The Moustache that Dribbled Past Life Twice

The protagonist of the melancholic novella La lunga by Roberto Perrone—a master of sports journalism who has himself long since passed away—is a sports journalist who never made it big and, now of retirement age, is still forced to “pull the late shift,” that is, to stay up late into the night in the unlikely hope that news worthy of the front page might arrive at the Fortezza Bastiani on Via Solferino. In sport? “If Rivera were to die…”, was the answer he’d get every time. Is it just literature? Who knows. Rivera always had that certain something extra about him – perhaps it was the Ballon d’Or, his elegance on the pitch, or a certain thrill of an unconventional lifestyle and outspoken nature off the pitch, which in those days was already considered transgressive for an Italian footballer. Yet the real truth—known to reporters of both the long-form and short-form varieties, but above all to all football lovers—is that Sandro “Sandrino” Mazzola had already come to terms with his own death. His father Valentino, who perished at Superga, left him behind forever – yet he carried him with him forever. On the touchline and, above all, in his dreams every night, whilst others were partying the night away. He needed nothing else to live as a good, serene man – just as he wanted to be remembered – and full of gentle irony, as anyone who spoke to him, even for just a moment, knows. 

Many people today have been talking mainly about him and Valentino. But Sandro Mazzola was, above all, the star player who won the first European Cup against Real Madrid with the ‘Grande Inter’, scoring two goals and providing an assist – the MVP award didn’t exist back then; but his moment of glory and inner joy came later, as he recounted many years afterwards: “In the tunnel, as I was about to step onto the pitch, I stood spellbound in front of those two giants over there, Di Stefano and Puskás. I was overcome with emotion; I had goosebumps. At last, the match was about to begin. I scored two goals and provided the assist for Milani; we won 3–1. Kisses and hugs on the pitch, victory laps, President Moratti in triumph. And something fantastic happened to me: Puskas came over, handed me his number 10 shirt and… ‘You are worthy of the great champion that was your father.’ A magical night, perhaps the most memorable of my career.”

He had been the mascot of the ‘Grande Torino’, then ‘Veleno’ Lorenzi brought him to Inter; there was also his younger brother Ferruccio, who ended his bitter life several years ago. And he became the regiment’s son: ‘Inter saved my life’. And he became the legendary champion of Inter’s first Scudetto, their second Coppa Italia and their two Intercontinental Cups. He was also known for the “Budaest dribble,” which remains one of the most glorious goals in the history of football, and for the goal scored with six touches against Switzerland, which remains one of the most beautiful for the national team. Many years later, speaking of Mexico ’70, Rivera said – without needing a firing squad –: “We could have played together.” He replied: “We should have.” We’d have conceded four goals anyway, against ‘O Rey’ and the strongest Brazilian side of all time. But we’d have missed out on a few billion bar-room arguments that still haven’t come to an end.

Just a few months ago, the faintest of sandpaper-like voices had spoken words of wisdom: “But how can we produce champions in Italy today if we don’t know how to train young people? Go and see how they train children these days… I took my nephew to football, and I ran away straight away. Training at half past six in the evening! Twenty minutes of running laps round the pitch, hurdles, the skipping rope… they gave him ten minutes with the ball! Oh! That’s what playing football is all about, so you’ve got to give the ball to the children!”