“That lad must have been born offside.” If you don’t know who said this quote then you probably shouldn’t continue reading. Because whenever Inzaghi’s name pops up, English pundits or commentators never fail to remind us of what they think is an incredibly witty saying. Or at least they used to. In the past, Inzaghi was viewed as the stereotype Italian footballer. Diver, cheater, cunning, and obviously just lucky to score simple tap ins. Now Inzaghi is known and respected by almost everyone. Acknowledged as one of the best goalscorers in history, a master of positioning, a symbol of passion, and an ageless football legend that has won – and scored – (in) every tournament in the game.
The relationship between the normal football lover and Inzaghi was always one of jealousy and despise. He seemed untalented. A good goalscorer, but apparently anyone could have scored those easy goals, especially if he had Zidane and Del Piero or Rui Costa and Kaka supplying him. Plus his over-the-top goal celebrations and falling at the slightest contact didn’t help warm him up to the neutrals. He was always misunderstood. Inzaghi was first introduced to the English – and international – scene with Juventus in the Champions League. Back then when La Vecchia Signora had the likes of Del Piero, Zidane, and Davids on their team-sheet. Their match-ups vs Man United were classic Champions League encounters which led the two teams to become protagonists in many Pepsi adverts in the late 90s and early noughties. When United won the treble in 1999, they had to get past a Juventus side that had went 2-0 up with two Pippo Inzaghi goals. Anyway, it’s sort of ironic that to the cynics Inzaghi represents luck in every possible way, while he’s been one of the most unlucky professionals of the past generation. Injuries and unfortunate selections by coaches almost always seemed to get in his way, but over the years we have learned to never write off Inzaghi. Bury Pippo and he comes back stronger.
JUVENTUS’ REJECTION, THEN REDEMPTION
Milan’s number 9 first burst onto the scene with Atalanta in 1997 when he scored 24 goals in Serie A to win the Capocannoniere award. This earned him a move to Juventus which, theoretically, could have put him as Italy’s number one striker. Instead, despite winning a Scudetto and reaching a Champions League final, due to his not-so-perfect relationship with Del Piero, and the emergence of Trezeguet, Pippo’s time was up at Juventus. Maybe his time was up as well at the top. Or at least the cynics who Pippo loves to prove wrong thought so. A transfer to Milan put him alongside Rui Costa, Alessandro Nesta, Andrea Pirlo, and Clarence Seedorf as the new arrivals that would form the core of a successful and extraordinary Milan side for years to come. Carlo Ancelotti, another Juventus reject, took Milan to the Champions League final in 2003 versus Juventus, only two seasons after he and Pippo swapped Turin for Milan. Buffon denied Inzaghi the winner in the final, but Milan went home with the cup and Pippo had gained his redemption over his ex-team. As for Buffon, Pippo had already scored THAT goal against him earlier in the season.
LA NAZIONALE’S LEAST FAVORITE NUMBER 9
Throughout Inzaghi’s international career, Italy almost always used a strike pairing of a classic center forward, and a trequartista. Del Piero and Totti might have been poster boys for Italy’s fading generation, but it was the Vieri’s and Toni’s that scored the goals. Pippo made his Azzurri debut in 1997 but failed to crack into the starting 11 in France 98 in favor of his best buddy, Christian Vieri. In World Cup 2002, which was an unfortunate tournament for Italy and Inzaghi, not only did Vieri deny him a starting spot once again, but the linesman also unfairly denied him his first World Cup goal. In Euro 2000, one would think Inzaghi would’ve received the starting nod since Vieri was out injured, but instead Zoff opted for a weird rotation system between him, Delvecchio, and Montella. Despite scoring vs Turkey and Romania, and starting the semi final vs the Dutch, Pippo didn’t get a single minute in the heartbreaking final. He missed out on what was most probably his finest and last shot to become Italy’s number one center forward in a major tournament in Euro 2004, due to a nasty knee injury which came after a lethal qualifying campaign with Italy and 12 Champions League goals that lead Milan to Champions League glory. On paper his international career seemed over, but one should never write off Inzaghi. An extraordinary comeback from injury earned him a spot in Italy’s World Cup winning squad, and his first and only World Cup goal. Though it was Toni who edged him this time, Pippo’s time at the top wasn’t over yet. In fact, it was yet to come.
INJURY HEARTBREAK, COMEBACK WITH A BANG
Pippo has never been lucky with injuries. In fact, while he was at his prolific best, in 2003, injury was just about to knock on his door. He was just off a Balon d’Or worthy season with 30 goals, including 12 in the Champions League winning campaign. And was finally Italy’s leading man in the Euro 2004 qualifications, in which he also finished as top scorer for the Azzurri. His injury woes started in December 2003, and he continued to struggle with them, failing to reach a consistent run of games until the 2005/2006 season. Many had doubts about Pippo’s ability to come back, as he had almost missed an entire year and a half while also passing his 30th birthday, but Milan stood by him and offered him a contract extension in November 2004, which was a vote of confidence that Pippo repaid well. He returned stronger than ever in late October 2005, and scored the winner on his return vs Palermo in the 78th minute. SuperPippo was immediately back in business. He continued the season in an outstanding fashion, scoring 17 goals in total including last minute winners vs Lecce and Lyon, as well as another goal vs Lyon and a brace vs Pippo’s personal favorites, Bayern. He capped off the campaign by earning a spot in Italy’s 23-man squad for the World Cup in Germany, and returned home with a gold medal.
After winning the World Cup in 2006, Inzaghi returned to a Milan in crisis. Strike partner and talisman Shevchenko was gone, so was the classiest number 10 – Rui Costa, and Calciopoli had left the club’s reputation and finances severely damaged. Milan endured a difficult campaign in the league, but in the Champions League it was business as usual. It might have been Kaka who took the team through the group stages, and past Celtic, then followed by United, and undoubtedly Milan wouldn’t have reached the final if not for Seedorf’s heroics against Bayern, or Gattuso bossing United’s midfield, or Nesta leading the defense into safety, but the final was all Pippo. His moment at the top had finally arrived. Two years earlier, Milan had thrown away the Champions League to Liverpool on the cursed night, with Pippo watching from the stands. But now it was time for redemption. Milan defeated Liverpool, and got their revenge as well as the club’s 7th Champions League, while Pippo Inzaghi won over the world and booked his place in the history books with the all time greats. At the age of 33, Filippo Inzaghi had reached the most important moment of his career. That was the day he earned the respect of all the neutrals, because the Milanisti already idolized him long before.
THE PERFECT SEND OFF – ONE LAST HURRAH AT THE TOP
His legacy continued with vital goals helping Milan win the UEFA Super Cup and the FIFA Club World Cup, thus ensuring Milan and himself continued to rule the world. He continued to break goal records, passing the 300-goal mark in his career, and finishing his European adventure with 70 goals, the second best of all time. As the seasons passed by, age started to take its toll and his role started to diminish. Nevertheless, he remained clinical as ever and proved it on what was his twilight at the top stage. When Jose Mourinho was coaching Inter in 2009, he had remarked that Pippo was the striker he was most afraid of in the Milan camp. That day Pippo came off the bench to score a wonderful equalizer. Only problem is that it was canceled for offside. Which reminds me, did you know that Ferguson once quipped that “Pippo was born offside”? Of course you did, but apparently English pundits seem to think that this is brand new information. Anyway, in 2010, Mr. Mourinho was then coaching Real Madrid who were about to face AC Milan in the Champions League. Once again he mentioned that Inzaghi was Milan’s best striker and the one most likely to cause Real’s defense trouble. The press thought he was joking around, but Pippo, aged 37, came on when Milan was 1-0 down at San Siro to score twice in a magical night that demonstrated once again what man can achieve out of pure passion and determination.
As he prepares to leave the pitch, one can’t help but stand in awe and be immensely proud of what Filippo Inzaghi managed to achieve over the course of his career. No, I’m not talking about accolades though he has them in abundance (A World Cup, 2 Champions Leagues, and 3 Scudetti are amongst the numerous trophies he won) nor about his goal records (70 in Europe, 25 for the national team, 126 with Milan, 197 in Serie A including 10 hat-tricks, 313 overall). What Pippo has achieved far exceeds all that. Boasting a technique amongst the worst in the history of professional footballers, Inzaghi based his game purely on passion and intelligence. Two elements that didn’t let him down. He couldn’t dribble, nor make a simple long pass, but desire, determination, and extremely intelligent movement were his keys to scoring. And boy did he score. There’s a reason Pippo was constantly offside Sir Alex, it’s because he times his runs off the last defender’s shoulder. He gets called offside many times each game, but the one time he’s through cleanly, it’s a guaranteed goal. He scored with every part of his body: right leg, left leg, headers, shoulders, stomach, you name it. He scored lucky goals, freak goals, easy goals, offside goals, and whatnot. But he also scored Champions League winning goals, derby goals, last minute winners, and tons of goals that will forever be carved in the memories of fans. Pippo Inzaghi may have been born offside, but he was born to score.
He burst into fame as a loathed cheating ‘lucky’ goalscorer, but bows out as a legend of the game, an idol amongst Milan fans, and one of the best Italian footballers in history. He can leave without any regrets, and with his head held high. He played for the fans, and never ever let them down. There’s a reason why such a technically limited footballer is idolized by millions of fans and respected by everyone else, it’s his passion. His desire. His dedication and hard work. Pippo lived to score and you could see in his celebrations how much he enjoyed putting the ball in the net by any means possible. Football will never forget Pippo Inzaghi. Goodbye you champion, you taught me how to live life.
9 years ago
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He ran to referees to complain like a b****, but they told him to go f*** himself.
Then he cried to Mexes like a b****, but he told him to STFU.
Then he cried to Bonera like a b****, but he told him to STFU.
Rumours say even Tassotti had to have a word with this soft-a** snitchb****.
Then he went on to the media to cry like a b**** and it is safe to think he also went to a psychiatrist, who told him to STFU. Now Giorgio is probably at his mom’s place complaining like a b****, but not even the greatest mother-love can stand this sort of b****ing from a grown man and he might be disowned from his family. Only Juventus is retarded enough to act like he’s an OK dude.
Maldini would tell with elegance:
Zlatan is more straight-up:
Shoutout to snitchb**** II – Morgan De Sanctis.
“Referee, referee. Did you see? Did you see? I was such a great hall-monitor North-Korea invited me to be their honorary citizen.”
Move 67 from the Snitchbook: fall-on-your-knees-for-the-injustice-of-the-world.
This is Shevchenko for me. The defining moment, the most heavily etched memory of him in my head. Whenever he’s mentioned, I recall this moment. Maybe because I was doing the same at the time, and what a time it was.
I turned fourteen that day, 27th of May 2003. Relatives came to visit during the day and the night was spent out with friends. I had every reason to be excited at the time. First of all, it was my birthday, turning 14, meaning that from September I’d be in High School, all grown up. Second, the next morning, I’d set off to a lake resort with my entire school for a three day stay. You know what that means – experimenting with alcohol and girls. Things would be good. But the entire day, the 27th, one thing was making me more excited than anything. The Champions League Final against Juventus was tomorrow. My birthday wishes were for us to win Big Ears, bugger me and my hormones.
When the day came, we went by bus, first to a mountain town on the way to the lake. I was not feeling well. The trip was not long, but with the final on my mind and the atmosphere around me got the best of me. The cheap vodka I had while in town didn’t help either. By the time we got to the lake and got settled in the hotel, I was feeling seriously ill. Barely able to stay conscious. God knows I needed sleep, but I was afraid I’d miss the match so I rolled around in bed while my friends drank and smoked in my room. I tried too but both the cigarette and the drink made me want to vomit. Decided to cut the drink and kept smoking to a minimum.
As the game started, I was more than dizzy. Tired and ill, I must admit, I followed the game like it was a dream. To be honest though, the situation was surreal. Me, face a mixture of red and yellow, smoking a cigarette while laying in bed, wearing my ’94 Milan shirt and my scarf around my neck surrounded by a bit drunk teenage boys and girls. Yeah, the room I was in (4 kids shared the same room) was the official football room with more than 20 people in it at all times. Almost all of them cheering for Milan, mostly because of me. Especially liked the fact that the girls decided Milan had the better looking players and made their “loyalties” known.
During extra time, I began to regain consciousness. At the penalties, I was standing, hugging whoever was next to me, looking excited. However, I was scared shitless. If Milan lost, my “life” was ruined. It would all go horribly horribly wrong, when it could have gone so good. Here I was, sick, most probably unable to enjoy myself like I had planned, a penalty shootout loss away from total collapse.
When Sheva took the ball to the spot to shoot, I couldn’t bear to watch. I covered my eyes with my hands, but peeking. My heart was racing so fast. I knew it wasn’t over if he missed, but it would have killed me if it went on. His panic look mirrored mine. He shot the ball, and it went in. Sheva went mad with joy, and so did I. I don’t know where that strength came from me, since I was weak as a baby a few moments ago, but when I saw him run, I started running. I jumped from the bed amidst all the congratulatory hugs, and dashed out of the room, running through the hallways, screaming with joy. It seemed like a lifetime, while it was probably closer to 5 minutes of running. Upon which I promptly collapsed and lost consciousness.
When I woke up, a teacher was with me, and some of my friends. She said I needed to be taken to a doctor immediately. Personally, I couldn’t care less. We were Champions of Europe. Me, Shevchenko and Milan. Didn’t bother arguing with her, she took me with a car to a local hospital as an emergency. A friend and the girl I liked came with us too. Turned out I had a hell of a fever, with a body temperature of 40.2 Celsius. I was dehydrated and was put on a course of fluids and injections. Stayed the night there. Again, couldn’t care less.
Champions of Europe. Me, Shevchenko and Milan.
This post was written by Marcus. Give us your feelings and thoughts of that night? Here are Sheva’s own:
I have a confession to make: I can not watch Roma. For some reason, I just can’t stand them. Never. Their glorified captain, who admittedly, on his day, is one of the most joyful players to watch. Their despicable fan base. Their equally pathetic city rivals. There’s nothing to like about Roma. Not even their kit. That’s why it baffles me when people praise them, for anything at all. I have never enjoyed watching Roma in my life. Even when Spalleti was in charge, transforming Totti from one of the best trequartisti to a false 9 and eventually a Golden Boot winner, and leading them to play highly entertaining football in the eyes of some, I was not a fan.
Phew, feels good to get that off my chest. Now with that on the table, it’s easy to conclude that initially I had no time for Aquilani. For me he was simply the 3rd in line after Totti and De Rossi. Oh great, another passionate Roman who intended to remain a one club man. Whether he was as good as he was hyped up to be didn’t concern me, as I thought the most I’d probably see of him would be our two games vs Roma and perhaps the derby della capitale if I was in the mood to watch 22 angry men fight or a big Champions League game if I fancied a 7-1. So on average, no more than five games a season. Except if he did crack into the Nazionale, which is of course no easy task unless you’re a Juventus player. Just ask Simone Pepe.
Anyway, things change and thankfully Aquilani changed clubs so I could get to form an opinion on him. That opinion is that the man can play. Exquisite technique, great passing, and a rare intelligence are traits that led Aquilani to become one of my favorite players. Even long before he was linked with a transfer to Milan. My first real introduction to Aquilani came in Euro 2008. Yes, you guessed it, the Spain game. Though it would be 3 years until I got to watch the game. So, technically my story with Albertino dates back to the summer of 2009. I was used to the fuss of every transfer window, many baseless rumors emerge and fade as quick as Roberto Baggio’s goal celebrations, and the norm was that Aquilani would be linked with every club possible, only for the player and his club to confirm their relationship is unbreakable. Though that time things ended quite differently. Alonso – a great, great player and a fantastic human being; one that oozes class on the pitch and off it, left Liverpool and ironically Aquilani was signed to replace him. I say ironically because Xabi Alonso is a defensive midfielder while Alberto Aquilani is an offensive one. Though what matters the most is that by changing clubs, there was a slight chance I’d get to watch him more regularly and eventually be obsessed with him. He should be thankful enough for that.
That chance arrived a year later with Juventus. A late summer swoop on loan to La Vecchia Signora meant Aquilani was back to Serie A, and of course automatically back to La Nazionale through the magical gate of Juve. My first attraction towards Aquilani was that he chose 14 as his shirt number, which also happens to be my favorite number. But then I realized he can also play a bit too. That boy, Aquilani, got some touch on him! Over the course of the season, I found myself watching Juve a lot more than I’m used to, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary. The reason was precisely Aquilani. He had swept me off my feet. His touch on the ball is such a treat to the eye, and I’m pretty sure the ball enjoys the company of Aquilani’s feet, because they treat it so nicely. With class touch and gifted technique, Aquilani’s ball control is reminiscent of an artist painting with his legs. Because that’s essentially what he is, an artist, a beautiful genius who is capable of analyzing space and imagining passes ahead that no one would imagine were possible.
There’s plenty to like about Aquilani apart from his football too. For starters, I love his name. Aquilani. Derived from Aqua, water. And he’s got a first name to match it as well: Alberto. Beautiful, so Italian. His name is just as good on the eyes as it is on the ears. Just reminds me of water and the color blue, which are two things I love a lot. Another obvious trait is his likable face, a face of a guy one would love to hang around with. Next up would be his pretty Michela. A gal we’d surely all love to hang around with as well! But see, that’s the beauty of Aquilani, he reflects Italy in every way possible. The son of Rome, the capital of Italy, and hometown to many famous artists and architects. Il Principino, the little prince, resembles just that. He is like a painting by Da Vinci or a music piece by Mozart, enjoyable at all times. His football is so poetic that sometimes I think he belongs in a museum, to be admired in the way he was meant to be.
So often I found myself last season wondering if one day Aquilani would get to play for Milan. While watching a Juventus game, or reading new rumors linking Pirlo to Juventus, my mind would wander into a mini-daydream with Alberto donning a Rossonero jersey and composing a beautiful attack in Milan’s orchestra. It seemed too far of a dream, but sometimes I got myself too excited at the prospect of that happening. I once read a comment that Aquilani is the heir to Rui Costa. That’s brilliantly spot on. And that is why, deep down, I believed that one day Aquilani would in fact become a Milan player. That day had to arrive. Aquilani was simply born to play for Milan. I couldn’t think of a more perfect couple.
Despite that, I have no interest in the transfer market. Don’t get me wrong, discussing football is probably one of my favorite activities. I could spend days discussing tactics or different players, and recalling previous matches or random events from them is a hobby of mine. But I fail to see what’s exciting in the transfer market. Thanks to the internet and the increasing amount of rubbish rumors, as well as the emergence of games where “You could be the manager!”, we have a growing population of aspiring managers. On the computer. Notice I said managers, as apparently being a coach is no fun. It’s not enough to be responsible for the line-up, training, tactics, and team-talks. No transfer, no fun. I guess all coaches should head to England then. Oh well. It truly baffles me. Anyway, back to the original point. Links eventually emerged and faded during the summer, but I kept my hopes up of my dream coming true. Pirlo joining Juve and Aquilani joining Milan through Liverpool were two things I wished for and predicted as early as last February. That’s not to say there were no obstacles. The Hamsik and Montolivo deals had to fall through as well as Aquilani’s loan to Fiorentina to prompt Galliani to sign up my favorite Roman. I would be lying to say I didn’t secretly hope for the situation to pan out the way it did. During the final week of the market, when it became clear that Aquilani has become the club’s priority, I almost had a heart-attack. A weird combination of excitement, adrenaline, high pressure, disbelief, fear of the transfer collapsing, impatience for the official announcement, and sleepless nights awaiting Alberto to put on a Milan jersey were unforgettable moments for me personally. The moment the transfer became official presented me with such a great feeling. A feeling of fulfillment. To see him wear our beloved jersey finally and enter the pitch as a Milan player was also a new high, I just felt such awe and couldn’t take my eyes off that genius with the swift touch on the ball. We’ve already witnessed his first glorious assist, yet I don’t know how I will celebrate his first goal. Probably by a mix of Inzaghi’s most passionate celebration with Tardelli’s after scoring in the World Cup final in addition to Grosso’s vs Germany. Yes, I plan on waking up the whole neighborhood. Let’s hope that moment arrives soon enough as I frankly can’t wait.
In the end, Mr. X or no Mr. X, the most important thing is that Aquilani is here. There was not one player on earth that I’d have preferred to join Milan this summer more than Alberto, and for that I’m grateful. Though I might not forgive him for picking 18 as his shirt number when 14 was wide open. And it was a good luck charm for him in Juve and La Nazionale as well. But, what can one do? Celebrate I guess. I’ve been waiting and dreaming of this moment far too long to let a shirt number bother me too much. Aquilani is an AC Milan player? I guess life is just that good. Thanks to everyone who made it happen, and more importantly, Benvenuto Alberto.keep looking »