In the annals of Italian football, few names evoke as much fervent debate as Luciano Moggi. Years after his banishment from the game following the infamous Calciopoli scandal, the former Juventus general manager remains a figure of profound public interest. He’s not just a footnote in history; he’s an active commentator, still very much at the heart of the narrative, albeit from the sidelines. The man, it seems, has not left the ring; he merely changed his corner.
The Enduring Defiance: No Pardon Needed
Moggi’s public appearances are often punctuated by requests for selfies, a curious testament to an enduring, if controversial, popularity. He asserts, with a conviction that suggests no small measure of irony, that he won`t be seeking any “grace” or pardon. “Why would I ask for a pardon?” he reportedly questioned.
“Only someone who has received a life sentence asks for that. I haven`t killed anyone, and people know it.”
This statement encapsulates his unapologetic stance, highlighting a belief that while he has paid a price, it was not for an unforgivable sin, and certainly not one that warrants a plea for clemency. It`s a pragmatic viewpoint, perhaps, for someone who insists the public, particularly in places like Turin, still understands his position.
Calciopoli Re-examined: Blame and Counter-Blame
The specter of Calciopoli, the 2006 scandal that rocked Italian football, continues to cast a long shadow. Moggi, predictably, offers his own interpretation, often at odds with official narratives. He vehemently refutes former FIGC president Franco Carraro`s recent suggestion that the scandal originated from Carraro`s desire to replace senior referee designators with Pierluigi Collina, which allegedly prompted those designators to seek Moggi`s support. Moggi dismisses this as a “bufala”—a hoax, plain and simple.
Instead, Moggi spins a familiar, intricate web of counter-accusations. He claims that in 2004, Carraro, a former AC Milan president, actively sought to favor the Rossoneri in the Scudetto race against Juventus. Moggi cites a purported phone call where Carraro allegedly instructed a referee designator, “Please tell him not to help Juventus,” concerning a match between Inter and Juventus. The implication, according to Moggi, was not to aid Inter but to indirectly benefit Milan should Juventus stumble. It’s a narrative that suggests a systemic bias, shifting the focus from his own proven misconduct to the alleged machinations of others.
He further challenges Carraro’s assertion that two Scudetti from that era should remain unassigned, suggesting that such a stance is hypocritical given Carraro’s own admitted past attempts to help teams avoid relegation. For Moggi, these are not isolated incidents but parts of a larger, convoluted picture where guilt, it seems, was selectively assigned. He even recalls an incident prior to a pivotal Milan-Juventus match in 2005, alleging that AC Milan’s referee liaison influenced a designator regarding an appeal for Juventus`s Zlatan Ibrahimović, effectively ensuring “Juve will find the door closed.” These are the granular details that fuel the ongoing debates among fans and pundits, highlighting how deeply personal and political the sport can become.
The Agnelli Legacy and the Genesis of Decline
Beyond the immediate drama of accusations, Moggi reflects on a deeper turning point for Juventus. He points to the passing of Umberto Agnelli in 2004 as a pivotal moment, a “finis” for their era. Moggi recounts:
“When we signed Capello, I told Giraudo to call Umberto. He was gone. Antonio [Giraudo] then turned to me and said, `For us, it`s over.` I understood the meaning of those words two years later.”
This poignant recollection subtly links Agnelli`s absence to the subsequent unraveling of the club`s dominance, hinting at a protective shield that was lost, leaving them vulnerable to the storm that followed.
A Grandfather`s Guide to the Game
Today, Moggi presents himself as a doting grandfather, often sought out by his grandchildren`s university friends curious to meet the legendary figure. His days are largely spent offering unsolicited, yet presumably well-received, advice on players to “everyone,” including those currently “more in vogue” in football management. He admits to past arrogance, acknowledging that “a certain way of being, especially in a reality like Turin, doesn`t pay.” He confesses to having “always loved to joke or provoke,” a trait that perhaps contributed to his notoriety as much as his successes.
His career is a tapestry of vivid anecdotes: signing Gianfranco Zola for Napoli as Maradona`s understudy—a move doubted by many but vindicated by Zola’s sheer talent and personality, even causing Maradona’s ire. Or the time he disciplined Maradona himself in Moscow, making him sit on the bench in the snow for tardiness, to ensure no player felt above the rules. Then there`s the tale of David Trezeguet, caught at a discotheque, who subsequently learned the hard way that Moggi`s rules applied to all, never setting foot in the establishment again. These stories, often delivered with a knowing smile, illustrate a managerial philosophy rooted in shrewd judgment and uncompromising authority.
The Lingering Mark: Tudor`s Boat and Beyond
Moggi`s influence, it seems, extends beyond mere commentary. He expresses his views on current Juventus coaching prospects, endorsing Igor Tudor as a “leader” with the necessary know-how. He offers tactical advice, suggesting that Tudor should build the team around Dusan Vlahovic but utilize him strategically from the bench to showcase his strength. The ultimate proof of his enduring impact? Tudor, in a gesture that speaks volumes about loyalty and admiration, named his boat “Moggi.” It`s a detail that, delivered with a touch of paternal pride, underlines that for all the controversy, Moggi believes he commanded, and still commands, respect and affection from those he worked with. He may be an outcast, but he is far from forgotten, a ghost in the machine of Italian football, still whispering wisdom and stirring the pot.
