The Italian Job
July 9th, 2011: 8:37 PM
A nation in shock. Nobody could believe it as I drove up to the hospital as the car radio blared out the big news. It was a bolt from the blue, how something like that could happen, a healthy and fit 54-year old man when he was just sitting at home, having a rare opportunity to relax with the high pressure job he has.
He has had a lot to deal with in the past few years, with the death of his wife from cancer and constantly being under the media's attention. I had known him for years. Since I was a young, big target man style striker at Juventus. I am now 46 years old, and have known him for the best part of 30 years. I rushed into the hospital. I enquired of the staff where he was. I found a private bedroom, with the door locked shut. His bodyguards asked to see my ID. Hurriedly I searched through my wallet and produced it. With a quick scan by this man I was allowed in to see him.
He was lying there, his heart rate constantly being checked by a female doctor, and if he was concious he would have liked the look of her, with her blonde hair and large hooters. Now however was not the time for admiring the doctor's cleavage. He was lying there, looking like he was in a peaceful deep sleep. These are the moments when football become unimportant and the main thing is that Cesare Prandelli recovers, and lives to fight another day.
One of my greatest friends, was Mr. Prandelli. I've known him for the best part of 30 years and grown with him. We both went into coaching after we retired, and it's fair to say he's better than me. I can remember the pride when he appointed me as the assistant manager of Italy while I was coaching at my boyhood club, Juventus. I just wanted him to pull through now, don't give up. You could tell the sadness and almost mourning of an entire nation. We've gone from the incompetence of Silvio Berlusconi (3 times!) to a well-liked, progressive and attacking Italian coach left fighting for his life.
July 9th, 2011: 8:37 PM
A nation in shock. Nobody could believe it as I drove up to the hospital as the car radio blared out the big news. It was a bolt from the blue, how something like that could happen, a healthy and fit 54-year old man when he was just sitting at home, having a rare opportunity to relax with the high pressure job he has.
He has had a lot to deal with in the past few years, with the death of his wife from cancer and constantly being under the media's attention. I had known him for years. Since I was a young, big target man style striker at Juventus. I am now 46 years old, and have known him for the best part of 30 years. I rushed into the hospital. I enquired of the staff where he was. I found a private bedroom, with the door locked shut. His bodyguards asked to see my ID. Hurriedly I searched through my wallet and produced it. With a quick scan by this man I was allowed in to see him.
He was lying there, his heart rate constantly being checked by a female doctor, and if he was concious he would have liked the look of her, with her blonde hair and large hooters. Now however was not the time for admiring the doctor's cleavage. He was lying there, looking like he was in a peaceful deep sleep. These are the moments when football become unimportant and the main thing is that Cesare Prandelli recovers, and lives to fight another day.
One of my greatest friends, was Mr. Prandelli. I've known him for the best part of 30 years and grown with him. We both went into coaching after we retired, and it's fair to say he's better than me. I can remember the pride when he appointed me as the assistant manager of Italy while I was coaching at my boyhood club, Juventus. I just wanted him to pull through now, don't give up. You could tell the sadness and almost mourning of an entire nation. We've gone from the incompetence of Silvio Berlusconi (3 times!) to a well-liked, progressive and attacking Italian coach left fighting for his life.
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