I touched down at Turin-Caselle at about half 1 in the afternoon. As soon as I got signal back on my phone a message popped up from Francesca, my PA: 'Board want to meet to discuss club vision, sweet talk them!!' No surprise there. Ever since I got the call from Mr. Cairo and Mr. Comi about the vacant position at Torino I thought maybe this could be the job for me. I'd had a long chat with Fabio Quagliarella the week before, and he couldn't say enough about the club. Sure he's had more teams than I've had pasta dinners but what player in Italy hasn't? Anyhow, I left the airport and luckily Frannie had arranged a cab for me because Turin is one of the few cities I'd never spent much time in, even though I was born just up the road. When I explained to the driver where I was heading he gave me a bit of an odd look, before muttering something under his breath. Of course I glanced up and noticed the Juventus air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. Mi dispiace, I muttered. Didn't want to cause any trouble in my first five minutes back in Turin.
I slipped the driver an extra ten euros when we arrived, and said I hoped I'd see him at the Mole Derby this season. He said something unsavoury and off he went. Silvia, the press officer who I'd already spoken to a few times over the phone, met me at the door and took me up to the board room to see the big boss. He was a decent bloke all told, used to be a bit of a player himself in the lower leagues so he wasn't like some of the chairmen I'd worked for over the years. He had a footballing brain but not only that, he was a realist. I shook his hand and he offered a glass of Barolo, but I had to turn it down. Not the done thing I know but I preferred negotiating with a clear head. After the usual pre-amble and banter, one of the directors popped out and came back with a little folder. In it was the usual contracts, club information, affiliate links and other bits and pieces, as well as a clear outline of the vision the club had going forward.
Nothing too outlandish there, I thought. To be fair, Frannie had told me the mid-table Italian clubs tended to be obsessed with keeping their finances in check, especially after all that Calciopoli madness. The only worry was Mr. Cairo's penchant for defensive football. Ok, we're in Italy, of course a solid defence would be expected, I was just hoping the squad would be able to adapt to a slightly more expansive style if at all possible. But thoughts about the squad and what system we might potentially employ was getting a little ahead of myself. I hadn't even got the job yet. Of course I turned on the charm, told the directors what an honour it was to be considered for the position, how I always followed the results of the team because I'm a Turin boy, how I was going to bring the glory days back to the Toro, etc etc. Whatever I said, obviously it had worked. By this time, Urbano was on his second glass of red. He flashed me a smile and offered me his hand; 'Benvenuti nel club, Mr Domingo. Welcome to Torino.'
As soon as I was out the room I got back on the phone to Frannie. She screamed something unintelligible and starting going on about apartments and viewings and media commitments. It took me a few minutes to calm her down but I soon established that she'd schedule an interview with La Gazzetta dello Sport the next morning, and I'd be needed at the training ground for midday to meet the players. I did allow myself a little grin. 'I think this could be the one for me Fran'. With that said, I rung off and got straight back on the phone for a taxi to a nearby hotel. Silvia had given me a few USB sticks of data to go through about preferred tactics, club history, loan commitments, staff openings and the like. Plenty to keep me busy for the rest of the day and maybe I could finally allow myself that glass of Barolo in the hotel bar? As the car pulled up I noticed a little Juventus air freshener swinging from the rear view mirror...Oh merda.
--This is the first time I've ever written a save story about FM so hopefully it's enjoyable! Updates as and when--
I didn't bother setting an alarm. I was sure there'd be activity on the phone before too long. So it was that as I made a start on a nice Macchiato with a couple of Biscotti the notifications started rolling in. Italian football twitter had got wind of the story and of course all my previous...well, let's say 'exploits' started getting dragged up again. In all fairness, that whole business at Genoa was years ago and in my defence I wasn't really sure how co-ownership actually worked. I learned a long time ago not to pay too much attention to social media at times like this. The only time I needed to really take notice was when my own players were posting Instagram stories in shisha bars at half two in the morning. Fortunately that kind of situation was rare. I was surprised to find a few voices actually praising Torino for hiring me! At about half 9, Silvia rang and put me on to some social media or marketing or online manager. Basically he told me they'd put together a promo image and were going to push it on the Torino social media channels and would I want to see it first? I said sure why not.
Pretty decent if I'm honest. And I'm especially happy they didn't use a photo of my ugly mug on there as well. Nobody needs to see me leering at them over their morning coffee. I was hoping the two team captains, Belotti and Sirigu, would get on board with some of my ideas and end up being my dressing room leaders, fingers crossed. No sooner had I shot off a quick reply to the media man when the phone went again. Frannie this time. She asked me how my head was, obviously thinking the worst of me as usual. 'Get yourself over to the training ground as soon as; Gazzetta will do an interview there and then you're set to meet the team and coaching staff.' I knew better than to argue so the phone went down and the shirt and pressed trousers went on. I'd asked reception if they could find me anything Torino-related about the place last night and as I left one of the girls came running up with a nice pin badge of the club crest. 'Grazie mille,' I said and pressed 20 euros into her hand.
The journey over was uneventful, fortunately I didn't have the same driver this time. I really needed to sort myself a hire car until I got a place sorted. I sent a quick message to Frannie saying as much. She sent a quick, expletive-laden reply along the lines of 'do it yourself.' Lovely girl she is. I could see a few media types gathered around the doors and a few fans and others I didn't recognise. Silvia turned up to usher me in and we took a minute or two to sort out the company line before we went into the room they'd put together. There must have been maybe ten journos waiting in there already, couple of cameras and the usual tech guys at the back. Not a bad turnout all things considered. A nice lad called Alessio asked a few harmless questions about my feelings on the job and how I'd settled in and all that, good value he was. There were a few mentions of my history but nothing I couldn't handle. They asked me about my preferred playing style and with yesterday's meeting fresh in my head I made sure I let them know I was going to favour a solid, defence-first approach. Hehehe yeah right. The last question was about my captains, if I planned on replacing Belotti. Not a chance I said, and I made a point of letting them know I wanted to get the supporters on board as soon as. As far as I was concerned I'm in this for the long haul. Everyone seemed happy enough with that so I said my thank-yous and see-you-soons and headed out.
It must have been half past 12 by the time I got out onto the pitches. I met a few coaches out there already doing drills with the youth team and then I finally got hold of Dario, my assistant. He was young, 37 or 38, so we bonded instantly. Seemed like we shared a few of the same ideas which was good. He asked me what kind of loose system did I prefer to play?
Judging by the reports I'd been given, we had decent options in midfield, quality at centre back, a couple of decent wingers and one top top class striker in Andrea. So I've said we'll start with a sort of 4-3-3 which can transition either way to become more defensive or more attacking. He seemed to think that wasn't a bad idea and went off happily to bring the lads in for some words. I didn't grandstand too much on my introductions, just let them know I expected a good work ethic and that whatever they put in, I'd match it. Effort brings its own rewards that's what I've always said. You know, 'fuggi il piacer presente, che accena dolor futuro.' The boys seemed pleasantly surprised actually. Not sure what, if anything, they'd heard about me beforehand but some of the older lads I knew from the national side like de Silvestri and Zaza certainly got on board with what I had to say.
So with the introductions made and the gameplans discussed, it was time to run my first training session. Paolo was working with Sirigu and the lads in nets, Antonino was with the second string and so me and Dario took the first team for a quick 5 v 5. Teams looked in decent shape to be fair, though the game was a little bit ponderous for my liking. I started clapping and shouting to try and get the energy levels up. 'Premere! Premere!' I shouted, 'Press, press!' Dario looked over and took me aside. 'Look I'm not sure how they do things in England but we don't really do that here.' 'What do you mean?' I asked him. 'Boss, we don't press.'
-- September 3rd / Part Three / Running the Bulls --
After a few slightly more intense training sessions, as well as playing a few friendlies that had already been arrranged before I arrived, it seemed like the team were starting to come around to the idea that maybe pressing a bit higher up the pitch with a bit more tempo could actually be a good thing. Aina, Meité, Koffi Djidji and Nicky Nkoulou were already happy to run all day so they hit peak fitness a long time before everyone else. We also brought in a new fitness coach and physio to help with the more demanding aspects of the very un-Italian style I was looking to play.
I hadn't realised, more fool me, that we were actually embroiled in the tedium of the Europa League qualifying rounds pretty much as soon as I took over. In fact they'd already played a couple of games against some Finnish outfit under Dario's leadership. Always tricky to try and come in in the middle of competitive fixtures and make your mark but the boys seemed happy and hungry to prove a few people wrong so I was hoping this potential banana skin was one we could navigate without much fuss. Looking at the list of teams that we could draw I was pretty confident we'd make it to the group stage proper. I think the board would go mad if we were dumped out the Europa League Best Placed Qualifying Rounds by *checks notes* Mariupol from the Ukraine. Fortunately, that didn't happen. In fact, we ****** smashed them. Home and away. In between we
found time to beat Atlético ****** Madrid(!!) as well as more familiar opposition in Pro Patria. We were drawn to Utrecht next, another team I expected us to be able to handle especially now Simone Verdi had found his passing range.
I'm not sure if even I was quite ready for the way the lads took to the new system. Andrea was getting amongst the goals, Ola Aina on the wing was doing absolute bits and I'd been very impressed with Alex Berenguer who'd come from Osasuna a few seasons before. The new style seemed to suit him most of all and he looked at it from day one. Of course the defence and Salvatore were playing their part in our early run of form. But our squad wasn't huge and I was nervous that if we did suffer a few injuries due to our physical and combative style of play we might be in a bit of trouble. But those worries were for another day. I'd got hold of a decent apartment not far from the ground and picked myself up a little Fiat to run around in; Not that I really went anywhere apart from the training ground at Filadelfia or the Olimpico Grande Torino itself. I was just back from our second league game - a handy 3-1 dismantling of Cagliari - when the phone went. It was Urbano, the big boss. 'Hey hey, buon pomeriggio my friend! So good today. Listen, we are so so impressed with the team, come and have a glass of wine with us ok, we need to meet an agent.' An agent? My heart sank. So far I'd managed to fend off interest from the 'bigger' teams for my squad and the only player that had left was a 17 year old keep called Diego who I'd never even met. We'd sent plenty out on loan, but to be honest it was Massimo, the Director of Football, who mostly dealt with that side of things. Mr. Cairo calling me in for a meeting? It had to be a first team regular on the block.
Less than an hour later I was sat in the board room with Urbano, Massimo was there, as well as another man who introduced himself as Stanimir Dragojevic. Serbian. Had to be Sasa Lukic's agent. Sure enough a big bid had come in from Napoli and Stan was here to grease the wheels and make sure we didn't stand in Sasa's way. I did chuckle to myself as he went through the spiel about Sasa wanting to play at a higher level and play in Europe and all this. I wanted to make him a bet that we would finish higher in the league than Napoli this season, but the way Urbano was looking at me I decided against it. They'd offered €8.75m. To be honest, it was decent money. I'd seen nothing in the first few games that suggested Sasa was going to be irreplaceable, and he was behind Daniele Baselli and Soualiho Meité in the pecking order for the midfield places anyway. I gave Massimo the nod and we all shook hands. Sasa was off to Napoli! I was fortunate really that the club's transfer business had been mostly completed before I arrived so I didn't have that stress to worry about as well as everything else. Of course, now Sasa was out the door I had to move quick to find a backup for the midfield. One that would be nice and cheap so I could show the directors I was able to run a profitable club as well as a successful one.
I was straight on the phone to Frannie when I got out, asking her to send over some names if she knew anyone was available. I'd already sealed a deal for Amad Traoré from Atalanta. Just a 17 year old lad but honestly I think he's got bags of potential and when they agreed to a €875k fee I was absolutely gobsmacked. This boy will be worth 20 times that in a few years just you wait and see. After a quick discussion with Massimo, we decided to take a look at Michele Cavion at Ascoli. He was a solid prospect, 24 years old and could play pretty much anywhere across the middle or on the wings. I asked Massimo to get in touch with them and see what sort of fee they'd take for him. When he gave me a call and told me we could have him for €2.2m I almost hit the roof! 'Santo Cristo! Get hold of him!' A couple of days later, we were signing forms. I didn't know a lot about Massimo Bava but I know one thing, he doesn't mess about in the transfer window! Apart from signing Amad, that was the only business I personally did in the window, but there were the new additions to the team before I came in.
Not sure about the wisdom of spending over €10m on Simone Zaza, the very definition of a journeyman, but hey, you never know. We might be thankful for him if Andrea gets crocked this season. I gave Mr. Cairo a quick call and asked if he'd let me off the €1m euros in terms of balancing the books. He said beat Parma and Inter and he'd look the other way. Let's get after it!
-- 26th December 2019 / Part Four / Buon Natale --
As me and Frannie started on the second box of Perugina, I came to the conclusion that I'd never been quite so content in my life. In all honesty, life in Turin was suiting me down to the ground. Urbano was a great boss and a great bloke, the team were clicking and listening to what I was trying to get across and my little Fiat 500 got decent mileage in the city. Sadly, my happiness was about to be shattered by an email from Andrea Fabbrini, my Head of Youth. Ever since I came into this job, Mr Cairo had been harping on about the youth structure we had in place. I had to admit, the Filadelfia and the facilities there were absolutely top class. Much better than we had at Genoa or Wednesday if I'm honest. 'Great youth facilities,' 'great youth recruitment,' I'd read those exact words in the first dossier that the board put together for me in the summer. Needless to say, when this dropped in my inbox, the Perugina went away pronto. Francesca gave me the eyes and said her goodbyes. Merry Christmas indeed.
Reeling from the glaring lack of potential here I considered giving Andrea a ring and asking what exactly was going on with the youth intake situation but the pragmatist in me warned me against it. There was plenty of decent young talent in the country, sadly none of it seemed to be coming through our youth academy. Oh well, I thought, looked like I'd be relying on Massimo more than Andrea this year. Fact is, it had been a very productive first few months for us at Torino. Andrea Belotti, Simone Verdi, Soualiho Meité and Alex Berenguer were the new Galacticos as far as I was concerned. I'd started seeing more and more Torino shirts out and about, and those were the names the kids were wearing. Belotti's value had gone through the roof, and Man United were apparently sniffing around Soualiho now as well. I hadn't really spoken to any of the lads about
whether they were happy at the club, I just assumed with the way things were going nobody would be looking to leave just yet. After all our Grande Torino project wasn't even a season old! You only had to look at the results up 'til Christmas to realise something a bit special was going on at Torino.
Almost halfway through the season and look at us! Flying high with the big boys! Little Torino! Piccolo Toro! Un-be-******-lievable. I said as much to Fabio on the phone as he'd given me a quick call to say happy Christmas and that. I asked him what on earth was going on at Sampdoria and wondered if maybe the game had caught up with him at last. I found it quite funny. He did not. But the table doesn't lie. Let's be honest here; Nobody, not even the most ardent of Torino supporter, not even the Ultras, saw this coming. Realistically, we were not cut out to challenge Juve or Inter. The depth of their squads would tell over the course of the season I'm sure. Nevertheless, a man can dream! Judging by the state of the youth intake, we might not get a better chance to win the league...
The winter break had given me time to consider where we might need to strengthen in the upcoming window. Of course, if Andrea or Soua started making noises about moving to a 'bigger' club, plans would have to change fast. As it was I was happy to let Andrea go after a number of targets he had in mind to supplement the depth in the youth ranks. He showed me a few videos and player profiles and I gave him the go-ahead to try and bring a few players in. There was a lad called Sergej Grubac at Chievo who'd come from Cyprus and made his debut when he was 17 that we were looking closely at for a start. Other than that I was pretty happy for us to get by with what we had. After all, if it's not broke, why fix it?
Oh merda. What was that I was saying about 'if it ain't broke?' Suddenly that 10 million for Simone Zaza was looking like a cracking piece of business. Sure we won the match Belotti got injured in, but I'd much rather have taken the draw and kept Andrea out of the hospital. As it was, we had to play the hand we'd been dealt. Even as I digested the news in the medical report, the phone went. I was half expecting the chairman, but it was our Director of Football, Massimo. He asked me if I wanted him to ask around and see who was available on loan to cover until the end of the season. He'd already checked with Urbano that the wages were there to bring someone else in so I said why not, let's find out if there's any quality out there. I didn't want to commit to spending money we might not make back so bringing someone in on loan for six months made more sense.
Needless to say there were a few glum faces when I walked into training the next day. I explained the full situation to the lads and while most seemed inconsolable, I could have sworn I saw Zaza rubbing his hands together in the corner. We had a bit of a post-match session where we talked about the Udinese game and went over what worked well and what we could have done better. Strangely enough, we were playing Udine again in midweek in the cup, so I felt pretty confident about our progress there, Belotti or no Belotti. It was gone 2 in the afternoon by the time I let the boys go from training. We'd done a bit of set piece work and I felt compelled to talk privately with a few of the lads who may have taken *a little too well* to my instructions to get stuck in and mark their man tightly. I think we'd had 3 red cards in the last 5 games and while I was always happy to see the boys putting themselves about, I wasn't looking forward to having three of my first team out for the next couple of matches.
As I went to jump in the car, my phone went again. Massimo. He doesn't mess about does he! I answered with an optimistic hello. Sure enough, it was good news. 'I've spoken to a contact over in the premier league, apparently Leo Campana at Wolves doesn't look like he's ready for the prem just yet and they're looking to ship him off to a slower-paced league to get him up to speed. I've put the feelers out, they want €4.5k a week and a €30k monthly fee. Andrea's insurance will more than cover that. Shall I let them know we're interested?' Great, I thought: A young Italian prospect to add to the home-grown contingent with a bit of experience in other leagues and he's only €4.5k a week. 'Send me the paperwork.' I said. The move happened so fast that I'd only just got home and had the email of Campana's profile and scouting report when a text flashed through. 'Deal done. Will send you the necessary bits.' As I said, Massimo doesn't hang around. I was only half-concentrating on reading his player profile while waiting for my espresso machine to splurt into life. As I took the first sip my eyes bulged, 'PPPPFFTTTHHRRRR' Macchiato everywhere. I've never hit redial so fast in my life. 'Massimo! He's ******* Ecuadorian!!'
He'd never set foot in pigging Italy, never mind being able to speak the language. I'd have to teach him 'sparare,' 'passare' and 'premere' and hope for the best. Taking the time to look over his report I had to say it did look like he'd be able to bring a bit of strength and power up front to replace Andrea. And to be honest, the fact he wasn't Italian didn't hurt us too much because he was under 22 so didn't need to be registered for the league anyway. 'Have you finished your coffee?' asked Massimo. 'What do you mean?' I said. 'Well, he's actually away on international duty with the Ecuador Under-23s until early February.' Almost before Massimo had finished that sentence I hung up. Jesus H Christ. I looked up Simone Zaza's number and sent him a quick text. Told him to wrap himself in cotton wool because he'd be starting every game for the next few weeks.
I was still digesting our Coppa Italia win over Roma the following week when I got another email from the medical department. Lorenzo De Silvestri had limped off in the game complaining about a bit of pain in his hip, I was sure it was just a knock, nothing serious, and was hoping for an update saying Lorenzo would be out for a game or two if that. He'd been in decent form at wingback to be fair, and I liked having him and Ignazio Abate over there on the right; Two winners, great mentalities and always set great examples to the young lads in training.
Quite honestly, I'd never known a season like it. i Tori Pazzi, The Crazy Bulls, that's what they'd started calling us in the press.
2nd highest goals scored
8th highest goals conceded
Most fouls
Most red and yellow cards
Not a single goal conceded from a corner or direct free kick. And still 3rd in the league. I wasn't quite sure how long this incredible buzz around the club could last but I felt like it was my job to keep it going for as long as I possibly could. I hate to be harsh to him but we had hardly felt the impact of Belotti's absence so far. Ok Zaza hadn't really performed but the midfield had kept weighing in with the goals, and we had plenty of big lads
in the box to swing crosses in to. I still don't 100% know how it was all working but somehow Baselli, Rincòn and Meité just held everything together in midfield and I tell you, those boys put a shift in every single time. It was an absolute privilege to have them playing for me, and I told them as much pretty much every week.
We'd just been turned over 4-2 at the Delle Alpi - no sorry it's not that anymore is it? The Allianz Stadium I mean - and we obviously had the long term injuries still hanging over us as well as the customary suspensions that just seemed to be part of our day-to-day now. I felt sorry for our disciplinary liaison lady who had to keep paying the fines and sorting out the paperwork for it all. Anyway, that aside, 5th placed Lazio were next up and to be honest with you, despite the fact we were a couple of places above them in the league, I wasn't looking forward to this one. I'm not sure exactly but I did pick up a bit of a vibe in training suggesting that maybe things weren't going to go our way. Look, our home form had been nothing short of miraculous. We hadn't lost a home game all season. The Grande Torino had become the fortress I was hoping for at the start of the campaign. Still, I was nervous.
I didn't move after that final whistle for a good 30 seconds. The coaches, Dario, everyone was up off the bench dancing around like we'd won the league. I've honestly never seen such a complete display of how to play up front as Simone Zaza put on in that game. 22,000 home fans or thereabouts and I swear, hardly any of them left the stadium for at least 20 or 30 minutes after the game. They were starting to feel it, and you know what? Maybe I was too. Could this happen? Could Torino win the ****** league?
I hadn't heard much from the big bosses lately. They seemed content to let me have a bit more control over the day-to-day goings on around the place now, so it was mostly me, Dario and Massimo making the decisions. I had heard a few troubling rumblings about a possible takeover bid, but I wasn't one to get involved in idle gossip so until the main man himself gave me an update, I was keeping well out of it. As well as that Coppa Italia first leg defeat to Juve, we'd been beaten 1-2 away at Valencia in the Europa League 1st knockout round. I couldn't deny it might have made our speculative title challenge a little easier to get dumped out of both competitions, but we're nothing if not fighters at Torino. We'd have to become second leg specialists but if there's any team I'd trust to overturn a deficit it was my lads.
It was warm for a March evening. The flags and the tifos hardly moved in the breeze. I very rarely got emotional in the stadium but my god, seeing that stadium absolutely full - and I mean a *proper* sellout not a Wembley sellout with 12,000 empty corporate seats - it did something to me. I'm not going to lie, I said as much to the players. I told them this could be the making of them. To overturn a 2 goal deficit at home to Juventus. Isn't that what we're here for? To do something worth remembering. To make our mark? To make a little bit of Torino history, right now.
And by god, we did. Torino were in the final of the Coppa Italia. About 15 minutes after the final whistle I snuck away to get a glance at my phone. Messages of congratulations from all and sundry but it was a text from Quagliarella that caught my eye. 'See you in the final Luca.' I hadn't even seen the result of the other game. It would be Torino vs. Sampdoria in the Coppa Italia final.
Oh and the week after, we put 4 past Valencia to go through to the Europa League 2nd knockout round. This team. i Tori Pazzi. They just don't know when they're beaten.
-- April 15th 2020 / Part Seven / The calma before the tempesta --
Inevitably, around this time of year, thoughts turn to the summer. Strengthening the squad, trying to keep hold of your best players, improving the coaching team, etc, etc. 2020 was no different for us at Torino. It had played on my mind all season the fact that I could never register a full squad for any of the competitions we were in due to a lack of homegrown players at the club; A consequence of the way players in Italy seemed to change clubs at least once a season, and maybe even find time to shoot off on loan as well in-between. I was determined to remedy this in the forthcoming transfer window, and I let Massimo, our Director of Football, know as much. I told him to get together with Marco Rizzieri, our Chief Scout, and identify me some targets that qualified as home grown at Torino and were maybe looking for a move in the summer. Fair play to him he got straight on it and within the week he'd bought me a list of five or six names.
Unfortunately, our pre-agreed transfer budget was pretty much non-existent. Certainly not enough in the bank to go after some of the names on the list. To be fair, our overall finances were in pretty good shape according to the board and performances had been nothing short of phenomenal so far so I figured there was only one thing to do. Yep, go cap in hand to the big boss and ask him if it was possible to arrange an increase to the transfer budget. I arranged the meeting through Frannie who wasn't exactly a voice of optimism, but even so. Urbano agreed to see me the next Tuesday morning. Beating Napoli the Saturday before did my chances no harm either. I swallowed hard as I knocked on the office door.
Fingers crossed it wasn't too early for a glass of red.
Exceptional result! I turned on the charm, turned on the tears, you know how it is. I'd taken in a folder with the details of my top targets on and how much we were looking at having to fork out to get hold of them and to my absolute shock, Urbano agreed straight off the bat. Said he'd back me as much as he possibly could financially, which meant a lot. But I think the fact that rumblings were getting louder about a possible consortium takeover played a part in that. I asked him about it of course, but all he said was his hands were tied. Whatever that meant.
Another bit of good news came the next day when one of the only negatives of the whole season finally got sorted. Soualiho Meité, who had emerged as one of the stars of the team this season, finally signed his new contract. When Massimo told me how much they'd put him on (€68k p/w!!!) I nearly cried, but I suppose they could afford it. They'd just given me an extra €6m for transfers after all. Perhaps I needn't have been quite so draconian with my contract offers as I had been so far. Either way, I knew better than to question the board. Ours is not to reason why and all that.
With that out the way, and the team continuing to impress/get sent off in equal measure, things were looking relatively calm. We were gearing up for the run in which is really what counts and all we had to do was keep winning games to have a chance to pull off the absolutely unthinkable. Sadly, Juventus seemed to be following that plan as well. Keep in mind we were still on for a -quite frankly, ridiculous- treble, of Serie A, Europa League and Coppa Italia. Or, of course, we could end up with nothing but a third place finish in the league. Look at me, I'm saying that like it's a bad thing. A sign I suppose of just how far we'd come since last August.
One more surprising email found its way into my inbox the following morning from Andrea, the head of our youth development. It turned out he'd be holding out on me with one of the lads coming through, Franco Bianchi. I didn't want to make any predictions but Fabbo reckoned he could be up there with Chiellini and Cannavaro. I wouldn't be holding my breath on that one, but it was still nice to know the youth intake wasn't a complete shambles.
Down the stretch we'd face Gladbach for a place in the Europa League semis, Milan, Juve and Inter in the league, and of course Sampdoria in the Coppa Italia final. What would be ideal is if we could go into the last couple of months with a fully fit squad, free of suspension, ready to carry on fighting on all three fronts.
I don't know about you but I'm always one to get any neccessary transfer business done early on, hopefully even before the transfer window opens. This way I find it much easier to make a plan for the following season, and all I have to worry about in the window is who might leave rather than looking to scrabble around last minute trying to find a signing or two. With our targets identified and our coffers overflowing with Italian lira, I got on the phone with Massimo to try and finalise a few things.
I was very happy with our business. Parigini and Gomis would come in as backups to help bolster the homegrown numbers, and the fees we got them for were excellent to be fair, I couldn't fault Massi for his negotiating skills that's for sure. I already knew we had Verdi on a loan to buy, and though €17.25m was a high fee, if he could carry his form from this season into the next one it was a fair price. Another thing I liked about him was he always put the work in wherever we played him. Shadow striker, attacking mid, wide on the right, he always seemed to be the man over ready to receive and carry the ball. He reminds me of a Carrilero in a way, just more incisive.
If somehow you'd missed it in the papers, there was quite a big game coming up. Three games left in the season and we were hosting Juventus at the Grande Torino. Now we already knew we could beat them at home, we'd done it in the cup, but things tend to get a little bit more pressurised when there's a first league title for 45 years on the line. I thought the best thing to do would be to take the lads out for a nice dinner at Bolpetto to try and relax them a bit and get them up for the game as best I could. I took Frannie and Silvia along, and a few of the Directors turned up and offered to pay, which was handy because we must have run up about a €4k bill. Zaza had a €190 bottle of wine, naturally.
Spirits were high, morale was through the roof, the squad we were ready to die for each other. I don't know how Juve could possibly match this togetherness or spirit, but hard work doesn't always necessarily triumph over individual quality.
Well this time, it did. The boys ran their hearts out. I swear we had 13 men on the field. Armando Izzo, who I'd taken to deploying at wingback because of his decision-making and concentration (not to mention the fact he had the legs over Abate and De Silvestri) was an absolute animal. Il Toro. He was absolutely everywhere, and the way he overlapped into the box for his goal, you'd swear he'd been playing attacking wingback all his life. Needless to say I haven't paid for a drink in Turin since. Half the time I get them thrown over me, sure, but hey. That's what happens in a 2-team city like this. And to be honest with you, I'd never have a dry shirt again if it meant we could somehow hold on and win the league.
Before then of course, there was the small matter of the Coppa Italia finale against my old mate Fabio Quagliarella. As I walked out the tunnel and that wave of noise hit us, somehow everything was still and silent for a few seconds. The block of 'la granata' away to the right, the tifosi, all the noise disappeared into some unseen vacuum. There was just me, and 11 men, 11 warriors, out to make history. Me and Salvatore, my captain, shared a look that said everything. He nodded, and clapped his gloved hands together with a crack that seemed to echo around the whole stadium as the wall of sound hit me. Roars and cheers and screams and cries hung thick and low in the Milanese air. I crossed my chest and looked to the heavens. There was nothing more I could say now. We knew the history, we knew the challenge. But we were ready.
As Salvatore Sirigu, goalkeeper captain, stepped up to take the decisive 5th penalty, I glanced briefly up towards where Frannie had told me she'd be sitting. The sight of her in a Torino away shirt with a stupid half-and-half scarf on gave me cause to chuckle to myself. She didn't notice me, she was frantically biting her nails with her eyes locked on the pitch. I turned back and took hold of Dario by the shoulder. 'Listen, whatever happens here, I just want-' I never finished that sentence. He was off, screaming and whooping and wheeling away with fists raised. Sirigu tucked the penalty away into the left corner. We were Coppa Italia Champions. Simone Zaza ran over and hoisted me up on his shoulders. I still feel like I'm up there. What a moment.
It was a simple proposition. Match Juventus' results in the last 2 games and we'd be champions. The team seemed up for it, despite the excesses of the celebrations of the Coppa Italia win. The ultimate prize seemed to focus their minds the next time I saw them all in training, though some seemed a little redder in the eyes or a bit paler around the cheeks. To be expected though. Right at this moment we were the top team in Turin, and, consequently, Italy itself. Little Torino. Torino with a stadium that could only hold 27000, Torino with a transfer budget of €12m, Torino with a wage bill less than 1/5th of Juventus' on the brink of something truly monumental. I had to admit, it wasn't until just before the Atalanta game that the magnitude of what was going on truly hit me. As a manager what had I really achieved? A couple of bits of silverware with Wednesday and a dodgy league cup at Genoa. And here I was, already with a Coppa Italia in the pocket and going for a run at Serie A, all in my first season in charge. I must be a better manager than I was lead to believe. As soon as my head was in danger of getting too big however, Frannie was always there to bring me back down to earth. There were staff contracts that needing looking at before the game.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Just when we needed the legs, they gave out. Just when we needed the luck, it ran out. Just when we needed i Tori Pazzi, we played with far too much patience and deference. The dream had died before it had even become a dream at all. In the dressing room after the Udinese game, it was hard to pick the lads up I won't lie. Everyone was in there. Urbano and the Directors, Silvia and Frannie and Dario and all the coaching staff. We'd won the game, sure. But I've never been in a winning dressing room that felt so defeated. I knew I had to say something.
'Our past...This game. This season - has not defined us, destroyed us, deterred us, or defeated us; It has only strengthened us. Anyone can deal with victory. Only the strongest can bear defeat. And that's what we need to do. Together, we need to bear it. Cry tonight, and think
on what could have been. But tomorrow, come back to the team with a clear head. You all know now just how close we are. Look, we were never perfect, we were never glamorous; Nobody talked about us on Eurosport. But by god if this isn't the hardest-working, most willing, most together group I've ever been a part of. You all made me proud every single day this season. Every single day since we smashed Atletico
Madrid at home 10 months ago I've been proud. We may encounter many defeats. But we will not be defeated. Now we know how good we are. Next season, so will everyone else.'
As I took a few handshakes and words from the lads I saw Urbano in the corner, tears in his eyes. Fair play to him, he'd been an absolute joy to work for and I hoped this partnership would continue for a long time to come. He bled maroon, and I was starting to think maybe my blood was changing colour too. The next morning, Frannie dropped the paper on my desk.
Straight in the bin that one. So we didn't win the league. We never expected to win the league. I would have been delighted with top 5 and a decent cup run, but what we achieved was really, really special. Mr Cairo had been in already this morning saying how proud he was and how our sponsorship deals were going to be exceptional for next season. I shook his hand and told him how much I'd enjoyed working with him this year and let him know that I would win a league title for him before I was done. With this set of players and the reinforcements we had coming in, who knows what's possible? Anyhow, time, tide and football wait for no man. We had a couple of players going off to play international tournaments in the summer; Sirigu would be sitting on the bench for Italy at the World Cup and Tomàs Rincôn would hopefully be playing a more active role for Venezuela in the Copa America. To make us all feel a little bit better about ourselves, Gladbach went on to win the Europa League, beating Man United in the final, so at least we got knocked out by the winners.
Having digested all this, I looked over to Frannie who had her back to me, hands on the window ledge staring out at the view over the pitch. 'Fran? Shall we go get a coffee?' 'Macchiato?' I nodded with a smile. Maybe football could wait, for an afternoon at least.
--End of Season 20/21 - If you enjoyed reading, let me know if you'd like me to carry on for a 2nd season --
-- July 1st 2020 / Part Ten / In the Summertime --
Early doors after the disappointment of losing out on the league title to Juventus, myself and Mr Cairo as well as a few of the other board members and higher ups had a proper sitdown to discuss the plans for the team going forward, as well as get an idea of Urbano's more general vision for the club over the next few years. As it turned out, he had quite the five year plan for us. I appreciated the fact he thought I'd possibly still be at the club in five years never mind having made a plan for it!
I think the idea that by the end of next season we'd have the best youth system in the country when we've managed to produce a grand total of one possible first team player so far is a little bit far-fetched, but I didn't mention that to the board. I'm sure they'd find out for themselves on the next youth intake day when we've got 17 lads who can't kick a ball in a straight line without falling over trying to stumble into the under 18s. Anyhow, I accepted that and then we moved on to the commercial summary for the season and the sponsorship deals that we'd signed for the season to come. We'd secured ourselves new shirt sponsors thank the lord, I was happy to get rid of that stupid sausage company logo. Didn't exactly strike fear into our opponents that one. Not only that, Urbano told me they wanted to make a new energy drink and call it i Tori Pazzi. I thought it was a joke but apparently not. Well, why not?
Away from the boardroom and over at Massimo Bava's desk, we were in the midst of two huge transfers for the club. Sadly, they were outgoing transfers not incoming. It was perhaps inevitable after the season we had just had that there would be offers for some of our star performers. I must admit, when Arsenal came in for Armando Izzo I was more than a little surprised. He hadn't exactly been a standout member of the squad, sure he performed well when he was picked but he barely played half the games and I couldn't say he was any better than Lorenzo at right wingback or any of the other centre backs either. So when Arteta's representatives got on the phone and offered us north of €20m I couldn't really turn it down. Armando thanked me for helping him develop as a player and I wished him well, obviously sitting on the bench for Arsenal pays better than sitting on the bench for Torino.
The second transfer offer that slid across the desk was a much more painful proposition. Daniele Baselli, midfield playmaker, goalscorer, engine room, whatever you want to call him he did a bit of that for us. Again, looking at the size of the offer and how keen the board were to keep up the positive cashflow, I was put in a position where I couldn't really say no and stand in his way. United's interest had cooled in Belotti since the injury, understandably, but now they were back to tempt my best midfielder over to Old Trafford. Fair play to him he was very gracious when he left and got everyone together and gave us all a big speech about how it was our destiny to win the title yadda yadda. I couldn't help thinking our best chance was walking out the door for €35m, but of course I didn't say that.
A few days after, myself, Dario and Silvia were putting together a list of a few clubs we'd like to arrange friendlies with to get us prepared for the new season. Of course we were obligated to play against our affiliate clubs, and I always liked to organise a few friendlies against local clubs; One to get the locals to a game for a lot cheaper than a Serie A fixture and two to hopefully smash a hatful of goals and build some team spirit and cohesion. It was a balmy afternoon and we decided to take a walk down to the Filadelfia complex and catch up with the youth development team. On the way I popped into the local Conad store to get a sparkling water and guess what I saw on the shelf?
Aside from some very *very* late Tottenham interest in Nicky Nkoulou which ended up with him requesting a new contract in-between trying to force his way out of the club (leaving us who finished 2nd in Serie A to join the team who finished 5th in the premiership last season? Swapping Champions League for Europa League? Really Nicky?!) the rest of the transfer window passed relatively peacefully. I think we shifted some deadweight from the youth teams and sent an inordinate amount of lads out on loan around the various lower leagues, but other than that we didn't have too much more business to do. Aside from our main transfers we ended up bringing in Oskar Hiljemark on a free from Genoa who went down. I don't think he'll play much but will provide decent cover, and he's an old head who's seen it all before.
The first two games of course happen before the transfer window closes these days, something I'm not exactly ecstatic about but there we are. We drew 2-2 away at Napoli and scraped past Parma 1-0 at home to leave us sitting 7th in Serie A after 2 games played. I'd have taken that at the start of the season, although we were 0-2 up at Napoli and threw it away in the space of about 5 minutes. But these things happen in football. Shortly after the Napoli game it was time to learn our Champions League group opponents. We had a big group of us go over to Switzerland on the Wednesday morning, to UEFA headquarters. The owners of course, as well as myself, Dario, Silvia and Frannie. Say what you like about UEFA but they knew how to put on a show. First name came out, Red Bull Salzburg. Great. Great. We could do a job against them, inside I was thinking 6 points I had to admit. They got back to our group again. Pot 2. Manchester United. Ah of course, the team who took probably our second best player over the summer and he'd be lining up against us in the Champions League group stages. I was already preparing my answers to the inevitable interview questions. Here we go, pot 1. Real Madrid. I dropped my head into my hands. Remembering I was probably on the telly I quickly perked up again and forced a smile. I imagine I said something unbroadcastable to Dario and turned to Urbano. He gave me a classic chairman shrug and that was that. I wasn't delighted but we'd proven time and time again we could mix it with the big boys. We belonged here, though occasionally I had to remind myself.
And so here we are, my second season with Torino. I was in the unenviable position of the squad being slightly weaker but the expectations being higher. Having said that, I suppose the money was there to spend in January if needs be. For now though, I was happy to get by with the core group of lads from last season. Eventually we managed to get everyone together for the team photo, in our very fetching new kits. With no sausage sponsor.
-- December 13th 2020 / Part Twelve / To the mountain top --
It's been a very productive few months in charge of Torino I must say. Time has flown by as we're playing matches every few days and it seems like forever since I got the chance to sit down and write a few words about how things have been progressing. In between games I've just about found time to put down some more established roots and get myself a proper townhouse instead of living like an exchange student in the apartment I was in before. Still rattling around in it by myself though no matter how hard I try to persuade Frannie to come and live with me. To be fair, I have had Simone Zaza on the sofa a few times after he's had a barney with the Mrs but other than that it's just me, myself and I ... and a mountain of folders, data packs, scout reports, etcetera, etcetera.
Sadly, a situation that I had thought was resolved suddenly reared its ugly head again after a few months and a few good wins. Soualiho Meitè; playmaker, engine room, box to box, deep-lying, segundo whatever he was. Like Daniele Baselli before him, he did a bit of everything. Yet again he'd had his head turned by another club. Yet again it was Man United. Not quite sure why Ole had such a fetish for my high work-rate midfielders but there you are. A whiff of that interest and ooh, please boss? Can I, can I??
Que sera, sera as they say. We'd coped with the loss of Baselli just fine, I'm sure we'd find a way to handle the situation if Soualiho did force his way out in the end. Again, I still struggle to wrap my head around why players want to leave. We pay good wages, Turin is a lovely city, we've got a real tight-knit bunch of lads here and we're battling for the league again. Ah well, it is what it is. That's a bridge we'll cross as and when.
After 14 games we were sitting pretty in the league thanks to some lovely form in November. What I liked the most was that the goals were spread around the team. Belotti wasn't scoring them all, which was great because it meant other teams weren't snooping around him as yet aha. Zaza weighed in with a few important ones, as did Berenguer and Verdi. I couldn't fault my usual front 4 at all. Even Iago Falquè, who'd come back from a season at Genoa, took to the playing style like un'anatra all'acqua. You had to feel for Virtus Entella. What a job they'd done getting promoted last season but my word Serie A was a step too far for them. 1 point?? ONE?
Remember back in September when the Champions League groups were drawn? We'd had a horrible draw with Real Madrid, Man United and Red Bull Salzburg to contend with and if I'm honest I wasn't feeling particularly hopeful about our chances, no matter how many times I'd told Dario and the chairman that we'd definitely make it out of the group.
Well, make it out of the group we did! Somehow we beat Man United home and away, and put 3 (THREE) past Real Madrid - the Real Madrid - at the Olimpico. Quite telling I suppose of how far we've come as a team over the course of the season that as I jogged on to the field for handshakes at the end of the game at Old Trafford, where we'd won 1-2, Daniele found me and expressed his regret at leaving us. Understandable I suppose, with United sitting 6th in the premier league at this point. I said I understood of course, he had to do what was right by his family and look after his future but he'd be welcomed back with open arms should he ever decide to come home to Torino. He swapped shirts with Lorenzo Crisetig at the end of the game, the player who'd replaced him at the club. What a top, top lad he was, honestly I'd be delighted for him to leave United for a bigger club like Torino. I still found it hard to believe we'd somehow dumped Real Madrid out of the Champions League, but that was our level now. Finally the lads were starting to play with the conviction of purpose that I'd been trying to instil in them since I arrived here. They were starting to believe. With Real Madrid out of the picture, and United dispatched with aplomb twice in two games, I was starting to think with a kind draw maybe we could have a run at the Champions League!
Then again, maybe not. The following morning I was in the office, still reeling from the Champions League draw, when there was an excited knock on the door. I barely had time to finish the dregs of my Macchiato before Andrea, the Head of Youth, burst in. 'Oh here we go,' I said, ready for another season of disappointment from our apparently 'great' youth facilities. 'I think you'll be pleasantly surprised,' replied Andrea, sliding the dossier he was carrying across the desk.
'****** **** Andrea, and they can tie their own laces an' all?' We chuckled and I shook his hand. All that money the board had pumped into the youth system was starting to pay dividends by the looks of it. I'd have to get down there and run a few training sessions myself of course just to judge the accuracy of the reports. Before that though, the transfer window was just about to slide open, and my concern was keeping Soualiho at the club until the end of the season.
-- February 2nd 2021 / Part Thirteen / The Long Winter --
January. I ****** hate January. A month that goes on forever, interminably, every day bringing more and more bad news. Winter that never ends, a run of fixtures that feels like it'll never end either. I don't know whether my mood rubbed off on the players a little but January was probably our worst month for form since I joined the club. There didn't seem to be any consistency in our play, and there were a lot of little niggly injuries being picked up as well. Belotti and Berenguer kept us afloat I must say, although our two penalty defeats against the old enemy Juve really left a sour taste in the mouth. The chairman was all smiles and comforting arm on shoulder in public but privately he hadexpressed his concerns that we'd seemingly gone backwards from earlier in the season.
Cavion really pulled us out of the fire scoring against Roma. I think if we'd lost that one it could have derailed the season good and proper. As it was, we were still in with a shout in the league. Obviously out of the Coppa Italia so wouldn't retain that trophy, and lost the Supercoppa as well. Barring some sort of miracle against Barca in the Champions League it was really all or nothing in Serie A this season. Should have the Amazon Prime cameras in here, Urbano would love that. Speaking of things Urbano would love, Shangai SIPG and Beijing Sinbo wouldn't leave Lyanco or Nicky Nkoulou alone all month. Bids of €28m, €31m flying around. I couldn't let Nkoulou leave for the sort of money they were offering (a paltry €14m) but I accepted two offers for Lyanco because how could we turn down €31m? We didn't *need* the money as such, but I knew Mr. Cairo wouldn't take too kindly to me rejecting a bid like that. As it was, it mattered little because my Brazilian workhorse with the giant neck said no, he said 'I don't want to go to China Mr Domingo,' and I said fair enough, and that was that.
Strangely, the only player we didn't receive a bid for in January was Soualiho Meité, the only player who'd really been making noises about wanting to leave. By the end of the month he was happy enough to stay put it seemed, at least until the end of the season, and we managed to shake hands and put that matter to bed for another five months. We did make one shrewd first team purchase during the month, though this was out of necessity rather than choice. From nowhere we had a call from Tomás Rincón's agent, informing us that Sevilla wanted him and were offering €6 million. It breaks my heart to say it but that sort of money for a 33 year old midfielder who'd started to lose his pace was an absolute no-brainer. I had no ill will towards Tommy at all, he was a great midfield enforcer and scored a few crackers from the edge of the area, but I did have my eye on a much younger, Italian model who was making noises about leaving Inter. So out the door went Rincón and in came Roberto Gagliardini, for a shade over €6.75m including bonuses.
He was worth a lot more than we paid for him if I'm honest, and the board gave me a quick call the day after we'd sealed the deal to let me know exactly that, and praised my judgement on the fee. So, happy days, and to be fair he's slotted in nicely, and I'm always happy to increase the home-grown numbers in the squad as well; Any player that has international experience is always a boon in my book. So my new regular midfield pairing would be Meité and Gagliardini, and I was hoping they'd soon have the same sort of chemistry as Baselli and Rincón before them.
I was very glad to keep hold of all my central defenders in the window, not least because I had already committed to a (relatively) big-money signing at centre-back for the end of the season and I would feel like a real idiota if I lost one of mine without a replacement for six whole months. Because I certainly wasn't buying *another* other CB to fill the gap in the meantime. Anyhow, that ended up not being an issue. Which I was grateful for. I did a little more business when Dario and Massimo alerted me to a few players we'd had our eyes on who didn't look like signing new contracts at their clubs.
What a coup to get hold of Rafinha from Barça! Couldn't believe that when Mass came back and told me he'd accepted our offer. No offence to Iago Falqué but Rafinha is different gravy. He and Daniele Rugani - another quality signing who I thought may have been out of our reach - represented an additional 190k p/w on the wage budget between them but if they meant the difference between winning a title or not, it was a small price to pay.
One bright spot in a very dull and trying January was a little phone call I had around the middle of the month with my old mate Fabio Quagliarella. He'd just announced his retirement from playing just before Christmas, but he was determined to stay in the game and was on the lookout for a staff role somewhere. Apparently Sampdoria had nothing doing for him so I made a quick call to Urbano to see if there was any position we could create in the club to fit in my best mate.
Apparently Giuseppe Sangragorio, my existing Under-20s assistant manager, was looking to take an early retirement. To be honest with you, I didn't even realise he worked for us, I had always thought it was Alec Baldwin whenever I saw him around the complex. Why would Alec Baldwin be hanging around the Filadelfia complex I don't know but, there we are. It wasn't Alec Baldwin as it turns out. Just after we'd sealed the deal to bring Fabio in on a staff contract, my phone pinged as a Whatsapp came through from Frannie. She'd just been on the tram in town and spotted this.
Those ****** graphic designers had been at it again. Let's hope Gagliardini proves to be a valuable asset for us, we need as many assets as we can get to try and wrestle this league title away from Inter.
Somehow, don't ask me how, we'd gone to the Nou Camp and absolutely hammered Barcelona in front of 100,000 people.
And now, for our first ever appearance in the Champions League quarter finals, all we had to do was - essentially - not lose by 3 goals at home. The Olimpico Grande Torino was our fortress, and nobody, not even the mighty Barcelona, were going to come to our gates and knock them down. I made sure the lads knew that this was absolutely do or die. We had some cinematic orchestral music in the changing rooms, not sure what it was, Zaza put it on his bluetooth speakers. Anyway, I drilled it into them: Tackle all night, put your bodies on the line, play through whatever aches or pains you're feeling and then in 90 minutes you can say 'we just beat Barcelona, the best club side in the world, and we are in the quarter finals of the Champions League.'
You'll have to pinch me because I must be dreaming. OK I'll admit I was getting the jitters at 2-2 when they were pinging shots in from here, there and everywhere but I can't fault the lads one bit. Sirigu played the game of his life, they must have had 11 or 12 shots on target and to his credit he dealt with most of what they threw at him. The away win saw us through, and we were quarter finalists. Little Torino. Good heavens. I hadn't planned for this in July 2020 if I'm honest. After my ill-fated stint with Genoa I wasn't exactly full of optimism about coming back to manage in Italy. But there was something about this group of lads. Somehow here we had a whole that was much greater than the sum of its parts. How
many Italy internationals did we have in team? Two? One? Half a one really because Belotti and Sirigu made the squad but always stayed on the bench. We were not a fashionable team; We didn't have any flash sponsors, no Fly Emirates for us; no Air Jordan tie-ins, no Abu Dhabi Football Group. Just ****** hard work on the training ground and a team of absolute warriors who never knew when they were beaten.
A quite frankly remarkable run of form since the start of February, but Inter just would not drop points. Still 1 point above us in the league and I was starting to fear this would go exactly the same as last year, pushing the eventual winners all the way to the end but just coming up short. I had everything crossed that somewhere along the line Inter would draw a game. I'm sure they were thinking the same about us though, nobody wants the crazy bulls breathing down their necks. I don't want to say that hiring Fabio Quagliarella was the catalyst for our upturn in fortunes but I'm not sure what else it could be. Me and Frannie had been over to his family's place on the outskirts of Turin a few times and he seemed very happy to be working back at his first professional club. I wouldn't tell Dario this but I felt like Fabio would be my assistant for the senior team before too long.
I think we'd gone maybe 30 games unbeaten at this point, and I'm sure any other league in the world we'd be sitting pretty at the summit, but as it was, Inter had done pretty much the same with one less draw. We were both 11/12 points clear of Roma in third and so this battle, far from being the 4-5-6 team contest I had expected after ten games, was going to be fought just between the two of us. Who could hold their nerve and cope with the run-in the best? I was optimistic as we had no injuries, no bans, everyone was in great spirits and not only that, we had Fabio Quagliarella. Early the next week, I got a call through Frannie to meet the big boss in the office. I had a brief moment of 'oh no, what have I done?'
but I couldn't come up with any recent transgressions.
As it turned out, it wasn't bad news at all. The board actually wanted to offer me a new 3-year contract to replace my current one. I think I was staring at the figures for a good five minutes before Urbano broke the silence, 'Uh, Luca? Mr Domingo? Is ok?' Ok?? €30k a week? Yeah I suppose it was OK. Good lord. I thought the €16k they were paying me before was a lot. I shook Urbano's hand as quick as I could when I came back to my senses. As I left the room, my eyebrows probably still raised in shock, I fired a text off to Frannie saying can she find me a decent financial advisor because I was going to win the Champions League and needed a decent investment for my €60k bonus. She text back straightaway: 'LOL.'
-- April 27th 2021 / Part Fifteen / To The Wonder --
Napoli I could kiss the whole town. I had to call up Ronald Koeman and let him know how grateful we were that they'd taken two points off the unstoppable juggernaut that was FC Internazionale. Of course, being a dutchman, he was very laid back about the whole thing. 'Luca my friend let me tell you we just played our game you know and hey, look at that, we have a draw hey presto!' So, fair enough, thanks again Ronald. So it was all up to us now. Keep winning, keep clawing back that goal difference, and who knows? It could be our year.
We couldn't afford to lose focus in the Champions League either though. A tough 0-1 defeat against our Quarter Final opponents Atletico Madrid at their place had left us needing a good win at the Grande Olimpico to make the semi-finals. I knew for a lot of the lads this would be their first taste of the business end of European football (mine too actually!) so before the game I knew I needed to come up with some words to settle everyone and focus their minds a little. My mind went back to a quote by Anaïs Nin I'd had framed on my wall in the office during my time at Wednesday.
'And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.'
Everyone took it in, Simone Zaza had his hand up but I ignored him. 'No-one expected us to be here lads. When this draw was made I bet Barça were laughing. I bet Atletico were laughing. Well nobody will laugh when we go out there and batter them3-0 will they? Now get out there, take the risks, and show everyone why we deserve to be here.'
Simple as that. What a team. I've never been as proud. Maybe when we won the Coppa Italia? A close second perhaps. I was quick to remind the boys it was just one game, it was important not to lose focus on everything else we had going on around us. Of course the next week we were nervously anticipating the Semi draw, thoughts of everything else straight out the window.
Manchester City, champions of England. Top of the league this season by 4 points. Spent £209m on new players over the season compared to our £34m. But there was no nerves in the camp, just excitement. Just that feeling of wanting to prove everyone wrong. We'd already knocked off Real Madrid and Barcelona, what was one more league champion?
In amongst all the league and cup excitement, I almost missed the youth intake report that Andrea Fabbrini had prepared for me. It was hiding in my email folder mixed in with all the spam for free olive oil and spicy sausage and whatnot. I had to say, Andrea had been talking my ear off lately, raving about three lads in particular that he had been watching for a few months. Two had come from local schools and one who we had taken from Goteborg's youth setup in Sweden.
I felt - looking at this - Luigi, Milan and Loris, along with Franco Bianchi who was already looking at home in the first team, would provide a good solid youth core to the team going forward. I was happy to see the academy at Filadelfia doing its job at last.
So here we are. The run in. May was going to be a decisive month in the battle for the Serie A and of course the Champions League. The difference between the most glorious club double we could achieve or going empty-handed. Forza Torino!
-- May 22nd 2021 / Part Sixteen / La Mia Parola --
A very tough 1-2 defeat at the Etihad set us up yet again needing the biggest home leg of our collective lives. A 1-0 would do us on away goals so all week we were working on defensive set pieces and routines in training. I didn't expect to see much of the ball but as long as were well-drilled on the counter and well-organised I still backed us to do a job at Fortress Grande Olimpico.
Do a job! Do a ****** job! Do you know, I'll never ever get sick of watching us win 1-0. Not even when the only goal is a fluke tap in from a corner.
This is it now. Now the confidence is flowing. I think in a one-off game we can match anyone the way we set up, so when PSG snuck past Bayern in the other semi, well, it is what it is. No fear now. Obviously the celebrations after the Man City game went on long, long into the night. I think I vaguely remember me and Frannie sneaking out of the hastily-arranged party to find a quiet balcony somewhere but for the life of me I can't remember what happened next. I'm sure that's a story for another day, the main thing is I had to make sure all our heads were back screwed on for the Serie A run-in. A couple of very winnable games followed, with Atalanta away and Verona at home.
We eased past Atalanta 2-0, goals from Belotti and Nkoulou doing the damage. Verona were coming to town in 10th spot in the league with nothing really to play for, so it was up to us to really get up for the game and try and smash a few goals in to help that goal difference. Inter were away against lowly Bologna, a game they had to be expecting to win, and frankly, so was I. I'd said all I had to say after the Man City game to be honest. I'd been a total soppy-bollocks to be fair, told the players how much they all meant to me, how proud I was of them, how they were making the city proud. I even wrote some poorly-worded nonsense in the board group chat which I'm sure Urbano had a good laugh at the next morning. All that is to say, before the Verona game I found myself not really needing to say anything at all. You could feel it in the air, in the crowd. The ground even. This mix of tension and weighted expectation and that agonising hope that comes with being so close to something so momentous. We could have it all in 270 minutes of football. Or we could have nothing. This is the sport we love and the reason we live.
For roughly 51 minutes, everything was going so well. We were 1-0 up and in complete control, and somehow SOMEHOW Bologna were 2-0 up against Inter. Obviously we had someone on the monitor for that game and you also got a sense from the crowd of what was going on elsewhere. *52 minutes* Christian Eriksen gets one back for Inter. 2-1. *64 minutes* Talles Magno pops up for the equalizer, 2-2. At this point I've got my head in my hands, but I didn't want to let my emotions get the better of me, not when we still had to do a job ourselves never mind worrying about other results. *69 minutes* Bremer got his head on an Iago Falqué corner to make it 2-0 to us. I couldn't imagine anything other than an Inter win now they'd got themselves back to 2-2 but the minutes ticked by with no more news. 'What's going on??' I shouted to the bench, to one of the coaches who had an earpiece in I think. He just shrugged at me with raised eyebrows. The absolute stress of it I swear. 90 minutes up in our game. It'd been a pretty uneventful second half so only 2 minutes added on. As soon as the final whistle went the players were all round me on the bench; Nobody left the stadium, nobody dared to do anything. Someone had got the radio commentary up on their phone I think. *94 minutes*
"...E viene fuori a Skov Olsen...! oh Andreas Skov Olsen!! gol gol gol GOOOOLLLLLL oh la mia parola! la mia parola! Hai mai visto qualcosa di simile?!" Needless to say the place went absolutely MAD. I had bodies all over me, ****** glasses went flying, everything went flying. There were flares, allsorts going on in the stands. I've somehow got out of the ruck, legged it off towards the ultras giving it fist pumps and ole's and whatever else. What a night. I've been saying that a lot lately. God, I love this football club.
The next morning, with a large amount of unexplainable bruising, the first thing I did was give Massimo the Director of Football a call and see about putting in a bid for Andreas Skov Olsen. He was about to become the first man to win a league title for a team before he played for them.
- Tomorrow will be the final part of this season, for better or worse. Serie A and Champions League come to their conclusions. I'd be honoured if you'd join me! -
-- May 28th 2021 / Part Seventeen / dello Spirito Santo --
As soon as the month started we got some bad news from the medical team. Sirigu had gone over in training and made the kind of noise that had me fearing the worse. Honestly, it couldn't have come at a worse time for us. To lose our talisman, vice-captain, semi-final hero, for the decisive games of the season was really hard to hear. It didn't take long for Alessandro to send through an update.
I caught up with him in the physio complex and to be fair he seemed close to tears. I gave him an arm around the shoulder, 'we'll win them both for you Salvatore. Questo è per te.' He gave me a forced smile. 'Well I will just have to win them again next year boss.' That's the spirit lad.
So it was, Serie A all came down to May 23rd. Benevento away. Sadly, a win for us would condemn them to relegation but that's football. This was the formation and lineup I went with in the end. Most of my decisions were made for me, and as Falqué was out with a knock, Berenguer would move to the middle with Millico on the left.
About ten minutes before the game I got a message through from Urbano who I guess was up in the stands. 'If we win the league we have to pay Lecce €1m from the Alessio Piazza deal. But that's a small price to pay for making history. Go and make history Mr Domingo.' What a top bloke. At this point, with the dressing room fairly muted and introspective, Salvatore struggled to his feet on his crutches and asked for quiet.
"O! Maestro,
Fa ch'io non cerchi tanto:
Ad essere consolato, quanto a consolare.
Ad essere compreso, quanto a comprendere.
Ad essere amato, quanto ad amare.
Poiché: è Dando, che si riceve:
Perdonando che si è perdonati;
Morendo, che si risuscita a Vita Eterna.
Nel nome del Padre e del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo
Amen."
I thanked him for his words, and that was that. 90 minutes between us and immortality.
As I sank to the turf in the Ciro Vigorito, mobbed by the subs and the coaching staff, I may have shed a tear or two. I wasn't the only one. A part of me was maybe slightly disappointed that we couldn't have won the title at our own ground, or that we had drawn one too many matches to make it to that magical 100 point mark, but these thoughts soon faded in the haze of Prosecco and trophy and medal presentations. Inter may have smashed 5 past Frosinone but it didn't matter one bit. We had done it. Champions. We were halfway there. I made sure to find Sirigu and pressed my forehead to his, 'we owe you everything Salvatore.'
There were 6 days between the final league game and the Champions League final. 6 days where we couldn't lose our focus for a second, where we couldn't think about being Italian champions because we didn't want to settle for that. European champions sounded much more appealing. But there was a lot of paperwork and bits and bobs to get through in the meantime.
We had the awards come through, mostly the news filtered through on twitter which seems to be the way of the world these days, and I was never sure if these kind of awards were voted by the public or the press or the players or whoever. I voted Poyet at Fiorentina as my manager of the year but secretly I had my fingers crossed that was one award that was coming my way.
Andrea's 25 goals won him the golden boot, 'Capocannoniere' as they call it over here, and six of our lads made it into the team of the season and they were very happy to get their team of the season bonuses, as well as their FIFA Ultimate Team cards I think they said? I'm not well-versed in all that stuff but apparently Bremer and Lyanco were both rated 92 overall ... Whatever that means. Good on them, but would that help us win the Champions League? Would it bollocks.
Even in the early throes of summer there was an unseasonal chill in the St. Petersburg air. Stepping off the plane all the lads had their hoods pulled up and their big jackets on. We had a decent training session the night before, and my main message to the boys was rest, relax, don't do anything out of the ordinary. Nobody in their right minds would have had Torino in the Champions League final at the start of the competition so just enjoy the night, play your game. I tried to drum it into them, you know, we've come up against the best teams in Europe time and time again and found a way to win. No need to overthink it or try anything special just play the way we play and give it our absolute all.
On the night of the match we had no new injury worries apart from Salvatore obviously, and he would be on the bench with the subs anyway, we owed him that much. So it was a fully fit squad to pick from. Knowing PSG's strength in making the space and finding the short pass, I aimed to keep it quite compact in the middle and look for the spaces out wide if their wingbacks were tempted to drift in. Look, they had world class players all over the pitch so it was one thing making the plan it was quite another trying to put it into action.
Again, before the game we had Salvatore say a few words of prayer, it had quickly become one of those self-fulfilling superstitions among the senior squad members and who was I to argue if it kept them happy? We'd need all the help we could get let's be honest. As the anthems played and I took a last look around the ground before heading to the dugout I had a moment or two to reflect on my work here at Torino. Predicted 8th in Serie A at the start of the season and we won it. Odds on to fall at the group stage of the Champions League and we're here in the final. A group of players that apparently would walk through walls for each other. A coaching team who understood my playing style, management style, and had adapted so well to our mission statement. A chairman ready to die for the colours, who put his money where his mouth is and has ambitions even loftier than my own. A personal assistant with a fantastic set of t- oh I'm losing my train of thought. There is no shame in being beaten by Paris Saint-Germain. The only way is up for Torino. The referee blew his whistle.
Sitting on that cold turf in Saint Petersburg I've never felt so far from home. We were beaten yes, but unbowed. I wasn't about to start blaming anyone for that defeat. There was no magical 'oh if we'd have just done this or that' moment. No. Indeed, we matched them, and until the 94th minute it looked like we would match them ad infinitum. Unfortunately for us, Neymar had other ideas. And there we have it. We don't have a Neymar. We don't have a player who could run the length of the field after 93 minutes and still have the composure to finish across the goalie into the far corner. PSG do. And that was the difference.
The journey back to the airport was no less frosty. Urbano came over at some stage on the plane journey, I'd been messed about by time zones and what have you. He took both my hands in that very Italian fashion. He thanked me for what we had achieved this season. He said never in his life had he been so proud as tonight. He said he had an open-top bus parade to organise. Another half an hour or so later as we entered Italian airspace, I was doing some post-match analysis looking at all the pro-data we'd collected during the game. Bremer slid over to me, phone in hand. "You seen this **** boss? Champions League dream team."
10 (TEN) PSG players and Andrea Belotti? No no no, no, I'm not having that. The only way is up. We go again.
Thank you everyone so much for reading! To have over 1k views on this is a bit insane. Well, that's 2 seasons in the books and though we couldn't quite get the CL win to cap it off I'm sure you'd agree it's been one **** of a ride on the Tori Pazzi. Feedback would be lovely.
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