Spalletti's last night, coaches pass but Italian football goes downhill

In addition to the defeat with Norway, another bitter perception was also fatal: that in 12 months, from the collapse with Switzerland to the European Championship, little or nothing has changed. A mediocre balance of 4 wins, 3 defeats and 2 draws. With only one real surge: the 3-1 in the Nations League in Paris. For the rest, we have been dragging our feet, with many goals conceded (16) and the impression of always being in trouble even against less titled teams that once, like Norway itself, we would have beaten with vehement goleades. For the sake of honesty, we should also remember the 4-1 against Israel and the 2-2 with Belgium, despite Pellegrini's expulsion. Brief flashes of light only to return to darkness. In the dark and stormy night of Oslo.

A disaster, in short. Hoping that tonight we will get away with Moldovia (even if they are 158th in the ranking, it is not so obvious), and that Spalletti will be replaced by a 'used sure thing' like Claudio Ranieri, it is fair to say that all this amazement at the draw against Norway is really out of place. Just as these outraged tones about the vilified jersey or the scant attachment shown by our Azzurri are also hypocritical.

But what are we surprised about? Have we not seen how Acerbi, not exactly a defender who will remain in the gallery of the unforgettable, refused the call-up with a text message? And did we not see in what physical and mental condition all the others arrived? Half ready for the holidays, the other for the infirmary. Drained by a crazy calendar that multiplies commitments to multiply the revenue of a football that devours itself to the point of exhaustion.

Now: surely Spalletti will have botched something. Something must have got out of hand. With his always somewhat convoluted eloquence that turns simple things into nebulae. And even certain tactical choices that are difficult to assimilate quickly could have been avoided. But Spalletti was not on the pitch against Norway. But did we see Barella and company?

They didn't stand, they didn't get a dribble right, they never dared cross the halfway line. If Guardiola or Ancelotti had been on the bench, would anything have changed? This is our football, exhausted by a neurotic season and a league where Italian players are almost an exception.

Apart from Inter, in the other top teams you have to look for them with the lantern. Especially in key roles. Look at Milan, where only Gabbia is left to speak Italian. The national team also suffers in the end. If those three four who make the difference miss out through injury, the others are second-rate players, unaccustomed to international comparisons. We are also very cocky. And we forget that we had Rovella and Udogi on the pitch, they instead had that satanic Haland and that drunken talent of Nusa, a Bundesliga jewel.

Fabio Capello also says it, we need to change the mentality of the nurseries, make our talents play more, force a minimum threshold of Italians in the starting eleven in all matches. But these are useless sermons. If Capello had been the coach, sooner or later he would have ended up like Spalletti.

As always, we are very theatrical. Useless to tear our clothes off, to cry scandal for our teenagers orphaned by the World Cup summers. Italy's problem is that we overestimate ourselves. We keep referring to a glorious past - the magic nights, Tardelli's screams, Totò Schillaci's spirited eyes - long gone. The last real triumph, apart from the improbable European Championship in London, dates back to Berlin 2006 with Lippi. And then? How many ct's have been skipped along the way? Shall we talk about Prandelli resigning after the flop in Brazil in 2014? And Giampiero Ventura's ouster in 2017 to general mockery for the first missed World Cup?

And the embarrassing dance with Mancini himself, guilty of having blown the World Cup in 2022 for the second consecutive time because of that dreadful play-off with Macedonia? And now it's Spalletti's turn, albeit welcomed as the man of providence, come to the rescue of the country after his predecessor's unexciting flight to Arabia.

The architect of Napoli's Scudetto, Luciano seemed the right man in the right place. A winner, a coach who had travelled the world and done well even in a difficult square like Rome. After not even a year, he came out of this adventure in pieces, kicked out with tears in his eyes by a president, Gabriele Gravina, who was very clever at avoiding obstacles and resignations, despite a World Cup lost along the way and a last European Championship as a museum of mistakes.

Coaches pass away and Gravina remains, even with the growth of Italian football's indebtedness and the decreasing respect of clubs towards the national team, considered a residual Cinderella who has to take what the rich and indebted convent of the league hands her.

If we really want to start again, we must do so without telling ourselves any more lies, aware of our current limitations. If instead, to console ourselves, we continue to tell ourselves how good we were, we risk crashing again.