Dear Roberto Mancini, the only one who can kneel is you

Caro Roberto,
I wanted to thank you for the support you have allowed me to do since the beginning of the European Championships.

I’m a strange guy: it’s not that the blue shirt alone represents a fetish. It also depends on the wearer. Do you think that not even in other areas the famous “right or wrong, it’s my country” has always made me shit. I prefer “If my country is wrong, I get pissed twice”.

But yours are really golden boys. Maybe they won’t have the talent of Spain ’82, when we came from the betting scandal. Or of Germany ’06, when we came from the betting scandal. You have to work without the glue of resentment, of redemption, which since 8 September 1943 has always given us discreet satisfaction.

But despite this you have already performed a miracle. You can see that, for I don’t know how many games, they play what they rarely do at these latitudes: they play for each other. And each of them, even people who in the league, in the Champions League, anywhere else, discount individual limits, has learned the lesson of Confucius: they understand their limits and make them their own. That’s why they play, play, so well.

And then, speaking of jersey, I always remember that rossobl├╣ in wool you wore in ’81, when you made your debut in Serie A. And yes, then we backed down anyway, but the light went on. Yours. The one who would have guided Sampdoria, together with your friend, that fantastic guy from Boskov, to subvert for the last time the conventio ad includendum for which the horizontal stripes, or the absence of stripes, do not combine well with the Scudetto.

For this, Roberto, for this ancient commonality, for this contingent gratitude, I wanted to ask you a favor that you will hardly be able to do to me and to other people like me who often feel orphaned in stadiums. Orphans of their passion, raped by racism and other trinkets.

I wanted to ask you: you kneel.
A few seconds, even less. But do it.

Because your boys the other day squatted on the lawn almost by chance, because it seemed like a nice gesture to them, because if they do it in the Premier ‘that’s not bullshit. But it was explained to them in a loud voice, I would dare to define in chorus, by those who define themselves outside the pack, even at the stadium, that one cannot, one must not, that it is politics, and that politics must stay out of football. . As if Hungary, to remain alone in this edition, did not always seem on the point of invading itself.

Obviously they got scared, your young men. To load on their shoulders, which are well paid, the bullying of Italian supporters would be ungenerous. It was already nice that five of them had decided, by chance or by feeling, to face it. But then the dung storm started.

You, on the other hand, Roberto, have broad shoulders. As large as those of Luca Vialli. You are from another era, you have other resources, you have another history. You can afford it. And it would be a small sign of humanity, of lightness, of how a gesture communicates something that sooner or later will take root: there are no ifs, there are no buts, you don’t do the monkey to black players. You don’t have to.

I know, it might be unpopular. Especially if (god forbid) the Austrians had to, forgive the Frenchism, put it in our pocket. But anyway, if it went wrong, you would be unpopular all the same. The same people who have already built an equestrian monument on the Aurelia, would move it to Trastevere, near that of the porchetta. And they would chop you.

So you, Roberto Mancini, guarantor of the 11 on the pitch and the 15 off, and perhaps Luca, in fact, are the ones who can afford it. The two, among other things, who were protagonists of the Premier. The same Premier where the stab wounds flew years ago. And now you go to the stadium calmly. And if one laughs at the blacks, they take him away.

For this, Roberto, I ask you. Little more than a dip. With your body it shouldn’t be impossible, that if I did I would be an immediate defibrillator. For ethical reasons. Not because Salvini is against. After all, the words of someone who supported Germany in 2006 are valid as the two of sticks when trump is sambuca.

Among other things, here, given his cheering in favor is not considered so apotropaic.

Mine, our support, on the other hand, you will have it and you will have it anyway.

Because this has all the air of being the national team of good people. Not heroes, not saints, but a small collective that has already done good things. With feet and knees.

If you don’t feel like it, thank you anyway.

At most, from a distance, you will hear a small and hopeful part of the country commenting with a sigh: “But damn puttena”.

Forza Italia, in a good way.

And thanks, Roberto.


Source: L'Espresso – News, inchieste e approfondimenti Espresso by espresso.repubblica.it.

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