Leo Ostigard and the defence’s verdict

If Leo Østigård ended up playing as a centre-back, the ‘blame’ lies with Fabio Cannavaro. A ‘blame’ that must, however, be shared with his own lack of pace. He has never been quick; he has never had the burst of speed that might have allowed him to play elsewhere: the centre of defence has always been a sweet sentence for him. The best one he could have hoped for. Because when they put him in defence, he took to it straight away. He immediately grasped the beauty hidden in a role whose main objective is to ruin the very thing that football lives for: the goal. Being a spoilsport rather than part of the party has its own unique charm – perhaps cruel, often unpleasant, certainly mocking.

After watching Fabio Cannavaro play, Leo Østigård decided that being a defender might be a brilliant idea. He soon realised, however, that becoming like the national team’s defender was an impossible task, because there have been very few players like Fabio Cannavaro in the entire history of football, so he decided to stop thinking in terms of emulation and turn his hand to acting instead.

Leo Østigård’s approach is somewhat unique, though undoubtedly sincere. The Norwegian immediately recognised his limitations: he wasn’t very tall, he wasn’t very fast, and he lacked the burst of speed needed to get ahead of the play. He acted not to improve these aspects, but to prevent them from being glaringly obvious. He built up his muscle, worked on his concentration, and improved his ability to pass and strike the ball. Above all, he realised that intimidation is often just as effective as anticipating the play. His defending is a blend of intimidation, tough tactics and competitive spirit, all mixed with first-rate cunning. Because his awareness of his limitations has given the Norwegian defender an extraordinary ability to observe what is happening around him. On the other hand, if one feels lacking in certain areas, three options present themselves: either accept this and keep a low profile, or refuse to accept it—at the risk of appearing foolish or hotheaded—or acknowledge it, shrug it off, and find other ways to leverage strengths without dwelling too much on weaknesses. Østigård has adopted the third approach, acting as a radar, remaining alert to every detail, monitoring the entire pitch, and responding accordingly.

Wherever he went, he managed to win people over with this attitude. Even in Naples, first during the Scudetto-winning season under Luciano Spalletti, when he was a substitute for Min-jae Kim and Amir Rrahmani, and then during the dismal campaign with three managers in a single season (Rudi Garcia, Walter Mazzarri and Francesco Calzona), he was always ready to step in and never made the first-team regulars regret their absence. Quite the contrary. The difficulties of his second season led both Rudi Garcia and Francesco Calzona to rely on him. Because when things aren’t at their best, talent isn’t always more useful than the ability to find solutions. And Leo Østigård is a man who always finds a solution. Even if it means creating one himself.

Since joining Genoa, Daniele De Rossi has never, not even for a second, considered doing without the Norwegian centre-back. The manager has entrusted Leo Østigård with the responsibility of organising the team on the pitch; he has sought to build his defence around him, pairing him not with the absolute best players, but with teammates in the same position who are best able to play alongside the centre-back – those most in tune with the Norwegian. It was a tough start. Then all the difficulties eased and the results began to come. 

Olive is back again this year – Giovanni Battistuzzi’s column on the (not necessarily) leading figures of Serie A. Brief, unfiltered profiles, perfect for reading over an aperitif. You can read all the other profiles here.