Franco Baresi and the defender’s ear

To be precise: anyone who claims that Franco Baresi played exclusively for AC Milan in their red-and-black strip is, quite simply, mistaken. One day (on 14 October 1979, to be precise) he took to the pitch wearing the Perugia shirt. In Perugia…

Matchday five, technically a top-of-the-table clash (however strange that may seem today): in the previous season, Milan had won the Scudetto, finishing ahead of none other than Castagner’s ‘Miracle Grifo’, the first team ever to go through a season unbeaten.

That afternoon – believe it or not – something happened in Serie A that usually only occurs in pub football tournaments where it’s all about ‘hydration breaks’: the Milan kit man had left the second away kit – the white one – back in Milan. Panic ensued, with the risk of a forfeit; just like in amateur tournaments, they ended up asking the hosts for a loan: Perugia’s third kits, entirely sky blue with the Griffin emblazoned on the front. Photos and TV coverage are there to bear witness to that oddity: from the pink-clad Gronchi to Baresi in blue, the difference is minimal. At the ‘Curi’, the match ended 1–1 (a lightning-fast goal from Pablito Rossi, an equaliser from Gabriello Carotti – whoever he may be).

Fast forward to 2017: Baresi and Trapattoni – thanks to mutual friends – were guests in San Venanzo (also in Umbria, a village of 3,000 souls in the Apennines overlooking Orvieto), whose team had just been promoted to Promozione. The evening was packed with supporters (not just AC Milan fans) who had come from all over the region; the atmosphere was relaxed and light-hearted.

Plenty of anecdotes. Baresi claiming to have ‘discovered’ the linesman (“I used to wave to them, joke around with them; I realised that from my point of view – always raising my arm to signal offside, which was sometimes on and sometimes off – they were more important than the referees”), the missed penalty at the World Cup (“Taffarel dived where he knew I’d go; it was me who changed my mind at the last moment”, and what did you think – they ask him – a second later? And he replies: “I thought: what the hell, how on earth do you kick it like that…?”). Then they introduce him to Gianfranco Bastiani, a former striker for San Venanzo (in the first, second and third divisions, scoring goals like hailstones). Someone says to him: “Baresi, with Gianfranco you wouldn’t have touched the ball; he’d have scored past you too.” “Franz” looks at him; they exchange a few words as “hypothetical” rivals; they speak the same language – you can tell. Gianfranco shrugs it off, saying: “Oh no, Baresi wouldn’t have let me see the ball at all – it’s a completely different world, a different sport.”

The evening continues, with countless questions, but one in particular sticks in the memory. He is asked: how has the role of the defender changed over the years? He thinks for a moment and then replies: “Today, your eyes matter a great deal; in the past, your ears mattered a great deal.” The audience is left with their forks suspended in mid-air. What do you mean? He continues: “Today, your eyes are needed to maintain the defensive line; catching the opposition strikers offside is the primary objective. By any means necessary, including raising your arm to draw the assistant referee’s attention – as the crowd reminded me of again tonight (Trapattoni nods, smiles and sweeps his hand through the air, as if to say: ‘a bit too much…’ editor’s note)”. And what about your ear, if I may ask? “When we played man-to-man marking, hearing was your primary weapon. You’d stick close to the centre-forward and, by listening to his breathing, you could tell whether you could close him down early or not. In short, if I heard that… Gianfranco… was out of breath, struggling to breathe, I’d close him down early”. Gianfranco laughs; perhaps he’d have liked to say something in reply. Gianfranco, too, has been gone for a few years now. He was a Milan fan, to be precise.