The night was heavy with despair at San Siro. Italy pressed. They pushed. Yet, they failed to breach the Swedish defence. As the final whistle echoed, Gian Piero Ventura looked shattered on the sidelines. Daniele De Rossi seethed with anger, and the iconic Gianluigi Buffon, in a moment of profound heartbreak, shed tears that resonated with millions of Azzurri fans around the globe. For a nation steeped in footballing tradition, the unthinkable had occurred—Italy would not grace the World Cup stage in 2018.
This was a
cataclysmic moment in Italian football, a cruel déjà vu of 1958 when Northern
Ireland shut the door on Italy’s World Cup ambitions. That absence six decades
ago was an anomaly; since then, Italy had been a permanent fixture, lifting the
trophy twice and finishing as runners-up twice. Yet here we were, on the cusp
of modern football history, with Italy inexplicably sidelined from the greatest
show on Earth.
A team of
such illustrious pedigree—renowned for its defensive mastery, tactical
ingenuity, and thrilling counterattacks—was now reduced to spectators. How
could this have happened?
An Azzurri Supporter’s Lament
For me, an
admirer of Italian football since my school days, the pain was personal. Serie
A in its heyday captivated me, and Italia '90 solidified my allegiance to the
Azzurri alongside Brazil and Germany. Over the decades, Italy’s defenders,
goalkeepers, and clutch strikers brought unmatched joy to the beautiful game.
But last night, Sweden dealt a fatal blow to those cherished memories.
A Tactical Disaster
Italy’s
failure can largely be laid at the feet of Gian Piero Ventura. When Antonio
Conte left the national team, he handed over a squad transformed into a
cohesive and promising unit. Under Ventura, that transformation unravelled. The
brilliance faded, leaving behind a shadow of the team that once struck fear
into opponents.
Ventura’s
reign was reminiscent of Carlos Dunga’s ill-fated second tenure with Brazil—a
coach whose decisions were dictated by personal preferences rather than
tactical acumen. Much like Dunga, Ventura favoured ageing players over dynamic
talents. Brazil’s footballing hierarchy realized their mistake in time; Italy,
unfortunately, did not.
The
decisions were baffling. Lorenzo Insigne, arguably Italy’s most creative and
clinical forward, was inexplicably confined to the bench. Ciro Immobile, a
striker whose golden touch seemed to have deserted him, was entrusted with
leading the attack. Meanwhile, talents like Mario Balotelli—a natural number
nine—and Stephan El Shaarawy—perfect for exploiting Sweden’s defensive
flanks—were overlooked. Instead, Matteo Darmian, more suited to defensive
roles, was thrust into attacking duties.
A Tactical Void
Italy’s
midfield, led by Jorginho and Antonio Candreva, showed flashes of cohesion.
They spread the play, moved with pace, and created opportunities. Yet the
absence of a genuine finisher rendered their efforts futile. The lack of
coordination in the final third pointed squarely to Ventura’s inability to
devise a coherent attacking strategy.
Ventura’s
failure wasn’t limited to the tactical realm. His pedigree—marked by a modest
record in Serie C—was ill-suited for a team of Italy’s stature. The signs of
decline were evident long before that fateful night in Milan. Struggling
against Macedonia in qualifiers should have set alarm bells ringing. But the
Italian football federation’s inertia allowed mediocrity to fester.
A
Painful Epilogue
The fallout
from Ventura’s tenure extends beyond the 2018 World Cup. Italy’s absence was
not just a national tragedy but a global loss for football. For fans who
cherish the game beyond the polarizing realms of Lionel Messi, Cristiano
Ronaldo, and club allegiances, Italy’s brand of football was a cultural and
emotional cornerstone.
This debacle serves as a cautionary tale. In football, history and tradition mean little without vision and decisive action. The Azzurri’s failure is a stark reminder that complacency and mismanagement can erode even the most storied legacies. For now, we mourn not just Italy’s absence but also the dimming of a tradition that has illuminated football for generations
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