By Carlo Ancelotti, Alessandro Alciato
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Extra resources for Carlo Ancelotti: The Beautiful Games of an Ordinary Genius: The Life, Games, and Miracles of an Ordinary Genius
It feels odd—unlike me. The coach of the A. C. Milan team on an undercover mission. My heartbeat is normal; that’s probably because my mind is busy. Working, thinking. And even, every so often, playing. Here I am, 007 on a top-secret mission for myself. Sitting behind a driver with the face of an assassin. Perhaps it all makes sense, all things considered, because in a way it’s my life that’s at stake. My future. It’s as if I’m riding in a time machine, not a taxi cab: from Milanello to Stamford Bridge, from yesterday to today, from one (red and black) devil to another, one I don’t yet know.
Abramovich and me, Act II. This has to remain a secret, no one can know about it. That’s one thing everyone agrees on. I’m wearing sunglasses, I scan the street with the expression of a well-trained secret agent: check, it’s all clear, no photographers loitering outside the hotel lobby. Just a few blocks from here, yesterday, they caught Massimo Moratti having lunch with José Mourinho—the chairman and the future coach of Inter. I can’t let that happen to me. Nope, the coast is clear, no one looks suspicious, I can go in.
You have to explain it to all the others, one by one, and that was a task that took it out of me; first you tell the Italians, in Italian, then you tell the Brazilians, in pseudo-Italian, and then you tell Beckham, with grunts and gestures. The plot is always the same. I’m the narrator of a story, and the players all take roles. These roles include the king, the queen, the coachman, the assistant coachman, the royal guards, the brigands, and, of course, the brigand chief. After dinner, Gattuso comes over to where I’m sitting and says, “Come on, coach, let’s play Brigand Chief.