Chasing Heroes

The last couple of years has seen a great number of wonderful footballers pass away. None were bigger than Diego Maradona and more recently Pele. Aside from these giants of the game, Sinisa Mihajlovic, Paolo Rossi and Gianluca Vialli all struck a chord with me. All taken by cancer far too young, and everyone of them certainly contributed significantly to my love of the game. I never saw Paolo play, or Pele, for that matter, but as the oldest of the group mentioned, he was almost before my time.

Three venues I would visit in 2022, and early in 2023 on my travels in Italy were personally important to spend time in as they would be my way of paying respect following the passing of three of those mentioned above, namely Diego, Paolo and more recently Gianluca. Like the others, their departure is a tragic loss for the football family.

Heroes on the football field started for me with Carlos Caszely, the Chilean Internationalist. He was plucked from footage on Football Focus of Chile scoring a goal in a full stadium in Santiago with no opposition on the pitch. The USSR had refused to play the World Cup play off second leg because the stadium had been used to torture and kill courtesy of General Pinochet, with his CIA backed government flushing out communists. The 1974 World Cup was my first memory of the global competition, with Caszely’s performance a standout in a brave, but ultimately futile rearguard action, losing 1-0 to West Germany. I was out in the back garden with my ball, red t-shirt on, I was Carlos! The amazing footnote to this story was my Chilean friend Cecilia tracking down Carlos and getting him to sign a shirt as well as a copy of his autobiography dedicated to me. It was a truly wonderful surprise and an incredible gift. These are cherished possessions.

Everyone has their own football heroes, most are likely to be attached to the team we support, and the same would go for me, but doubtlessly Massimo Agostini, Massimo Gadda and Franco Ermini all became heroes of Cesena and Ancona from heading across to watch early games in Italy. Others become appreciated and seeped into the realm of hero status courtesy of their ability, skills and goals from merely watching on the TV. Diego Maradona, Paolo Rossi and Gianluca Vialli tick the boxes for that category. The ‘80’s World Cup finals were the two editions I recall most fondly, although Maradona could have been involved as a very young protege at the 1978 finals, but Luis Menotti chose to leave him out, citing his choice might have been risky. Even as a teenager Diego had the ability to potentially cause issues.

Paolo and Diego had their very own World Cup, one in 1982 and the other in 1986 respectively. Paolo was the first to show his cards, and as the prolific scorer that he was, the memory that will never leave me was the match versus Brazil. The South Americans perhaps had their best team since 1970 at the ’82 finals in Spain, and they absolutely battered the Italian defence in one of those titanic clashes between attacking elan and stoic defending. Italy were still on the last fringes of catenaccio, so their team was well versed in the art of defence. Brazil scored two fabulous goals that day, but they would come unstuck by lightning breakaways from the gli azzurri, with Paolo Rossi scoring an incredible hat-trick to continually put Italy in the lead, and eventually winning the game. It was a result that sent Italy into the World Cup Semi-Finals en route to winning the trophy, where Paolo would set up the success by scoring the opening goal of the final. His thunder was perhaps slightly stolen by Marco Tardelli’s iconic celebration after he scored the clinching third goal, but this was Paolo’s World Cup.

Italy always had a special place in my heart from a young age, and being allowed to stay up very late to watch them beat Argentina 1-0 in 1978 might well have been the catalyst for a lifelong love of calcio. That was then firmly cemented by inadvertently being in Como the night Italy won that 1982 competition. The outpouring of joy and celebration at the success was absolutely overwhelming for a young impressionable lad, I was sold.

Four years later, Mexico 1986 would become Maradona’s World Cup, and yet they got embroiled in a nasty game at the Azteca with an angry Uruguay, and they just survived the Charruan Garra (win at all costs) to progress. We all know what he did versus England in the quarter-finals, the good and the bad of his game were on display, but I always smile at Europeans’ indignation at this Garra aspect of the game that exists in South America to this day. Gaining an advantage might prove trickier in the VAR world, but it won’t stop them trying. Footage often gets wheeled out from the England match, but in my opinion, his display versus Belgium in the Semi Final was even more imperious. While Maradona didn’t scored in the final, he had a vital role in the outcome. Curiously both Diego and Paolo’s great World Cup successes had come versus West Germany. Maybe even more than Pele in 1970, Maradona had an even greater ‘hand’ in influencing and inspiring his team to reach for the biggest prize in football. 1986 was his World Cup without doubt, even if he couldn’t crown his glory with a goal in the final.

Gianluca Vialli played at the 1986 World Cup too, but the greater chance of him attaining a World Cup winners medal came four years later in his homeland. That however meant coming up against Diego’s Argentina in Napoli, where the city and it’s fervent home crowd and love for the great man split the support, ditching national patriotism in many cases. It must have been the weirdest experience for gli Azzurri, and I will return to this odd situation shortly.

That is the background to my three trips, all in the name of homage to three great footballers, certainly of my lifetime. Pele might have been past his best before I have any memories, and by virtue he finds himself in that Puskas, Di Stefano and Best era for me. That said, I did see George “play”, well stand around and make the odd crucial pass in his latter days when he was playing for Hibs, as they struggled to beat my boys Meadowbank Thistle 1-0 in the Scottish Cup, a game played at Tynecastle.

I had passed through Napoli a few times on the train previously and looked out the window thinking it didn’t look great. However, if you want to pay homage to Diego, with Buenos Aires on the backburner for now, Napoli was the necessary location. Besides, I had become aware of an area in the city that had been turned into a shrine to the great man. In 1990, my great friend Andrew Downie was at a lot of matches during Italia ’90, and he both hilariously, and famously put a sign in front of his orange juggling act saying “I haven’t seen Maradona play”. It worked a treat, the money came rolling in, even if the exact level of the juggling skill remains uncertain, but this anecdote highlights the level of passion for Diego in the city. 

I am convinced Italy would have won their own World Cup had it not been for the fact the semi-final was played in Napoli and against Argentina. The passionate home support was split that night and of course Diego’s ugly 1990 albiceleste (Argentine national side) won the day, setting up an immediate rematch with the now unified Germany. It was without doubt the worst World Cup Final ever (although Spain v The Netherlands was a horrible thing too!), where the late award of a penalty to give Germany the win was a godsend. As much as I love Argentina, this was a horrible, defensive side, and it started right from the opening game when Cameroon beat them in Milan. It lurched from one ugly game to the next, and yet another penalty shoot out, (there were too many) saw them knock out one the most creative and perhaps the most brilliant Yugoslavia side of the generation as well as Italy. These were the dark arts Diego days, and when USA ‘94 came along complete with his ban, the halo had well and truly slipped. I only rediscovered my appreciation of the great man in his last years. He was only 60 when he died, born on the same day as my mum, albeit 30 years apart!

Napoli isn’t for everyone. It is an acquired taste, and only being in the city for 18 hours wasn’t in truth going to give me a true flavour of what it has to offer. It is the home of the margarita pizza, and one of my first boxes to tick was trying a Napolitani pizza in one of the great backstreet pizza parlours of the city. At the last minute I baulked from just going for only mozzarella and tomato, such a dull combination in my opinion when so much else can be slapped on top, but it was delicious with its tuna addition. 

The city has a habit of splitting opinions, it might be Italy, but the chaotic traffic gives it more a feel of South America. Very few parts of Napoli are flat, with those iconic narrow sloped streets with the washing hanging out from the high apartments visible from all those fine travel shows I have seen from Napoli over the years, as well as that atmospheric, and brilliant TV series, Gomorrah. The scene was complete with the inordinate number of motorbikes whizzing through unlikely gaps in the traffic. The atmosphere of the city had been built in my head for years and it wasn’t letting me down.

The walk from the pizzeria to the hallowed corner turned Maradona shrine wasn’t too far, but it was mostly of an uphill variety. Once there the area is compact, but chock full of fans tributes to the great man as well as some great pieces of art that adorn the surrounding walls. The variety of scarves from around the world were interesting, but the only one I found from a Scottish side was rather amusingly Arbroath! It’s random things like that which I enjoy, breaking the mould of the stereotypical mundane drivel served up by the bigger clubs. It is wonderful that Napoli’s love of Maradona allowed this little area to exist, but I suspect as time marches on, the amount of stuff in this wee corner of the city will become too much, and it will all become a formal museum, and in some ways if that was to happen, it would be a travesty. Diego lived a chaotic life, and in many regards this shrine to him embodies exactly that. I assume every night, someone is tasked with putting all the exhibits under lock and key, and there are a lot. It was very nice seeing this, it formed part of my wish to pay respects.

It was a nice downward walk after that headed to the seafront and the castle ahead of trying to track down a taxi for the significant journey out to the stadium. Napoli is huge, it is sprawling and the stadium is a significant effort walking wise, up and down and around if you ever thought to tackle it. The taxi still took an age, but unlike anywhere else, the meter is almost obsolete, you agree on a price before you set off. Given the traffic chaos that is perhaps no bad thing as if it was based on time in the cab it could end up being higher than the price agreed. It was €20 heading to the stadium, and eventually once we finally caught one on the road back to the centre, the night time price of the craziest taxi driver I have ever encountered had risen to €30. He was even more mad than a VW beetle taxi driver in Mexico City, who even threw the bible into the back seat as we almost took off at humpback parts in the road at grand prix speed! The Napolese roads around the coast line are undulating, twisty and quite narrow, well as being constantly gnarled with traffic. This guy was constantly on his phone, driving one handed, and when the traffic was stopped in front of him, he’d just go into the oncoming lane to skip the queue. He got away with it everytime, but it was hair raising. Thankfully I made it back to my hotel in one piece. Relieved, I turned the light on in my room, which seemed to cause an outage and a fuse blew, welcome to Napoli!!

I have never been outside a ground two hours before a game, but far from being the only person there, it was absolutely mobbed. The idea of a quiet beer ahead of kick off was gone, and when the Napoli team bus arrived, the rush of fans to cheer their modern day heroes was full on, requiring police restraint. Naturally Diego adorns the side of the bus, he might have left us, but his spirit is alive and well in this corner of Italy. The next obstacle to overcome was at the passport checks to get in, where I was being pushed back from the queue by an overzealous female steward who kept saying “Nord Europeo”. Remarkably she was endeavouring to refuse me entry in my Diego Maradona tribute Napoli shirt because my UK passport deemed me likely to be an Ajax fan?! I called her supervisor and we went through it all again. Meanwhile the pressure of the queue was growing behind me, but I stood my ground. Eventually the tension eased, I was allowed in and the supervisor seemed to be dishing out a Fawlty Towers, Basil to Manuel-esque speech regarding the whereabouts of Britain to the Netherlands. It did leave an unpleasant feeling in my mind, one that wouldn’t leave me until after the passport checks the following night in Firenze for the Hearts game, but in the end it was all worry for nothing as the Florentines couldn’t have been more accommodating and welcoming. 

I have seen countless games from what is now known as the Stadio Diego Maradona on TV, and I had also seen the same display Napoli put on here many times before too, where periods of brilliance eventually get lost in lengthy passages of trying to merely close out a game which invariably can get them into trouble, as it did here. But as usual, they find another gear, they go again and they find ways to win. At times, especially in the first twenty minutes Napoli were unplayable, and in No77, the Georgian find of the season, Kvicha Kvaratskhelia from Dinamo Batumi, a new hero of Napoli is being forged. This lad is fast, skillful, confident and utterly beguiling in his ability at times. A two footed winger, who can switch sides and terrorise either flank is a very powerful and useful weapon. I never saw Jimmy Johnstone play, but from old footage I have seen over the years, he had the ability to do the same. In the modern game someone like Kvicha is a rare commodity. I truly hope he stays at Napoli long enough to become a cult hero, because he is well on his way already, and he isn’t half a season into his debut year at the club. 

Napoli has a support base that idolises their greats, you can see it with Maradona, whether anyone else ever comes close to him we will have to wait to see, but it was wonderful to experience watching a game here, even if I felt the crowd were just as orchestrated as other big clubs. I am unsure why, I just expected something completely different in Napoli, perhaps a more Argentine feel. Maybe I had built the whole experience too high in my mind before I ever got here. It certainly hadn’t fulfilled all I was hoping for, but it had been an interesting and wonderful experience all the same. Part of my disappointment probably stems from my gradual divorce from monied football and being in big crowds. It seems forced, more commercial than the smaller, passionate support bases, and that’s the basis of where any lingering disappointment comes from, I think!

By contrast, nine nights later, I was back at the Romeo Menti stadium in Vicenza, where it all felt more comfortable, a sort of homecoming. This was my fourth time at a game here, as well as countless other visits without football, yes you’ve guessed it right, I like Vicenza. 

Paolo Rossi was a Siena man, born in the delightful southern Tuscan city, but his playing CV never went near playing for the local club, or any other team from the region. He started out at Juventus youth, but never played for the first team, making just six appearances for Como whilst being loaned from the Turin giants during 1975/76. He signed for Lanerossi Vicenza the following season where his prolific 60 goals in 94 outings over a four year stretch set the foundations for his legacy. Curiously, in 1979/80 he was loaned out to Perugia for a season before returning to Juventus where he managed 24 goals in 83 games over a 4 year term, but these were the critical years of his career, the ones that straddled that amazing 1982 World Cup win. Of course Paolo, like Diego, had a rogue element, and caught up in a betting scandal tarnished his reputation, complete with a lengthy ban period. If a World Cup helped save his reputation, his club form dipped, as he scored only 6 more league goals in two twenty game spells at AC Milan and Hellas Verona respectively, before quitting the game in 1987 aged just 31. He had merely amassed 251 appearances for all the clubs he played for, scoring 103 times. By contrast, his 48 caps for Italy brought him 20 International goals, three of which we have already covered from that magnificent match versus Brazil. It was a career defining match and few who witnessed it will ever forget it. It is also his days at Vicenza where he is most fondly celebrated.

If Maradona played for a number of clubs, Napoli, Argentinos Juniors and Boca will claim him the most, while for Paolo it is purely Vicenza that holds a candle to his memory with such fondness, as well as Azzurri fans in general across the nation. In particular, this shows the impact he made whilst wearing the red and white striped shirt of Lanerossi. The team even carries his surname in it, albeit coincidentally! He lived in or around Vicenza once he’d retired and was a regular at matches at the Menti, adding to the bond between the man, the team and the city. Unlike Napoli, the club resisted the temptation to change the stadium name, but one of the streets that surrounds it now carries his name, Largo Paolo Rossi, complete with a newly commissioned statue outside the fabulous main gates of the Menti Stadio.

There was an iconic photo that became the image of Che Guevara, Maradona idolised him, as well as Fidel Castro during his lifetime. There were so many iconic photos of the wee man, there isn’t one that sticks out as his defining image. Paolo Rossi however has that defining image, and it is replicated on various doors around the Menti, and forms the cover photo for this article. It had to be used, it captures his Vicenza days and his iconography perfectly.

I was in Vicenza for a night game, and I am never sure of how floodlights can spoil night photography, so with my choice of hotel a nice comfortable walk from the stadium, I decided to go for an afternoon wander to see what murals and celebrations of Paolo I could find around the ground. He is well represented amongst many fabulous recollections of the club’s history, something that has become a visual feast along the outside wall behind the main stand. It is a brilliantly simple way of celebrating a club that has for moments in its past jousted with the best of them. I have written about Vicenza and its football team previously, if you scroll down my blog you’ll find at least three other stories dedicated to the il biancorossi (the red and whites). One of them is a recollection from my first ever game in Vicenza back in 1990, and if 1982 was the catalyst for me becoming calcio tifo (fan), that overfull May day clash at the Romeo Menti for desperate relegation battle with Prato, just ahead of the ’90 World Cup, left its imprint too, and perhaps explains my fondness for the stadium more than the team!

The Romeo Menti has changed significantly since 1990, with the two curvas being two tiered back then. During the upgrading into a more comfortable all seater ground, the club undertook major works to convert it into a one tier venue. It is another stadium with a real British feel, and the floodlights wouldn’t be out of place at an old Tannadice or Stoke City’s old Victoria ground, although I am sure that comparison has only come to me courtesy of the similar club strip!

Ahead of the kick off I had arranged to meet Richard, a chap from England who lives in Mantova, and his local knowledge and photos had helped fill a gap in my story and photographs for a piece I did on Lombardia during the pandemic for Football Weekends. We maybe only had a 40 minute banter, but it was great to put a face to the name as we shared a raft of football tales whilst quaffing a beer ahead of heading to opposite ends of the ground for that night’s entertainment.

The Lane Ultras are always a formidable support. The atmosphere they bring to the game is always something to behold, and unlike supporting a big team, putting on your scarf to cheer your team to this extent, in the third tier, it has to be celebrated. There is no glory hunting involved, just unbridled passion for your hometown team. The game didn’t disappoint those in the ground, nor a national TV audience on a Thursday night either. I had seen Mantova play well and win on Monday, but in the early exchanges here the atmosphere seemed to have forced them backwards, and yet from a corner, a more composed finish might have put Mantova in front. As it was, the head of steam Vicenza were building up finally brought a goal, and a few minutes later the pressure rendered a second. Vicenza trotted off the field to rapturous applause, but as often is the case, that pesky 2-0 lead can cause caution to creep into the halftime chat. Conversely the Mantovani lecture might have pulled a layer of paint off the Menti dressing room walls, but whatever was said it did the job. 

Mantova were a much improved side, and an overly cautious Vicenza just got away with one by the game’s conclusion. True, the penalty award was ridiculously soft, but at 2-1 it was game on, and the home side weren’t reading the warning signs. Another attempt to win a spot kick was perhaps more worthy, but it would have been a brave ref to have given a second penalty down at the boisterous home end. Mantova kept pressing, and if they had missed a relatively easy chance in the first half, the second miss was a shocker, whacked high over the bar when the net should have been bulging. Finally a Vicenza substitute woke from his slumber and went on a brilliant mazy run. He was probably right to have a go himself, whereas the sensible option was a square pass to a wide open colleague, but no one could criticise him for seeing the headlines and the clinching goal. Alas, his effort sailed wide, and at the final whistle the home team sheepishly took the applause of the home fans, but they knew they had been lucky. 

Vicenza had won all five home matches at the Menti including this success, but ironically as I write, they have now lost the next two, and it largely comes as no surprise as they probably didn’t deserve to beat Mantova. It was nice to see goals again here, because since 1990, the two previous visits had ended in goalless stalemates. Curiously, despite the fine history of Vicenza, three of the 4 games I have seen here have been in the third tier, with just one Serie B sighting against my boys Ancona.

In early January, I tacked on a Monday night game in Genova to the Football Weekends trip, partly to finally see Genoa, partly to clock up my 100th game in Italy, but it became more important to pay homage to the last of our heroes in this article, Gianluca Vialli. He had passed away quite recently, and I was aware that the Samp fans had set up a shrine at their end of the Luigi Ferraris. In 1990 I had seen him attempt to weave his magic, but a missed penalty versus Cesena resulted in a 0,0 draw, a precious point for the visitors. Vialli was a Cremona boy, where he started out before moving to Sampdoria, ahead of Juventus and Chelsea. He was held in highest regard wherever he went, but it was his partnership with Roberto Mancini at Samp that I remember most fondly. The season after I saw him live, he was integral in winning the Scudetto for the Genova side. An amazing achievement for a lesser light of the Italian game, but he helped them forge a great place in the modern day history of calcio.  There was one defining match in the San Siro where nearest rivals Inter threw everything at them, but Gianluca and Roberto counter attacked brilliantly and this win was pivotal to the title success.   

Genova is a beautiful city. You can almost feel the rich maritime history as you edge closer to the Port. I took time off my cultural day to head to the Luigi Ferraris to see the shrine. Posters, flags and loads of scarves were quite a sight, but searching through them I was disappointed Genoa, their local rivals, and fellow tenants of the stadium didn’t even have a scarf in tribute. Despite all the issues, even a certain Glasgow duo find it possible to mark the passing of a rival great with a scarf at the very least. Genoa were great friends of Ancona and I guess I am meant to side with them, but being a distant fan, it doesn’t work like that. I was mighty annoyed with them before a ball had been kicked that night! Unknown to me at the time, maybe I was having a sixth sense, as it turns out, days later I learned Genoa don’t want to be friends with us any more, only a scaled down appreciation?! Well that is absolutely fine by me, show respect to International heroes, no matter from what club is involved is my plea to Genoa fans!

That angst continued upon returning that evening to the Ferraris for my 100th game. Having watched games at both ends of the stadium, I went for a halfway Gradinata ticket for Genoa v Venezia. The view was perfect, but I have never felt so shoehorned into a seat (even Kilmarnock is more spacious), and the worst problem for anyone is the lack of legroom, and I am not even tall. Venezia played well, and despite their lowly league position, they had more intention and expansive ideas. The home support was edging towards meltdown and were continually voicing discontent. It was adding to my anti-Genoa feel, turning on your own charges is never a good look. Just when all seemed lost, of course they scored! I nearly laughed out loud in the lengthy wait to get out, when a chap who had practically been foaming at the mouth for long periods was all sunshine and joy at the end and his comment to his neighbour translates as ‘what a brilliant display’!! That thin line of support captured in a moment.

These were three memorable evenings, in three very different cities, where the action unfolded and entertained in all the games, but in my own quiet way I was just paying respect to three of the finest ever footballers I have ever seen play. They all belong in my pantheon of footballing greatness. I had chased three departed heroes and paid my respects, this article is my tribute to them.