Alessandro Del Piero gets where I’m coming from. It’s only on his face that I’ve seen the same sort of
look that disfigures mine during the pre-match warm-up. His last year at Juventus sticks in my mind as
a kind of sporting agony; the drawn out death of an intense love that’s destined to disappear, second
by second, piece by piece, until it’s nothing but one-way affection. And if there’s only fondness on
one side, the whole thing becomes a bit pointless.
He wasn’t playing and he was suffering as a result. It was eating him up inside, and that
unhappiness was obvious on the exterior. He looked like he wanted to smash up the world and
everything in it: his face said it all about the horror he was living.
He tried to disguise his true feelings, but couldn’t quite pull it off. In this life, you’re either a man
or an actor, there’s nothing in between. Alessandro’s attempt to put on a brave face proved pretty
terrible and, as such, the example he set was priceless. He’s a one-off and the same guy now he’s
always been. The fact that Sydney’s a 24-hour flight from Turin hasn’t changed him one bit. He’s a
champion at home and abroad.
He suffered like crazy sitting on the bench that final year. Not letting him near a ball was the worst
kind of punishment for him. He had a full season of being sent to bed with no dinner and no No.10.
All he got was a pair of black-and-white striped pyjamas without a name on the back. The classic
garb of a prisoner who hasn’t been put to death but is condemned to permanent exile.
Never once did Alessandro complain in front of his team-mates; he always showed great dignity.
You wouldn’t see much of him in the dressing room during the week – he had his own personal
trainer to put him through his paces because, after all, the perfect engine deserves special care and
attention. In the mornings, he’d always arrive before everyone else, get changed and hole himself up
in a little gym a few metres along from the one used by the rest of the squad. He’d join the main group
only when the balls appeared and it was time to work on the technical stuff. When we needed him, he
was there, and we were very aware of his presence. We were all pretty sad that a true champion like
him had to leave, particularly when the team (his team) had just started winning again.
Even though we knew how the story would end, it was still upsetting. After all, we’re talking about
one of the most historic standard bearers in Juventus history. And when I say historic, I’m talking
about his influence as well as his age.
I don’t know exactly what went on between him and president Agnelli. I couldn’t tell you which
internal mechanism stopped working or what little bug got into the system – I’ve never thought it
appropriate to ask. I’ve got huge respect for both men, and there must be a valid reason for them
having reached the end of the line. It’s purely their business, a private matter that all started with
differing views on a contract extension that never actually materialised.
It’s a shame really, because Del Piero still had plenty to offer Juventus. A guy like him is always
going to come in handy. Great people and exemplary professionals are the sort of folks I’d want at my
side 24 hours a day and Alessandro is both those things.
It’s not by chance that he’s had such a world-class career. Even in those latter days, he’d still put
on a masterclass of nobility whenever he got some game-time. The very essence of beauty presented
in summary form: a few pages, a brief look, and you’d learned the lesson. Those moments were his chance to become a child again, even if he wasn’t far away from hitting 40. More than once, he cried
in front of everyone, holding nothing back. Just as a kid would, in fact.
After his penultimate appearance in a Juventus jersey (a home game against Atalanta in May 2012),
he was finally overwhelmed by all the emotions he’d managed to keep a lid on up till then. His ego,
his desire to be involved, that need to feel like a true bianconero. He flooded the dressing room with
tears, and we did the same, both with him and for him. And then we said goodbye before he headed
off to Sydney.
Alessandro chose the other side of the world to start over and carry on his career. It couldn’t have
gone any other way, really. If he’d stayed in Italy or moved to another league close by, he’d have just
ended up feeling terribly homesick. Juventus is an almost physical attraction for him: it’s like putting
one magnet next to another.
Thanks to my pathological devotion to the Italy jersey, people say I’m a player who belongs to
everyone. Sometimes I’ll find opposition fans applauding me when we play on the road. Del Piero
went one step further: supporters of other teams put him on a pedestal because he was a one-club
man. They loved his dedication; the fact that he’d married a cause and stayed faithful, becoming
something more than a mere footballer, as well as one of the all-time greats.
Earning that sort of reaction is nothing short of miraculous in an age when Juventus have started
winning again and are thus widely disliked.
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