Sometimes, for some people, life seems to collapse within itself. For whatever reason, their minds turn to mud and all rational thought makes an exit. You can feel inadequate and incompetent to the point that getting out of bed and brushing your teeth seems too much. The idea of being in front of anyone, in a professional or personal setting, seems unreachable. All you can see in people’s eyes and hear in their voices is your own deafening self-doubt. All that self-loathing you’ve avoided is suddenly palpable in the air. It’s a choking smog. You can’t avoid it or escape it anymore. It permeates everything.
That’s been the case for me recently. The whys aren’t for this, because I’d wager a few other people reading this now feel the exact same way. And the why for you or them may be very different. Knowing that’s the case can be a comfort, if not a solution or a reprieve.
But what has this got to do calcio? Well, if you’re reading this, potentially a lot. For some people, football, sport, is unknowable and bewildering. But for the initiated, like you and me, it’s everything. We can see everything via that prism. It’s an obvious metaphor, life being a game of two halves etc. It’s not a particularly helpful metaphor, but it works. But it’s more than that. Some football, some footballers, can make you feel joy and release when you nothing else can cut through that thick smog.
Nostalgia is pleasure and pain, a volatile mix. Dull northern towns in the 90s, with things buried and unsaid, were devoid of much escape. But then one day a week, there was Zinedine Zidane, Paolo Maldini, George Weah, Gianluigi Buffon, Fabio Cannavaro, Gabriel Batistuta, Francesco Totti, Hernan Crespo and, Roberto Baggio. Baggio is the one that hits the hardest these days, looking back.
Has there ever been a player who generates such a wave of pathos? Such a feeling of empathy, of warmth? But the overriding feeling I’ve had whilst watching old footage of him, whilst trying to fight through the smog, is pure joy. The lightness of touch. He looks, 17 years after he last played a game, so agile and direct that it’s like you’re watching footage recorded the previous night. He didn’t power past players using strength. His skipped and feinted. He glided.
I like the Brescia and Bologna years best. Despite being arguably his country’s most talented ever player, Baggio felt like an outsider amongst Europe, and Italy’s, elite. But at smaller clubs, clubs that were already outsiders and underdogs, he seemed he could be himself. He was free to express himself with his passing and dribbling. His joy radiates off the screen, even decades later.
People fixate on that penalty, and I can understand why. But Baggio had so many rebirths, so many phases to his life and career, that he’s a study in renewal. The idea of playing with such joy and freedom after the danger of being remembered for one mistake, a minor one when you consider life in its entirety, is liberating. If he could find a way out, maybe I can. Maybe you can. I hope we all will, eventually.
It’s well known, already well written about. But his goal against Juve for Brescia never ceases to leave a smile on people’s faces. Andrea Pirlo, a player who almost shared Baggio’s ability to transcend a 90-minute game, with the chip. Baggio with the subtle touch in his stride. The calm finish.
There’s a fury to modern football, a hectic bullishness which reflects the pace we feel we must live our lives by. A heat, a pressure. You have to be your best, all the time. No respite. Baggio, particularly with Brescia, played with a grace and calm which is like taking a walk in the rain when the pressure breaks. He was a study in calm. The goal from a corner against Lecce, or the free kicks. They’re all delivered with a nonchalant, delicate grace.
His evident joy, his sense of freedom, that sense of calm, can be infectious. It can’t solve all problems. But it can be a start.
Grazie, Il Divin Codino. It still works, decades later.
If you are struggling and need help or advice, here are some places you can contact for support:
For UK. Mind infoline (mental health info)
Tel: 0300 123 3393 or txt 86463
info@mind.org.uk
Thank you. His skill was extraordinary, and his humanity is even greater. I hope that you feel better.
A lovely piece of writing, thanks.
I was there for many home games at Brescia (and not just in the years that Robi played here) and it’s true, the grace and the calm are the defining things. Even when he was desperate to find his way back into the national team he did it with total calm and patience, singularity of mind, focus. A genius.