chimney_swift
09-12-2010, 11:00 AM
My father took me to my first game when I was about six years old. I was frightened by the supporters, giants who stood in their thousands with lit flares and loud drums. As one they sang songs, booed and hissed, jeering and pointing and laughing and wearing the colors I would come to know so well on their hooligan faces and their naked bodies. When a goal was scored against them they stopped dead, seething in their silent fury. In their desperation they urged their team on. My father shook his head knowingly. With all their millions and a wealth of talent sitting on the bench, Inter Milan were underachievers.
Into the dying minutes of the game and the fans were dreading yet another defeat. I noticed a small, slight player ready to come on.When the ball came to him he was a long way out. He stood over it, teeing it up for himself and when he hit it the ball flew long and straight, it didn't dip or curl or come down, it just flew and the feeling was if the net wasn't there to catch it it would have flown forever. The goalkeeper jumped and the ground shook and the stadium erupted. The fans, miserable only moments before were ecstatic, singing and celebrating.
An Inter Milan Player was felled some way outside the box. The free kick was taken by the player who had just scored and the ball curled and dipped sharply over the wall and under the crossbar. Inter Milan had just won a game they should have lost.
I learned later that that player was called Recoba and that he was making his debut for the Nerazzurri. For two seasons I watched every game Inter Milan played religiously. Later in that season I watched Recoba lob the keeper from halfway. Some players sulk around the box waiting for an opportunity to come and when it does they tap it in. They had only done what anyone could do. When Recoba scored it was different, Recoba scored in a way that nobody else could. Recoba made the impossible look effortless.
Recoba was then loaned to Venezia, a struggling team trying to avoid relegation. He was played often and he played extremely well. He scored or made an assist in almost every game. He helped them escape relegation and proved his talent and his ability was unique.
Back at Inter Milan, Recoba did not make many appearances. He was plagued with injuries and other things and he would come to be known as the player who would always be on the cusp of greatness. Hector Cuper, the then manager of Inter Milan was fired for refusing to play him. His slight frame struggled against the defensive players and on some games he would disappear. Criticisms were leveled at him and his commitment and fitness was questioned. Where was the player who had so much to give? Massimo Moratti, the Inter Milan club president had made Recoba the highest paid player in the world and yet many people did not think he deserved it. He became a symbol for inconsistency, wasteful spending and ultimately, unrealized potential.
Over time Recoba would be eclipsed by Ronaldo, Figo and Zinedine Zidane. His awesome talent which was obvious with every touch waned and the quickness in his feet slowed. His powerful and delicate left foot shot would lose its precision and yet in form and uninjured Recoba would have his final moments of glory wearing the blue and black of Inter Milan, fleeting glimpses of the genius who could have been.
I watched that game on television and I could hear the commentator speaking in excitedly Italian. Inter were limping behind Sampdoria 2-0. Francesco Antonioli, their goalkeeper looked unbeatable that day. Just as he had so many years ago Recoba came on in the dying embers of the game as a final gamble by a desperate manager. With the ball at his feet he jinked past one player and let fly with one of his powerful shots. The ball ricocheted off the post. It was the beginning of an unlikely skirmish and when Recoba played a ball to Obafemi Martins the striker was quick to make the score 2-1. Moments later the thuggish Christian Vieri scored the equalizer making the score 2-2.
It was at the games death a harmless high cross sailed into Sampdoria's box. A defender got his head onto it but he could not clear it. An Inter Milan player brought it down and teed it up for Recoba. The ball flew past the goalkeeper before he could react. The game finished 3-2 and Recoba was once again at the center of an impossible comeback, once again the hero of the Nerazzurri. It was a game that defined him: the scope, the power and the waste of his abilities.
Recoba would never get his starting position for Inter Milan. He would leave the Nerazzurri moving to Torino, to Panionios and then to Danubio the Uruguayan club he had played for as a teenager. His skill would perversely deteriorate and the dizzy heights he could reach simply with a cheeky smile and a lazy swing of his left foot would forever be lost to him as it has always been for the rest of us; but I will remember him fondly. I will remember the impassioned cries of the announcer on television and the chanting of El Chino around the stadium, a throwback to a better time. Grazie, El Chino grazie.
Into the dying minutes of the game and the fans were dreading yet another defeat. I noticed a small, slight player ready to come on.When the ball came to him he was a long way out. He stood over it, teeing it up for himself and when he hit it the ball flew long and straight, it didn't dip or curl or come down, it just flew and the feeling was if the net wasn't there to catch it it would have flown forever. The goalkeeper jumped and the ground shook and the stadium erupted. The fans, miserable only moments before were ecstatic, singing and celebrating.
An Inter Milan Player was felled some way outside the box. The free kick was taken by the player who had just scored and the ball curled and dipped sharply over the wall and under the crossbar. Inter Milan had just won a game they should have lost.
I learned later that that player was called Recoba and that he was making his debut for the Nerazzurri. For two seasons I watched every game Inter Milan played religiously. Later in that season I watched Recoba lob the keeper from halfway. Some players sulk around the box waiting for an opportunity to come and when it does they tap it in. They had only done what anyone could do. When Recoba scored it was different, Recoba scored in a way that nobody else could. Recoba made the impossible look effortless.
Recoba was then loaned to Venezia, a struggling team trying to avoid relegation. He was played often and he played extremely well. He scored or made an assist in almost every game. He helped them escape relegation and proved his talent and his ability was unique.
Back at Inter Milan, Recoba did not make many appearances. He was plagued with injuries and other things and he would come to be known as the player who would always be on the cusp of greatness. Hector Cuper, the then manager of Inter Milan was fired for refusing to play him. His slight frame struggled against the defensive players and on some games he would disappear. Criticisms were leveled at him and his commitment and fitness was questioned. Where was the player who had so much to give? Massimo Moratti, the Inter Milan club president had made Recoba the highest paid player in the world and yet many people did not think he deserved it. He became a symbol for inconsistency, wasteful spending and ultimately, unrealized potential.
Over time Recoba would be eclipsed by Ronaldo, Figo and Zinedine Zidane. His awesome talent which was obvious with every touch waned and the quickness in his feet slowed. His powerful and delicate left foot shot would lose its precision and yet in form and uninjured Recoba would have his final moments of glory wearing the blue and black of Inter Milan, fleeting glimpses of the genius who could have been.
I watched that game on television and I could hear the commentator speaking in excitedly Italian. Inter were limping behind Sampdoria 2-0. Francesco Antonioli, their goalkeeper looked unbeatable that day. Just as he had so many years ago Recoba came on in the dying embers of the game as a final gamble by a desperate manager. With the ball at his feet he jinked past one player and let fly with one of his powerful shots. The ball ricocheted off the post. It was the beginning of an unlikely skirmish and when Recoba played a ball to Obafemi Martins the striker was quick to make the score 2-1. Moments later the thuggish Christian Vieri scored the equalizer making the score 2-2.
It was at the games death a harmless high cross sailed into Sampdoria's box. A defender got his head onto it but he could not clear it. An Inter Milan player brought it down and teed it up for Recoba. The ball flew past the goalkeeper before he could react. The game finished 3-2 and Recoba was once again at the center of an impossible comeback, once again the hero of the Nerazzurri. It was a game that defined him: the scope, the power and the waste of his abilities.
Recoba would never get his starting position for Inter Milan. He would leave the Nerazzurri moving to Torino, to Panionios and then to Danubio the Uruguayan club he had played for as a teenager. His skill would perversely deteriorate and the dizzy heights he could reach simply with a cheeky smile and a lazy swing of his left foot would forever be lost to him as it has always been for the rest of us; but I will remember him fondly. I will remember the impassioned cries of the announcer on television and the chanting of El Chino around the stadium, a throwback to a better time. Grazie, El Chino grazie.