souness

Azzurro pallido

A tough nut

A conversation with Azeglio Vicini

Unfinished beauty

‘First, you win the scudetto, then you can leave’

A conversation with Pietro Vierchowod

The Snow White Club

We complemented each other

A conversation with Gianluca Vialli

The thing

He gave it all for that jersey

A conversation with Marco Lanna

A wasted chance

As good as gold

A conversation with Fausto Pari

The long goodbye

He needed to be loved

A conversation with Moreno Mannini

Rome, a beautiful end

Football is his life

A conversation with Sven-Göran Eriksson

The Ledge

A season of living dangerously

Number one

A conversation with Enrico Chiesa

Challenges

Run, and never stop

A conversation with Andrea Mancini

The dawn of a new era

Great charisma

A conversation with Javier Zanetti

To win and to amaze

He was born a manager

A conversation with Sergio Giosuè Viganò

And then the sheikh called

A masterpiece

A conversation with Pietro and Massimo Battara

Just the beginning

‘Bobby Goal’

A conversation with Attilio Lombardo

Noisy neighbours

Stepping up in class

A conversation with Roberto Martínez

94 minutes, an entire lifetime

A winning frame of mind

A conversation with Pablo Zabaleta

Absolutely amazing

I like winning

A conversation with Roberto Mancini

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

Colour plate section

‘In the Blue, Painted Blue’

Lesson five: Introduce yourself to your classmates.

‘Hi. My name’s Roberto. I’m 17. I live in Bologna, but I was born in Jesi. I’ve got one younger sister. I like football. I play for Bologna FC first team. I hope to play very well and score many goals. Besides football, I like watching basketball games. I love listening to music. My favourite singer is Renato Zero. I enjoy going to the movies with my teammates. My favourite actor is Sean Connery. I have seen all the James Bond films. My favourite dish is lasagne, cooked by my mother. My favourite drink is Coca-Cola. Thank you. Glad to meet you.’

Who knows, maybe this is how it all began – that is, Roberto Mancini’s long flirtation with England: with an English course. Il Bimbo – ‘The Boy’ – as he is known in Casteldebole, Bologna’s training headquarters, has given up school and is studying English at his club’s request. If he passes his final exam, Bologna will pay for the course. This involves books, audio cassettes and taught classes. In his bedroom, Mancini listens and repeats sentences, idioms and phrasal verbs, a real pain for a 17-year-old boy whose only interest is football.

However, this will be his life one day. Two big names will describe to him what such a life might be like: Graeme Souness and Trevor Francis, both of whom will be teammates of Mancini in his early years at Sampdoria. The former won three European Cups with Liverpool; the latter two, with Nottingham Forest. Two legends of the ‘beautiful game’. With Trevor, Roberto will make feathers fly, and it will end in classic Old West style; still, his experience with such a high-profile player will prove invaluable.

Then later will come David Platt, who will be a close friend of Mancini and eventually his trusted first-team coach at Manchester City. Roberto having managed to persuade the Sampdoria president to sign Platt, the England midfielder will try to reciprocate the favour at a later date, arranging his transfer to Arsenal, where the pair will be reunited.

It is the beginning of November, 1995. Mancini, after a bad spell with referees and a harsh disqualification, is having dark thoughts. He believes that Sampdoria, his club for the past 13 years, have lost their ability to challenge for the Italian championship. The Gunners seem ready to do anything to bring him to Highbury. It is very tempting for Roberto, who had already entertained thoughts of a move earlier in the year. This time, Mancio is ready to go. Living in London is a very appealing thought. He reckons he can find new challenges and gain new experience: of a different football culture, with less stress; of the faster-paced British game. He believes his family could be more serene, his sons could learn English properly, and so could he. However, in the end he can’t pluck up the courage to cut the strings attaching him to Sampdoria. His fascination for England lasts, though, and comes back in waves.

December 1996: Sven-Göran Eriksson, his manager at Samp, signs a preliminary contract with Blackburn Rovers and wants to take his playmaker with him. Again, nothing comes of it. Mancini hears good things about the UK from Gianluca Vialli, too, his former strike partner who moved to Chelsea in 1998. Mancini and Vialli have always shared their experiences in life, and they still do over the phone. But it will take some time yet for Mancini to follow his ‘goal twin’ (as the Samp fans would have it) to British shores.

In 2001, thanks to Eriksson’s contacts (the Swede is now manager of the England national team), Mancini ends up at Leicester City. He is 36 when he makes his debut in the Premier League, against Arsenal, on 20 January. He starts with a bang, but then fizzles out: he hasn’t played a proper match for eight months, since his final game for Lazio the previous May.

He enjoys his spell with the Foxes, but it doesn’t last. Coaching, which Mancini is very keen to try, lures him to Florence. His style is already very British. In fact, Serse Cosmi, the Perugia manager – the first opponent Roberto faces – claims that ‘some people wanted to picture this as a challenge between the butcher’s son – i.e. me – and some newcomer from Buckingham Palace.’ The fact is, Mancini has already defined his style. He is choosing the right clothes, custom-made by his Neapolitan tailor, or from the Giorgio Armani collection. His favourite colour is blue. On his wrist, classy watches. Tied around his neck, in a loose knot, those cashmere scarves that will become his trademark. His shoes are strictly made in England. He likes Ferraris and Bentleys – fast as James Bond.

Years go by, and Mancini masterfully perfects his image, while confirming his talent for winning. He looks over to England again. Rumours grow: there are mentions of Tottenham while he is still coaching Lazio, and later, after he departs Inter Milan, they speak of Portsmouth, Notts County, Chelsea, Liverpool, Sunderland.

The option is always there, at the door, because the footballing culture of England – the tradition, the stadiums, the supporters – is intriguing indeed for a manager. Then comes the right chance: Manchester City. ‘I’d rather work to help bring success to those who haven’t won anything for a while,’ Mancio will say in an interview. That, after all, is what happened with Sampdoria, Lazio, Fiorentina and Inter Milan. And history repeats itself with City. On 14 May 2012, in Manchester’s Albert Square, fans are singing out loud, to the tune of ‘Nel Blu Dipinto di Blu’ (‘In the Blue, Painted Blue’), the famous song (also known as ‘Volare’ – ‘Flying’) by Domenico Modugno:

Mancini oh oh

Mancini oh oh oh oh

He comes from Italy

To manage Man City

Mancini oh oh oh

Mancini came to win over here.

Mancini confesses, ‘I love it when they sing that.’ The story that has brought him to City has been an eventful one, taking in league-winning euphoria in Italy, cup final heartbreak in Europe, frustration on the international stage, and any number of twists, turns, bust-ups and lasting friendships.

It is a story that begins way back in a little town in the Marche region of Italy.

You can praise God with a football, too

It is five o’clock in the Piazza Federico II. The sun casts its light upon the golden stones of what used to be the old Roman Forum. This is where Frederick II of Hohenstaufen was born, on Boxing Day 1194. His mother, Constance of Hauteville, was travelling to meet her husband Henry VI, Holy Roman Emperor, and gave birth in a tent. The child would later be crowned King of Sicily, King of Germany and Holy Roman Emperor. He was the warrior, philosopher, legislator and architect who restored the Empire and attempted to solve all problems in southern Italy. His royal court in Palermo was a melting pot of three different cultures: Greek, Jewish and Arab. Today, he is remembered with a plaque and a circular inscription.

Two young boys are playing football behind the ornate, lion-adorned fountain, while the tall obelisk towers over them. It is not a market day, and there are only a few people walking about in the historic city centre, which is closed to cars. Suddenly, the ball crashes straight into the main door of the former Church of San Florián, where the Theatre Studio is now located. Paolo is seven years old; Marco is eight, and seems better at controlling the ball. When asked if he knows who Roberto Mancini is, he answers right away, without hesitating: ‘Sure. The one who is in England.’ But does he know where he is from? ‘He’s from here, from Jesi,’ the boy answers proudly.

Jesi has been identified by Unesco as a World Heritage Site ‘for its ability to preserve its artistic, architectural and cultural history.’ According to tourist guides, it was founded by Esio, the King of Pelasgians, who brought the rampant lion as a gift to the city coat of arms. He was a mythological king, often thought to be the progenitor of Etruscans, Sabines and Picenes.

This small city in the Marche region, Ancona province, is home to about 42,000 people. The population has dramatically increased in recent years, due to immigration, particularly from Arab countries. It is going well for them because of Fileni, a company ranked third in Italy for poultry farming; Pieralisi, which produces cheese machines and oil presses; the oil refinery in Falconara Marittima, and a thriving range of small businesses. There are jobs here. The unemployment rate is lower than in other Italian provinces and that is record to be proud of, these days.

Inside and outside the Roman and Medieval walls of Jesi, the standard of living is good. You can get a real grasp of the city’s wealth – not only in an economic sense, but also in terms of its culture – by walking leisurely along Corso Matteotti (the ‘struscio’) during the weekends, when everyone knows one another, everyone is out and about and says hello. Going out to one of the bars looking over Piazza della Repubblica for an aperitif gives a similar sense.

The Giovanni Battista Pergolesi theatre, a gem set deep in red velvet and gilded stuccos, opened in 1798 and has never missed a season in over 200 years of history – not even during the wars or when undergoing renovations. It is always fully booked, just like the Valeria Moriconi theatre studio.

The city art gallery and the Panettiana library are just two of the must-sees for sightseeing tours. Large canvases by Lorenzo Lotto, one of the most famous painters of the Italian Renaissance, are among the range of antique and contemporary works of art that can be found here.

As the department of tourism proclaims on its webpage, Jesi ‘believes in sport as its core value.’ The city boasts one of the highest percentages of subscriptions to sports clubs, just as if everyone participated – while, in reality, many are non-playing members. This is a necessary consequence of the fact that the Aurora basketball team plays in A2, the volleyball team in B1, the Jesina football team in Serie D. And let us not forget fencing: there is a long tradition of fencing excellence in Jesi and an academy which has been training champions for the past thirty years.

This heritage is in evidence walking along the main street. In the conference centre, an exhibition is taking place: ‘The Fencing Chromosome’, photographs taken by Massimo Verdino at the World Championship in Paris’s Gran Palais. Beautiful black and white images on spotless white walls hang opposite paintings of medieval duels and of Roman gladiator fights. Stefano Cerioni, who coaches Italy’s national fencing team, and foil fencers Elisa di Francisca and Valentina Vezzali are noticeable among the crowd. They have just arrived from Budapest, where they made it to the top of the podium in the team competition during the World Fencing Championship.

Vezzali, 38, was born in Jesi. She won six consecutive Olympic gold medals in Sydney, Athens, Beijing, and London. ‘Talking about fencing in Jesi is like taking about Verdicchio dei Castelli [the typical white wine of this region],’ she says. ‘Its roots go deep. It all started in 1947, when Ezio Triccoli, returning from the Zonderwater prisoner of war camp, South Africa, settled in a basement in the city centre and began teaching the art of fencing, which he had come to master during his internment. The Jesi Fencing Club was born out of his passion, and today it boasts great athletes, starting with Anna Rita Sparaciari, the winner of the first gold medal in the 1982/83 World Championship.’

We move on to a different football, and another star from Jesi: Roberto Mancini. ‘I know him well,’ adds Vezzali, ‘and we were particularly close when he was coaching Inter Milan, because that’s my team. Thanks to his skills, he managed to take the team where we supporters had for years been hoping to get to. My husband Domenico, a footballer who used to play in Serie C, reckons that midfielders, especially playmakers like Roberto, have a vision for football which only a few people possess. Mancini certainly knows his stuff. The fact that he excels at whatever he ends up doing proves it. Winning is in his DNA.’

It seems that in Jesi everyone knows and values Roberto Mancini, because ‘everything he has achieved so far has been by virtue of his merits. No one ever gave him anything for free. He got where he is because of his class, and because he made many sacrifices, too.’ These are the words of Elvio Cittadini, Roberto’s hairdresser. ‘He’s a really decent person, he’s funny, ironic … he always takes the mickey out of me. He’s been coming here for a haircut since he was five or six. He comes in, sits down, reads some magazines … we’d have a coffee, talk about football and the latest news. Customers come in and say, “Hello Roberto, how are you?” They’ll have a few words, then leave. He’s at ease here because he is in his own environment; it’s where he’s from, where his parents and his sister live. As soon as he can, he’s back.’

He is back where he belongs, the city where he was born on 27 November 1964, under Sagittarius, with Aquarius rising. His father Aldo was a carpenter and his mother Marianna had just turned 18. They met in Roccadaspide, a little village in the Salerno province, in the Campania region. Aldo had befriended some people from Salerno while working in Germany (it was hard to get by in Jesi after the Second World War), and was visiting them when he met and fell in love with a local girl. So in love was he, in fact, that he decided to move back to Italy, and asked that beautiful southern girl to come with him to Jesi and marry him.

The wedding took place in 1963 and Roberto – their first son – was born a year later, but not without a great scare. He was delivered by caesarian section, and weighed 5 kilos and 100 grams (11lbs 4oz) – but he was not breathing, and was black all over. The doctor, tactless and overbearing, swiftly announced to the proud father that the baby was born but alas, he was dead. Luckily, he was not the only doctor on duty that day: a wiser doctor took the newborn child, immersed him in ice-cold water, slapped him two, three, four times and finally the champion-to-be started screaming.

It was Don Roberto Vico who baptised Roberto in the church of Saint Sebastian, in the Prato district, outside of the Medieval city walls. Today the 87-year-old clergyman resides in the Collegio Pergolesi, a nursing home where two football fields can be seen from the entrance – a little neglected, it must be said. Many years have passed, but the old priest still remembers the ceremony very well. The father and godfather came and asked when the little one could be baptised, and the whole family gathered around the rosy baby, who, at eight months of age, already weighed 13kg (28lbs).

Don Roberto also remembers with happiness Mancini’s first holy communion: ‘After the ceremony was over, once the service was finished and the office had been recited, off came the frock with two red stripes, in memory of the old Roman senators’ laticlavius. While everyone was eating, drinking and partying, and parents and godparents alike were busy celebrating the occasion, I noticed that the boy was getting restless. He came up to me with a friend of his. The friend, who played football with him, did not hesitate to speak up: “Don Roberto, we’re 2–0 down, you couldn’t by any chance let Roberto come and play?” So I asked the boy if he was up to something. He said he would check with his daddy and come back. Well, apparently he couldn’t get hold of his father, so I gave him permission to go and join his teammates, knowing how much he cared for the team. He already had everything he needed, hidden away in his locker: shirt, shorts and football boots, so that he would be ready to take the field at the right time.

‘So after a while, parents and relatives young and old were standing in the square, chatting away and having their picture taken with the communion robes. His father came up to me, looking extremely worried. “I think I lost Roberto,” he said, “he’s nowhere to be found.” “Don’t worry,” I answered, “he’s not lost. Just think of where he could be.” He said he didn’t really know where he could have ended up. So I told him to look over to the football pitch … Roberto was wearing the number 9 shirt that day and his team won 6–2, thanks to him – I believe he scored two goals on that occasion. It really caused a stir that a boy would be allowed to kick a ball around on his holy communion. It just was not done; before receiving the sacrament there were catechism lessons to be attended, preparing for the sacrament of Eucharist, the spiritual retreat to be taken into account. But in the end,’ the priest allows, ‘that [playing football] was a way to praise the Lord, too.’

Roberto was nine at the time and he celebrated the day with his sister Stefania, a year and a half younger, all dressed up in white, her hair covered by a monastic bonnet.

At this time, Roberto was attending the Mazzini local elementary school, just a few steps away from his house. He was in class B: a nice, mixed-sex class with 27 pupils. Since the first day of class, his teacher is Annamaria Bevilacqua. She remembers him well:

‘Roberto was quite lively, possibly among the liveliest boys in the school – and a bit of a rebel, too. At the beginning, I had some problems with him … Sometimes I was even forced to call his mother in. After a while though, I worked out that he simply didn’t like being unjustly told off: because he was so naughty, he would sometimes get the blame, even if he had nothing to do with what had been going on. So I tried to give him responsibilities, and it turned out that that was just what he needed. From then on, I got real gratification from him. During the five years we spent together, I really felt his love for me.’

It was a mutual feeling for the little pupil wearing a light blue smock and a blue ribbon. Ms Bevilacqua was a fairy godmother to Roberto, sometimes even making him a cup of chamomile tea in the morning, just to keep him still – because the Mancini boy simply wouldn’t sit quietly at his desk. He used to crack one joke after another.

He was not particularly keen on studying, but he managed to get by in just about every subject. He was just waiting for the bell to ring so that he could be out playing football. Ms Bevilacqua continues:

‘I remember once, it must have been the beginning of the second year of class, in elementary school, I had assigned some reading and I called Roberto up to my desk to see what he had learned. It came out that he hadn’t read anything. So I told him off, and one of his classmates, a girl called Emma, said, “Roberto couldn’t do his homework because he was playing football all day on the Saint Sebastian pitch.” I really went mad then, and I vividly recall saying to him, “What are you going to do with your life, if you don’t study? Are you going to be kicking a ball around all day long?”’

Passing the ball

A Conversation with Aldo Mancini

‘Roberto was just like any other kid. He was bright, lively, smart. But he wasn’t hard work. He’d always have his football nearby. He was always playing: he used to come home from school at noon, he had his lunch and he was gone. At two o’clock he was already in front of Saint Sebastian church, kicking the ball around until dark. I would finish work, then go and get him for dinner. There were no dangers, back then: neither cars nor other hazards. All the boys in the neighbourhood would meet up there.’

Silver mane, rugged face made craggy by time, strong Marche accent, Aldo Mancini is wearing a blue tracksuit emblazoned with the Manchester City crest. He is Roberto’s number one supporter, and he talks lovingly about him. At the Foro Boario football ground, outside Jesi city walls, the City manager’s father is carefully watching the classes of 1999, 2000 and 2001 train. He spends his entire days there. Still, that’s the norm, as he is honorary president of US Junior Jesina Roberto Mancini Football School, based here in Boario.

It is dusk, and the boys are swarming from the changing rooms onto the artificial turf football pitch, and back again. Mothers, fathers and older siblings are coming to pick them up or drop them off for their training session. Aldo is standing by the fence enclosure, shaking hands, smiling and chatting to those who are passing by.

Displayed on the fence is a picture of Roberto in his playing­ days, wearing a light blue shirt and the captain’s armband. His father talks to the coaching staff, listens to various opinions, offers advice. ‘I am no coach,’ he says, ‘but after all these years I certainly know something about it.’ He is so into football that, for the last administrative elections for the city of Jesi, he stood with the centre-left as a candidate for the Department of Sports.

‘This is the city where world champions were raised,’ he declared heartily in his address to the electorate, ‘and I am not saying that because my son is from here. We excel in many sports, not only fencing. But in order to keep our name high and let Jesi shine, we need newer facilities, and most of all we must modernise school gyms. Sports survive thanks to volunteers, and sacrifices are made by those who passionately practise them; but we cannot do without public fundings. There is still very much to be done.’

His list lost the second ballot, but Aldo did not give up. He still likes to keep himself busy, although he is now over 77 years old. When he was young he used to run middle-distance races: the 7,000 metres cross-country, the 10,000 metres and the 5,000 metres on track and road. Many would remember him as the tall guy running the streets of Jesi. And, of course, he used to play football: he was a holding midfielder, a good player. And he swears he had a better left foot than Roberto. But then, with his carpentry work and his two children, there was not enough time for training anymore. But he has never forsaken the football stadiums and the city fields. In fact, talking to him, it soon becomes apparent that he is a real aficionado of the ‘beautiful game’. He has seen the greatest champions play: from Alfredo Di Stefano and Ferenc Puskas to Lucidio Sentimenti, Omar Sivori, Pelé and Diego Maradona. To him there are only two players to watch out for right now: Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo: ‘But Messi is above them all: he’s humble and he never complains.’

Aldo had a role with the Aurora sports club as a tour manager, even before Roberto’s birth. The club, started by Don Roberto as a parish recreational centre in 1955, catered for football, athletics and table tennis. Aldo stayed with them for 25 years until, after a few misunderstandings, he decided to leave to found Junior Jesina.

Everyone who has ever played football in Jesi hung out at the Aurora club. It is where the young Roberto Mancini took his first steps into the football universe. ‘He started playing in the “Aurora Pulcini” when he was only five and a half …’ begins Aldo.

So is it true what people say, that you lied about his age, because they wouldn’t take children under six?

‘It is true actually, but it didn’t really matter. When he was at nursery, he would already be kicking any object he found lying around, and he spent hours in the church playground. Signing him up for Aurora was just a way for him to let off steam and have fun.’

Where did his passion for football come from?

‘Who knows … maybe it happened because I used to play as well, or maybe it is because I have always found this sport fascinating, or perhaps even because there wasn’t that much for those kids to do. There was football, period. I often took Roberto along to Serie A games; I supported Juventus and so did he. His idol was Roberto Bettega, so my wife had to go and buy him a black-and-white goalscorer’s shirt, at all costs. When the Old Lady came to our Communal Stadium, we went to all the games. We wouldn’t have missed them for the world. One time, in 1970, Bologna were playing Juventus in the quarter-finals of the Italy Cup. It was the day when Marino Perani scored the winning goal for Bologna, and I lost Roberto. I let him go forwards, but I got stuck behind the crowd control barriers. I was caught in the crowd and I couldn’t see him anywhere. The stadium was packed and in the end, when I finally managed to get out, he was standing with a woman who was holding his hand. He was crying, poor thing. He was only little, he wasn’t even six at that time.’

What were his skills with the ball, at such a young age?

‘He could kick the ball well, both with his left and with his right foot, and even as a child he had a good vision of the game. That is the reason why he was put in a team with older kids almost straight away.’

When did you realise that he really had a talent for football?

‘When he was about ten, because he would do things that others couldn’t do.’

What sort of things?

‘Passing the ball. That, in my opinion, is the most vital thing when playing football. I don’t like those great players who carry on regardless, ball glued to their feet, wearing blinkers like horses do, and they cannot see their free or unmarked teammates. Roberto used to play as a deep-lying centre forward. He could initiate an attacking sequence and he could always open up scoring chances for his teammates. I believe he used to play like Nandor Hidegkuti. I watched Hidegkuti play for Hungary in Rome in 1953, then I followed his career when he was coaching Fiorentina. Yes, Roberto was just like him: he was difficult to mark, as he would take up wide positions, and just like Hidegkuti, he scored goals by the bucketload.’

Your son was doing really well, so when he was 13 you gave him permission to move to Casteldebole, to the Bologna FC training camp.

‘His mum, my wife, didn’t want him to go because, you know, being away from home at a very young age … he needed to carry on studying and obtain a high school diploma. Otherwise, what was he going to do in life? Also she feared drugs, it was a big threat in those days. I insisted, because I knew how much of an opportunity it could be for him; you just couldn’t let it go. Roberto dreamt of being a footballer. So in the end we decided to give it a go. I remember that we were in Bologna when Roberto was 14, and I met Amedeo Biavati [the right-winger in the Azzurri’s 1938 World Cup-winning side and winner of two Scudetti with Bologna in the 1930s and 40s]. After watching a game in San Lazzero di Savena, he asked who was the father of “that guy who moved so well on the field”. I introduced myself, and he said to me, “Your son really has an edge over his teammates. He is good, very good.” That’s when I started believing, as one of the best footballers in Italy had said it.’

Apart from what Biavati said, would you have imagined Roberto’s career then as it turned out to be?

‘Not at the beginning, not really … but I did hope; that’s what I was after all the time. I hoped he could become somebody, and I believed it could happen because of Roberto’s personality. He never gave up. I see kids nowadays, I come across them at Jesina: they play football, but they don’t really care. Roberto was different: it was really important to him. He always wanted to win. We lost a final in Ancona and he burst into tears, out of disappointment and anger. That’s what always carried him forwards, making him stronger and stronger.’

Bologna, then Genoa, Rome, Florence, Milan …

‘I was ever so happy when from Bologna he moved to Mantovani’s Sampdoria, because in the football universe, I have never met any president like him. Mantovani turned the club into a family, and they won because they were so close. Vujadin Boskov, the manager, was like a father to all those boys, and they all joined in to win the league.’

How strong was your influence, and that of your wife, on Roberto’s choices? After all, he was only 17.

‘He always made his own decisions. I advised him, and of course I had to sign his first contracts because he was under age, but he decided by himself, because he was the one who would be playing for one team or another, not me. The only thing I did was to make sure I never stood in the way of his career.’

And how do you see him today at Manchester City?

‘He is happy, he has always liked English football. He enjoys it; it is not so stressful as it was in Milan, when he coached Inter. He was in a shambles then; things are quieter in Manchester. Once the match is over, it is “goodnight and good luck”. Everyone shuts up, no one goes on and on about it, the press stays out of it all. Their football debates are not like ours. I’ve been to Manchester a few times; I’ve seen the team train in Carrington and I talked to Roberto many times. He’s happy to be with City, and I really do hope he wins the Premier League. I believe it can happen, because where Roberto goes, success follows.’

Less than two months later, Aldo, excited and happy – ‘over the moon’ as he says – is on the Etihad Stadium pitch with Roberto, Marianna and the Premier League trophy, their thumbs up, celebrating victory. His heart, which has played tricks on him before, this time took the strain of one last, insane game. And it also managed the biggest strain of all: seeing his son win out in England.

Wrong address

It takes just ten minutes to walk from the Foro Boario football ground to Largo Granmercato. Here you can see the parish church of Saint Sebastian, consecrated in 1957, its stern-looking front, the crucifix overlooking the entrance. And, just to the side, the Aurora club badge, standing out against a rusty gate. This is the main entrance to the full-size football pitch where official matches are played on Saturdays and Sundays, and where the little ones train, moving the goalposts so that they can play across the pitch. There are neatly traced white lines, a lot of earth, and not much grass. Doriano Giuliani is filling the holes in the ground, and explains that this is where Mancini grew up.

‘He lived just over there,’ he says, pointing towards a big yellow building with long balconies, beyond the fence, in Via del Prato. The Mancinis have since built themselves a villa, but when Roberto was young they lived only a few yards from this pitch and he was here every afternoon. Even as a child, recalls Doriano, you could tell that he had class, and that he was born with a gift. ‘My brother Valentino,’ he says, ‘who is a year older than Roberto, played as a defender in the same team, because Mancini played above his age.’

At the time, Roberto Pazienza was responsible for the youth team at Aurora. ‘When I met Roberto, he was nine years old,’ Pazienza says, ‘and every afternoon, after training, he would then go and play on our other pitch, the concrete one.’ The pitch he refers to is a tiny space, lined with ancient mulberry trees, with a basket at each end. Aurora basketball was born here. Pazienza continues, ‘Roberto wouldn’t go out without his football, and when our pitch was closed he used to go and play in front of the main doors of the church. He was different from everyone else – also personality-wise. He had that little extra something: he could dribble, he could run, he had the coordination. He played as an inside forward behind the strikers; he always found the space to move freely. As to what you teach a boy of that age – well, more than the technical skills, we tried to educate them to be team players and to respect their teammates. And, most of all, we wanted them to have fun.’

And Roberto surely had the time of his life. As a boy, he was a bundle of mischief: when he was nine, he smashed a tennis racket on his cousin’s head, because they had had an argument. He broke his wrist while playing football; he rode his bike into a brick wall; he scratched his leg under a scooter. And he secretly smoked his first cigarette: it made him sick, so Roberto never grew up to be a smoker. Everyone called him a live wire. Indeed, so lively was he that his parents – who were by then both working to support the family (Marianna was a nurse in the local hospital) – decided to send him to a religious boarding school. But Roberto wouldn’t have it and ran away, so in the end he moved back to his beloved old school in the neighbourhood, scuola media Federico Secondo. And of course, even at school, football was everywhere: the class team, with Mauro Bettarelli between the posts and Roberto playing as an inside forward, was going strong.

In June, once school broke up, the whole family headed off on holiday, to Senigallia on the Adriatic coast, 30km from Jesi. Aldo used to park his caravan in the pine forest. Roberto liked the seaside – he loved hanging out on the rocks, fishing for mussels and whatever else he happened to come across. But then September would come around again, school would restart, and so too would the football matches on the Saint Sebastian pitch.

Aldo Moretti, one of the directors of the Aurora club, remembers the competitions, the matches, the away games for which Aldo Mancini would set off at 6am. He even recalls Roberto’s temper: an occasion in Colle Marino for example. After a number of fouls committed by a defender who was twice his size, Mancini couldn’t take it anymore: he hit the roof and they ended up fighting. And it was the strapping defender who came off worst. Then came the prizes: the cups and the ‘best player’ trophies won by the young Mancini while wearing the yellow Aurora shirt. ‘He was in love with football. It ran in his blood,’ says Moretti.

Pulcini, esordienti, giovanissimi: Mancini, playing on the Saint Sebastian pitch, climbed the ranks of the amateur game one by one, up to the spring of 1978. Then came his first tantalising glimpse of a future in the professional game.

Silvio Cardinali, who used to work for Aurora, recalls: ‘It was May, and Gabriele Cardinaletti, a disabled guy, one of the directors of Real Jesi, who gave his life to football and passed away when he was 38, set up a trial for all the best players in the city youth team. Luciano Tessari was there. He was assistant to Niels Liedholm, the Swedish manager of AC Milan.’

At the end of the game, Tessari went to say hello to Don Roberto. The clergyman asked his opinion on the match. The Milan scout whispered, ‘Here’s a secret for you, I spotted two: one is old, one is young.’ ‘The young one,’ remembers Don Roberto, was Mancini.’ The day he made an impression on Tessari, Roberto played as a left-winger. ‘In fact,’ adds Don Roberto, ‘after the first half of the game, Tessari called him to one side and told him, “Little one, you must kick the ball through the posts more, and not pass it on to your mates so often.”’

Together with Mancini, Tessari picked out three other players: Roberto’s classmate Bertarelli, Santoni and Ganzetti. The invitation to attend a final trial at Milanello football training camp was meant to arrive in a few days’ time. But the letter, sent by registered post and with a return receipt, never came. It was sent to the wrong address: to Real Jesi, the club which had set up the trial. No one bothered forwarding it to Aurora, nor to the players’ parents. An oversight perhaps; or, just maybe, a case of the green-eyed monster.

Aldo found out a few months later, when he met the AC Milan directors at the Adriano Spinelli trophy in Terni. ‘We did send that letter, you know,’ they said. ‘But I never received it,’ replied Mancini Senior. Unfortunately, by that time, the Red-and-Black academy was closed to applications, and Roberto had missed the boat, to everyone’s disappointment – including the Aurora managers. Silvio Cardinali still wonders about that: ‘By all means, they would have taken him [if he had attended the final trial]. I wonder what his career would have been like, had he started at a great club such as AC Milan.’

Aldo Mancini, convinced of his boy’s talent, did not give up. And in September that same year, when Roberto started high school with a view to becoming an industrial technician, he phoned Alberto Barchiesi, a friend of his from Castenaso, only a few miles from Bologna, and asked him whether he knew anything about trials for the Red-and-Blues’ Academy team. Barchiesi went to find out, and the answer came straight back: there was one scheduled for the following week.

Another player from Aurora was supposed to join in the big adventure: Valentino Giuliani, a defender. However, at the last minute, he was taken into hospital with appendicitis.

So, while Marianna went to a dentist’s appointment, Aldo and Roberto headed towards Emilia, to Bologna’s Casteldebole training ground, where they would report to Marino Perani.

Football intelligence

A conversation with Marino Perani

Sitting in front of a generous portion of steaming-hot tortellini, the former right-winger of the Red-and-Blues remembers a day back in September 1978. On the white tablecloth are a bottle of Lambrusco and starter leftovers: mortadella and Parmesan cheese. In this traditional trattoria where factory workers and clerks go on their lunch break, near Porta Saragozza in Bologna, everyone knows Marino Perani.

He comes from the Bergamo area, Ponte Nossa to be precise, where he was born in 1939. He went through the youth ranks with Atalanta and arrived at Bologna in 1958. It’s mostly the elderly who remember him, as Perani was one of the leading players in the Bologna team that won the last of the club’s seven championships to date.

It was 7 June 1964. At the Olympic Stadium in Rome, the winners of a play-off between Bologna and Inter Milan would be the Italian football champions. The two teams had finished the last round of Serie A fixtures on equal points (54), so everything was to be decided by this play-off. What’s more, it was the epic Inter team of ‘The Magician’ Helenio Herrera; even today, many Black-and-Blue supporters can still recite its line-up by heart: Sarti, Burgnich, Facchetti, Tagnin, Guarneri, Picchi, Jair, Mazzola, Milani, Suárez. It was the same astonishing team that, only a few days earlier on 27 May, had defeated Real Madrid 3–1 in the European Cup final at the Prater Stadium in Vienna, with Alfredo Di Stefano, Ferenc Puskas and Francisco Gento on the Real side. So the odds favoured the Black-and-Blues, while the Red-and-Blues were still grieving for the loss of Renato Dall’Ara, who had managed the team for more than 30 years.

Thirty minutes into the second half, the score was still 0–0. Then Giacomo Bulgarelli took a free-kick to Romano Fogli, who hit a powerful right-foot shot, which took a deflection off Facchetti – Sarti could do nothing about it. Bologna were 1–0 up. Still, Inter Milan hung in there and almost earned a draw. But Perani provided the pass for the Dane Harald Nielsen to score the clincher, and it ended 2–0.

It was a day worth remembering for Marino Perani. And it still is: to this day, a signed photo and a newspaper clipping from the occasion take pride of place on the wall of the trattoria.

‘In those days, Bologna were a great team,’ says the former winger, ‘we never surrendered. Even when the match took a turn for the worse and we were under the cosh, all we had to do was look into each other’s eyes and begin recovering.’

Wearing the Bologna shirt, Perani also won two Italian Cups and one Anglo-Italian League Cup – against Manchester City, strangely enough, in 1970. He ended his football career in Canada, in 1975, playing with Toronto Metros-Croatia, and then started his new life as a coach. This decision would take him all around Italy, from Udine to Salerno, from Brescia to Reggio Emilia, from Ravenna to Padua.

He learned this profession in his adopted Bologna, coaching the lower divisions first, then managing the youth team. This is how he met Roberto Mancini. A glass of red wine to rinse his mouth, and then comes the story: ‘The clubs in the area knew me. They often phoned me to recommend their best boys. We made them come to the Casteldebole training ground for a trial. Pietro Battara, the goalkeeping coach, Romano Fogli and I would examine them and then draw our conclusions. If we saw that the guy had potential, we signed a deal straight away, both with the club and the parents. It would have been a pity to let a young talent slip away.’

Was that the case with Mancini, too?

‘To tell you the truth, someone had mentioned the guy to me before. If I remember correctly, it was one of Roberto’s father’s friends. He said that he had this boy who looked promising, so I asked him to bring him in to Casteldebole. Roberto came with his father Aldo. I welcomed him and said: ‘Come on boy, hurry up, go and get changed because you’re playing next.’ I have always thought the best way to assess young players is to get them involved in a friendly match, especially if they are competing against older boys. Better than making them run, or dribble the ball, or impose some kind of exercise on them. After fifteen minutes or so on the field, I call Mancini over and I say to him: “Off you go son, go and get changed. I’ve seen all I needed to see.”’

How did he take it?

‘He froze on the spot, literally. And his father, too.’

What happened next?

‘Nothing. I told them to pop into my office before they left, as I had something to say to them. When Aldo sat down in front of Martelli, the secretary, and me, he was almost in tears. “What did he do? What did he do wrong? Why did you make him leave so early, while everyone else carried on playing?” he asked me, with real concern. “I’ll tell you right away. I have already seen what I wanted to see: this guy would suit us, so if the terms we are setting are OK with you, he can stay.”’

And what were those terms?

‘700,000 lira on the spot, which would go to the Aurora club for his player registration, and a five million lira deal, in the event that he made his debut in Serie A before turning 18.’

What did Aldo Mancini say to that?

‘“Good, great,” he immediately answered. But you could tell he was nervous, too. “How are we going to manage? We are in Jesi, and Roberto goes to school there.” So we told him he needn’t worry: if Roberto were to accept the deal, he would move to the halls of residence in Casteldebole, he would go to school there and he would be looked after in every way. “We’ll just see how it goes, how he grows up, how he develops.” Such words were immediately soothing for his father. So we agreed that we would call them on the following day, to tell them what kind of papers were needed, and when he needed to show up in Casteldebole. And so we did.’

The tortellini are getting cold and the landlord looks worried. He comes over to the table and asks Signor Perani, with a pleading look on his face, whether they are not to his liking. So as not to hurt his feelings, the tortellini are swiftly dispatched.

Perani has an unquestioned ability to tell the future from the evidence of the present. Other than Mancini, he scouted players like Macina, Bergossi, Zinetti, Pazzagli and Boschin, just to quote a few names. Still, when you are assessing a 13-year-old boy, you can get it wrong.

‘You can indeed, but in my opinion there really are hard and fast rules about football. At that age, it’s easy to spot talents that other people might not notice.’

So what did you see in ‘Mancio’?

‘He was able to use both feet well, especially his right foot, and he had a real vision of the game. As soon as he saw a free teammate, he would pass the ball on to him, with the inside of his foot, with the outside, always with great precision­. He played as a wing half and had a good sense of manoeuvring, remarkable individual skills and a sharp shot. What impressed me most about him was his football intelligence, not to mention his good fundamentals and his natural talent, which were all shining bright. In short, he was already a proper footballer, and I believe that you are born a footballer. Then, with the right advice and tips from your coach, you can become a better player.’

What was Mancini like, when he got to your place?

‘His head was really screwed on. Mancini had a strong personality, he was quite sensible and he understood that we took things very seriously in Casteldebole. We kept telling the boys that being a footballer didn’t mean kicking the ball around, earning a lot of money and living it up. We said many times that sacrifices were needed – a great deal of them, too, if you want to be a professional player. Some got it, others didn’t. Roberto was among those who had this concept clear in his head. He was enthusiastic and determined. He wanted to seize the opportunity. We never had any issues with him. We didn’t need to tell him off, ever, because he was the first to know his duties.

‘He was a man of few words, and he was good friends with my son Paolo, who used to play with him. He was a fine man and showed what he could do day after day, proving to us the skills we had noticed in his trial. He believed in himself, he trusted his talent. That’s why coaches like Franco Bonini and Andrea Soncini, who worked with him when I went on to coach the first team, put their trust in him.’

What did you teach him in Casteldebole?

‘It’s easy enough to teach someone who has good fundamentals. With such guys we usually teach them how to kick the ball in certain ways, how to give the opponents a hard time, how to implement a pattern of play, how to play as a team, how to get your teammates to help you, and how to help them back. And mostly, we correct mistakes. After a match, if a player has done something wrong and he really screwed up, you take him to one side and you tell him how and where to make things better. Still, I’m not one of those coaches who want to impose their view at all costs and end up ruining players. A footballer, especially one like Roberto Mancini, must have complete freedom of expression.’

Dessert, coffee and spirits – a well-deserved break before the final part of the conversation.

Would you have ever imagined Mancini at the level he ultimately reached?

‘He had the skills and he had the character, and what’s more he wasn’t afraid.’

Afraid?

‘That’s right, he wasn’t scared to take on responsibilities, or ride one tackle too many. Some guys just don’t jump in; they go all shy and find it hard to show what they can do on the field. And the first time they face an opponent, they become frightened and move their leg away. Still, I believe that Mancini must have been gifted with both will-power and brains, even as a child: they are essential, in order to achieve all that he has achieved so far.’

The Boy

He is 13 years and nine months old, bobbed brown hair, like the Beatles, and the hint of a moustache. The youngest in Casteldebole; that is how he gets his nickname, Il Bimbo – ‘The Boy’. The memories of his trial, ‘an unforgettable moment, a permanent feeling that will stay with me forever,’ and Perani’s assent, are behind him now. The Boy now needs to face up to the reality of the training camp. Sure, Bologna Academy is one of the best in Italy: there are four luscious green football fields, changing rooms and facilities which Aurora could only dream of; there are trainers and technical teams, champions that you might have only seen from a distance in a football stadium, or close up in the Panini stickers collection; the halls of residence are spacious, with only 15 guests; everything is beautiful, a dream come true for anyone who wants to be a footballer – but it is not enough. The first days for little Roberto are not easy at all. He is really missing home, and homesickness is a scourge, showing up at dusk, creeping up behind you all of a sudden when you least expect it, and it won’t let go. The only solution is calling home; so he pushes his coins into the payphone up on the wall, again and again.

Mother Marianna and father Aldo, who made a hard decision when they let him go, spoke for a long time with those in charge (‘I would never allow my children to leave home at thirteen and a half,’ Roberto would say many years later, after becoming a father). His parents tried to reassure themselves about the school being good, they enquired about the food, the teammates, the way their son would be treated; and at the same time, they told Roberto that, if he felt he couldn’t do it, it only needed one phone call and they’d be on their way to bring him back home. Sometimes Roberto, when the jokes and the bullying are too much to take (being the youngest makes him a target, although on the football pitch he knows his stuff), is tempted to send out an SOS to Jesi; but he does not give up. He speaks to Aldo and Marianna, but he tries not to let sadness show in his voice, he pretends to be happy, so that they do not worry. He knows his parents won’t let him stay, otherwise.

He acts the same with his coaches and those who surround him. ‘I never saw him cry, never heard a complaint,’ says Franco Bonini, now 77 having spent a lifetime in Bologna as a player and youth team manager. ‘On a daily basis, Roberto was good, very good and responsible. A credit to his parents, who educated him well; to himself, who was already as conscientious as a grown-up; but also to us. We tried to make sure, in every way possible, that the boys didn’t feel out of their depths, detached from their own reality. And right from the start, we tried to put across to Roberto that, if he followed the rules, if he behaved like he was expected to, he would go far in the football world.’

So Roberto is ‘good, very good’ – apart from the times when he skips school. This happens on his very first day. The bus picks up all the boys at 6.30am sharp and drops them off a few kilometres away, in Casalecchio di Reno. They have breakfast in the bar, then everyone takes public transport to get to their own schools in Bologna. Mancini is the newcomer, and Walter Bicocchi, the administrator, nicknamed ‘The Magician’, acts as a kind of tutor for the young ones, so he is taking care of Roberto that day. Standing in front of the industrial technicians high school, a thousand doubts strike Mancini. New school, new classmates, new teachers, his strong Marche accent, which sounds completely out of place in Bologna – he really does not feel like going in. So he asks ‘The Magician’ not to walk him to his class, because he is embarrassed: he is not a kid on his first day in elementary school. And as soon as Bicocchi turns the corner, Mancini is gone. He retraces his steps, heads back towards Casalecchio. He buys a sports paper, sits on a bench and reads to kill time, thinking that he can wait there until the bus comes to take him back to Casteldebole. He convinces himself that no one will notice he has skipped school. But it is not his day, for who should chance upon him there but Bicocchi, who gives him a good telling off and takes him straight back to school.

School and books are not really his thing, as the Boy does not like studying. He reads the sports pages in Resto del Carlino, he reads Stadio and Guerin Sportivo, so he knows everything about football; he devours comics, such as Intrepido, Il Monello, Tex Willer, Diabolik, Mickey Mouse – anything, except school books. And during his second year in Casteldebole, he decides that he has had enough. He does not want to go to school anymore.

Pietro Battara phones Roberto’s family to discuss the matter with them. ‘Yes, we talked about it,’ says Aldo, ‘he says he wants to devote himself completely to football.’ At first Battara thinks, if the boy’s father is okay with it, there is not much he can do; but he can’t stomach the fact that while everybody else is getting up, having breakfast and going to school, Roberto is lazing about in bed. He must act, so he goes and speaks to Mancini. ‘Right,’ he says, ‘at 7am tomorrow you must report to the warehouse. You’ll go down there every day and I’m sure they’ll find you something to do.’ And so the Boy ends up brushing the first-team players’ boots, folding up shirts, sweeping floors and generally tidying up everyone else’s mess, a morning routine which will last until the following year, when Mancini decides to go back to school and study in a technical school for surveyors. He passes his first-year exams, but by his second year he is already part of the first-team squad, so he packs it all in for good to start the famous English course.

His school education may have had its highs and lows, but his football career is going great guns. He starts in Giovanissimi, then moves to Allievi. His coach there is Antonio Soncini, a true Parma man, who used to play in Serie B (Alessandria, Salernitana, Modena, Parma) as a midfielder – and a very reliable one – before becoming a youth coach for Parma, Varese, Bologna and Sampdoria. Today, Soncini, now 74 years old, recounts his impressions of the young Mancini. ‘He already had distinct technical and tactical ability,’ he says. ‘He stood out because of his vision of the game, his movements without the ball, his remarkable ability to shake off markers. And, most of all, for his character: he was a born leader.’ Bonini adds, ‘On the field, he acted like a manager: very demanding, but also capable of giving a lot to others. If someone made a mistake, he never stopped grudging. And he would do that with me, too. For example, when a free-kick could not be taken from his side (he is right-footed, so taking a free-kick on the left side wasn’t the best for him), I told him to let someone else have a go. And he would wander off in a temper.’