Gennaro Gattuso, a man of extraordinary calibre

I’d like to know about Gattuso’s relationship with God, and I don’t want it to come across as the intrusive curiosity of someone with nothing better to do. I’d like to understand Rino’s ‘superman’ side, to work out whether this life is intense enough for him, or whether he needs yet another – and yet another after that – to be able to call himself a complete being. I would like, tactfully and without the malice typical of the morbid, to know how deeply the pain of losing a sister at a young age has affected him, and to what extent he is shaped by the constant doubt of someone forced to battle an insidious condition such as ocular myasthenia, a rare autoimmune disease that has affected the muscles around his eyes.

I wish, I wish, I wish. I wonder how annoyed Rino must be reading these lines in which I discuss him, prying like a thief of sorrows, forgetting about Gattuso the manager and, before that, the athlete and footballer. Because in this “excess of manhood” that I speak of – and that we all speak of in his presence – we forget his professional abilities, as if these came a distant second.

Gattuso is not only forced to live with his illness, but also with his image being constantly under scrutiny. “I have to fight every day, stick to my treatment and not let depression get the better of me,” he said.

And so, when he begins to speak, to explain, to defend himself – should the need ever arise – images of saints, heroes and slaves begin to flash behind him. His face is a mask, his words are heavy, his sneer an accusatory expression.

Who are you up against, Rino? I would like to ask. But it would be a superfluous question, because Gattuso is not opposed to anyone; if anything, he is opposed to those of us who insist on placing him at the centre of a dramatic narrative, regardless of the facts, his actions or his abilities. That’s why, if I were one of his players, I’d throw myself into the fire for him. I’d do it, even if he made me play in the wrong position. In short, I’d slip into the Superman suit (the one from the comics) to give him my protective shield.

In a wretched world, where there are senseless people who are frightening in their spiritual poverty, their foolishness and their complete lack of any instinct for kindness, Gattuso stands out for his humanity. He might be the worst manager in the world – and obviously he isn’t – but I would follow him. I would respond to his ‘excessive humanity’ with my affection.