Pruzzo: “Roma has been a family. That’s how I feel alive”

“I was born in Crocefieschi, a village with 545 inhabitants, 742 metres above sea level. I’m not a man of the sea – even though Genoa is only 36 kilometres away – but a man of the mountains. I started kicking a ball about, aiming to put it in the net, on the parish youth club’s pitch. I cut my teeth in pub tournaments, which were actually fierce, no-holds-barred contests between the neighbouring villages. We played until winter came and the snow fell.”

Roberto Pruzzo, born on April Fools’ Day in the year of our Lord 1955, and nicknamed ‘o rei di Crocefieschi’ by the Grifone supporters, was to become – thanks to his bearing, physical power, competitive ferocity and spectacular goals – the striker par excellence, the most prolific in the entire history of Roma before Francesco Totti, He scored 106 goals, won one Scudetto, four Coppa Italia titles, and was top scorer on three occasions; yet his career is also remembered for that cursed night of heartbreak. The penalty shoot-out defeat against Liverpool, in front of a stunned Olimpico crowd who simply could not believe it…

“I was 15 when a friend took me to Genoa for a trial, and that’s where the story began. My time in the youth teams flew by in the blink of an eye. I hadn’t even turned 18 when I made my first-team debut. By the age of 20, they’d already made me captain. I’m not saying they had to persuade me to sign my first contract, but at that time any kind of commitment felt like a straitjacket to me; I was a free man who’d come down from the mountains almost by chance. It seemed mad to me to be forced into four training sessions a week.”

“My reluctance faded once I realised it could become a lucrative career, and it came naturally to me to change my approach… In Genoa, I was an idol, for better or for worse. We did face some criticism. From the heights to the depths, and back again. A rollercoaster of public opinion that, paradoxically, strengthened me and served as a springboard when I moved to Roma. It wasn’t all plain sailing there either. We had a rough time in the first year, but I was, so to speak, immune to it. Then we became a rock-solid unit, with a very strong sense of identity and belonging. Time flew by; we’d become a lovely, close-knit family, built by President Dino Viola and Nils Liedholm. The Baron was, before anything else, a mentor in life. He knew how to turn ideas into action. He’d put something in your head and you’d go and do it. Roma was a family, a way of being and feeling, to which I’ll remain forever attached. Some, like Agostino Di Bartolomei and Aldo Maldera, are no longer with us. That’s the game of life – beautiful at first, then cruel. Every now and then we all go to Rome for a reunion. The atmosphere in the changing room is something that stays with you, and just seeing each other again takes you right back to those shared moments, to that desire to take on the world – us against everyone else – to feel strong, to have people to look up to, to be able to rely on those around you, to never feel alone. Friendship is wonderful, even though, compared to others, I’ve never really been one for social evenings and midweek celebrations.”

“There have been so many goals that have stayed with me. The acrobatic overhead kick against Juventus, the brace in the semi-final of the comeback against Dundee, but the one scored at Marassi that secured the league title was, amongst a thousand others, the greatest thrill. A cross from Ago on the left, me rising highest to head the ball and deliver the coup de grâce to the apotheosis. It was a triumphant run, with four Coppa Italia titles won and the Scudetto sealed. Then came the bitter twist of fate. That cursed night, when the European Cup slipped away on penalties in front of our own fans. If we’d won, every 30 May would have been a celebration; instead, 42 years on, it’s a disappointment we still carry with us: a loss we haven’t yet come to terms with.”

“Nonsensical conspiracy theories. I’d taken a knock that simply knocked me out. With Liedholm, I’d never once had to throw in the towel halfway through a match. It happened on the very worst possible day. We were convinced we could bring things full circle, but instead we lacked the strength to win it on the pitch, and the great Roma of old came to an end there.”

“It’s a much more physical, tactical and infinitely less technical game of football. I think that’s wrong. I might say that every era gets the football it deserves. Just think of the number of players. Our squads never exceeded fifteen. Today they’ve doubled in size and we try to give everyone a chance through rotation, partly because there’s no longer any space or time to catch our breath. Football has been my passion and my life. Watching matches should be a pleasure, yet instead we have to savour them drop by drop to avoid feeling sick from an overdose.”

“In fact, I’ve lived in Lucca practically all my life – it’s my wife Brunella’s hometown. I’ve never been one for the seaside, even though it’s just 20 kilometres from here; I am and always will be a mountain man, forced by life’s circumstances to move down to the valley. Brunella and I have been together for almost half a century. She is one of those quiet, patient women who have weathered the storms of modern life, capable of standing by you even when the limelight is far away and you struggle to find a purpose. I, too, have lost my way in life from time to time, and whenever I’ve faced difficulties, Brunella has been my rock. The after-effects of the pain of living are still lurking; the important thing is not to feel alone and to start afresh, rekindling the light that had gone out.”

“I have no particular ambitions for the end of my season. I’m 71 years old and I try to live as peacefully as possible. Football has taught me that life is a never-ending race. You always have to find a reason to carry on. If the time comes when you’ve run out of them, it becomes a right mess. To feel truly alive, you have to find one every day. Emotions are essential at any age. As long as you feel them, as long as you find a motivation and a goal that give meaning to every single day.”

“The motivation I’ve given myself today is to test myself physically, pushing myself harder and running further than last time. Lately, because of a niggle in my hip, I’ve let myself go a bit, and that’s not good. I want to run, trying to go a little further each time. Today, this is the motivation that gives meaning to life as it rushes by; you can never fall behind, watching it go without doing anything to seize it. I can no longer run a half-marathon, but if I can manage a lap of the city walls… Not today, but it could be tomorrow’s goal. The walls of Lucca are 4,180 metres long. If I can run the whole way, without the doctor knowing, it would be a small dream realised. The past is behind me, but tomorrow there might still be a glimmer of hope. I believe in it.”

“Liedholm was a mentor in life, and that Roma side was like a family. That’s how I feel alive”