On the one hand there is the scion of a Jewish family of middle-class New York, which unravels his identity on the sidewalks and in attics inspired by the city, dedicated to every sexual excess, the transvestism, intellectuals seduced by satyrs, fiercely clinging to a and distorted electric guitar that scratches on the walls of the violin. Nobody would have predicted that similar in age to the first Italian national team coach in English football, a man of the regime, monogamous and faithful, of which the only conceivable excess is the passion for contemporary art.
On the one hand there is the guy in San Canzian d'Isonzo, chin squared and pure temperament, already adult in chasing the ball on the lawns of Friuli. One senses that for him there is no education possible outside the framework, and there is a line which, if exceeded, can get their hands on the neck of a man. No one would face the fate of future exchange traits in a hoarse pop music legend, declaimer EA Poe, himself survived and its myths.
Fabio Capello is the most sympathetic of the unpleasant. There is no-frills in its linearity the legacy of a specific provision to life, which makes it quite immaterial banner under which to do the job in which he excels. The mercenary is, in fact, the more noble and more cares. To do the best he has only that for which you paid. He knows he could go at any time by the person who put it in the best conditions to work. The game is clear, every romance is a superstructure.
I remember once I bought a ticket from a scalper four times its price: the entire stadium, and stadium, hated him, but he was about to win his second Liga, with the Its not nice game, with its quid pro quo, with its coldness merchant. Paraphrasing a English writer, one must always be wary of coaches who do not ask for money for the win, because you never know what might ask in return.
Even if he went to coach Juventus, as usual, was the architect of the only significant event of the Italian football over the last twenty years, winning the league with Roma (like the victory at Lazio last year, although I am a staunch supporter of the idea that Lazio, Juventus and Inter have not, in theory, no reason to exist). In 1973, when Lou Reed publishes one of his masterpieces, Berlin, Capello marks the decisive goal in the historic victory for Italy at Wembley . These are the gems of a solid career as his temper, reassuring as fertile boredom where I dip into a discussion with him and his friend Edy Reja, how to not throw the bread on the time of sowing and the harvest, on time and nothing else, it's just time spent, never to come.
During the conversation, with the awe that I would have to discuss with General fought a thousand wars soldier, ask him if he knows Lou Reed, the man whose time has the same design painted on her face. What they share two such different lives, to bring the same melancholy.
Arturo
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