Osvaldo Bagnoli, the manager who isn’t afraid to say no

Osvaldo Bagnoli from Bovisa only spoke when he had something to say, and he only managed teams for as long as he felt he had something to offer. One day in February 1994, out of the blue, after being sacked by Inter following a shock home defeat to Lazio, he decided he’d had enough. He was not yet 59, had a legendary league title to his name and an equally epic UEFA Cup semi-final with Genoa: indeed, in that very year of 1994, ‘his’ Inter – now under the interim management of Giampiero Marini – would go on to win the UEFA Cup. He chose to remain at home with his family; he turned down offer after offer and decided to bring his managerial career to an end when he could still have breathed new life into it. There was still something to be achieved, but he felt he had nothing left to give.

Thirty-two years have passed, and now that Osvaldo Bagnoli is no longer with us, the talk is mainly of what he achieved in Verona: a hard-fought, hugely romantic league title – a timeless feat that people will continue to write about and recount even half a century from now. It is only right and natural that this should be the case, for it marked the pinnacle of a man whom Gianni Brera – inspired by his quintessentially Lombard character – chose to nickname Schopenhauer. “I don’t think I’m worthy of the nickname,” was his reply.

With Bagnoli, rather than listing his successes, it is therefore more interesting to recount the sacrifices, the ‘no’s’ spoken with the firm conviction of a laconic, measured man – clearly out of step with the times we live in and, precisely for this reason, capable of stepping away from the fray at a time when football was becoming something other than what he had come to know, first as a player and then as a marvellous manager. He had the ability to bring out the best in the young players he coached and to conceal their flaws – he who, as a footballer, had had his fair share of flaws: a matter of perception, of understanding the game and human beings, and of a humility he embodied so naturally. Paradoxically, his playing career had begun with a league title as a supporting player at Milan: from the lower leagues to the Scudetto, a fairy tale worth telling. From that moment on, however, Bagnoli had to earn everything himself, both on the pitch and on the touchline. It was his move to Verona that transformed his life as a manager, following a dramatic rollercoaster ride: having established himself as a successful Serie B manager, he chose to move to Fano in Serie C2, as if he’d found a fresh burst of momentum to eventually reach Serie A – a feat he achieved at the helm of Cesena, whom he led to promotion in 1981 – and which he finally savoured in the shadow of the Arena.

There, he had pieced together faded and discarded stars, working on them with the patience of a craftsman and spicing it all up with two rock-solid foreigners, to the point of striking fear into the hearts of the historic giants of Italian football, right up to the Scudetto. And then, after winning the title, on holiday in Romagna as always, sipping orangeade and, if necessary, answering questions from the odd journalist on assignment. “Things have changed around me; now I have to talk much more than before to explain what it is and what it isn’t – the nitty-gritty. But inside, nothing has changed; I’ve already forgotten I won it, the Scudetto,” he told Gianni Mura in that roaring summer of 1985, spent as Italian champion yet already aware that the tricolour on the shirts would last only a year. He stayed in Verona out of a sense of loyalty far removed from today’s standards, a tenacious stay that went well beyond the norm: whilst Hellas gradually slipped back down the table, Bagnoli remained there, fighting on the front line, without stepping aside. He could have done so, yet there he was still in 1989, trying in vain to save a team cobbled together in desperation. And he would have stayed even longer, had someone not made it clear to him that he was no longer needed. “You don’t stay in paradise in defiance of the saints,” he said upon moving to Genoa, having been taken to Europe after a season in which he’d not been afraid to face the protests following elimination from the Coppa Italia: “I have nothing to be ashamed of and I’m not afraid of anyone. If someone comes up behind me and punches me on the back, they can go ahead and do it; if they come face-to-face, it’s unlikely they’ll do it. I have to defend my team and the red-and-blue colours, even if perhaps the yellow-and-blue colours are still in my blood.”

He ended his career on a high note, with Genoa reaching the UEFA Cup semi-finals at Juventus’ expense, complete with a stunning victory over Liverpool. Then came Inter, finishing second behind Capello’s Milan, and finally his sacking, bringing things full circle: he had never been sacked before, except during his debut season with Solbiatese. Perhaps that was also why he decided to call it a day and devote himself to his family: in that world of football, there was nothing left to say, nothing left to give. Better to be a father and a husband, side by side with his wife Rosanna and his daughter Monica, who had been blind from birth and had grown up on the legend of her father and the radio commentaries of Roberto Puliero, the legendary voice of Hellas. And then, over the years, from time to time, he’d be at the stadium with his lads, who in Verona have never stopped loving him. Never again, however, in the spotlight. Without regrets, like a man of rock-solid resolve. They don’t make them like that any more – like Osvaldo Bagnoli.