MILAN Nov. 15, 2013 – Stepping out on to the terrace for the first time at the San Siro can be a lot to take in. For one, no matter what your ticket reads in the columns of fila and posto, someone is sitting in your spot; it’s up to you to just find an open chair. A hazy cloud of various smoke scents hovers almost stagnate over a sea of darkly dressed Italians, all of whose hands are fluttering as they chat at a hurried rate. On this occasion in particular, the ambience was overwhelming. No sooner did I emerge from the ground’s cryptic undercrofts and glare down onto the storied grass, Ignazio Abate had hastily combined with Leo Bonucci and thenlined a boiling effort off Manuel Neuer’s right post and in, canceling out Mats Hummel’s opener for visiting Germany - 1-1.
Lamentably late to the match, I ducked through hiking Italian flags and mobs of spectators charging the rails like a game of chicken before I scaled the steep steps of the historic venue’s blue section on the second tier. From a ‘what you see is what you get’ vantage point at the peak of the balcony, the euphoria from the equalizer was subsiding. The patchy attendance of a match that lacked the general importance as this international friendly was dwarfed by the ample magnitude of Stadio Giuseppe Meazza, the stadium’s more proper name. Although a visited occasion, the tacky quilt work of color-by-section seating was hardly disguised by enough butts on seats.
Finally squinting out across the fog to enjoy the occasion on chilly, damp evening, I shook in my seat when a blood-curdling shriek cut thick air like a white-hot razor. It rang in my ears like the squeal of a chalkboard, crackling at different pitches.
“Braaaaaaaavo! Braaaaaaaavo, Andrea! Braaaavo!”
My neck jerked up to my right instinctively to find a beady-eyed woman in her twenty-somethings howling into the night. Slouched in her chair with her black combat boots planted on the seat in front of her, she ashed her hand-rolled cigarette aimlessly. Startled, I reverted my attention to the pitch where Andrea Pirlo casually strolled through midfield before playing the simplest of passes. The crowd applauded in unison. The phenomena repeated itself throughout the rest of fixture, a shrill squeak from my neighbor partnered with a round of fervent approval. If anything could bring to light how involved Pirlo is during a match, this was it.
In Italy, Andrea Pirlo is a very well liked man.
Italian football is a tricky subject when it comes to rivalries, particularly in the north. The tensions between fan groups of major cities Turin and Milan are 
evident but players seem to lack the loyalty at first glance that you might see in a struggle like Manchester United and Liverpool or Real Madrid and Barcelona. Hell, in Spain you risk having a pig’s head hurled in your direction if you cross the wrong faith; ask Luis Figo. Yet Andrea Pirlo, who played for both the blue and red of Milan, now a Juventus midfielder, was showered in with bulky affection back in his former city of residence with the Azzurri.
Of course, unlike the Zlatan Ibrahimovic who also spent time at both Milan clubs and Juventus proceeding, Pirlo is Italian. He’s from the north and understands the cultural significance behind the distaste. Could his unanimous acceptance be because of the proud patriotism that transcends club fidelity? Or could you say Pirlo is just a hard guy to hate? After all, it’s not as if AC Milan supporters were tickled by the club’s decision to axe Pirlo from their roster when the two parties parted ways. Pirlo defined Milan’s values, a faithful servant that won two Champions Leagues in red and black stripes, two Scudetti, a Coppa Italia, and a Club World Cup. Nonethless, through mutual agreement, Pirlo and Milan decided to not renew the playmaker’s contract at the end of the 2010-2011 season and I’m sure at least one party regrets it.
“… (Pirlo) was the signing of the century” – Gianluigi Buffon 2011
Having signed for Juve, Andrea has undergone a personal renaissance in his career. In his last season with the Rossoneri, he only conjured up a single goal and three assists. But with the red bleached from his jersey, Pirlo rose like a phoenix from the ashes in his first campaign in Turin by cashing in on three goals as a deep-lying midfielder and supplying the final ball thirteen times more.
Now with a majestic full beard that highlights his aging career, Pirlo, 34, has pundits everywhere addicted to the cliché: like a fine wine. And maybe that’s fitting because the midfield maestro runs his own vineyard that produces vast amounts of wine every year. It’s a neat little niche in his personal life, but it’s hard to imagine it being more fruitful than his impact for the Bianconeri. Thundering toward a third consecutive Serie A title, he will have won more Scudetti with Juve in three seasons than he did with Milan in a decade. That is if Juventus can power across the finish line. With six games to go in Serie A, few are in doubt with the way Antonio Conte’s men are playing.
A controversial exit from the Champions League against Galatasaray was the smell of sour milk in December when segments of the same match were played on consecutive days in Istanbul due to stubborn winter weather. Wesley Sneijder scored the one-nil winner in the 84th minute to bounce Pirlo and company down to the Europa League. To be fair, by modern standards of the game, the pitch was horrid. Nevertheless, a Europa League winner’s trophy may be acceptable retribution for a Champions League group stage elimination if Juventus can go on to the final at their home ground. They’re up against Benfica in the semifinals after overcoming Lyon this past Thursday. Juve pushed through the quarters 3-1 on aggregate and a familiar face was on target again.
Set pieces have always been a forte of Pirlo’s. Whether it be corners, penalties (right, Joe Hart?), dead-ball crosses, or costless kicks, if there is a long-haired number 21 named Andrea Pirlo on the pitch, he’s amongst your elite selections to take the kick. Pirlo has marked six goals this season in all competitions, more goals that he has scored in ten years – all from costless kicks. It’s as if he can’t miss. Lyon, Genoa, and Fiorentina are some of his latest victims. Poor Anthony Lopes could only stare awestruck with his gloves at his waist as Pirlo’s latest effort sunk over his helpless wall like a shooting star and ruffled the net beyond.
“Pirlo is a silent leader. He speaks with his feet” – Marcello Lippi 2005
From the acute view of a broadcast that most football fans live through, Pirlo looks to be a man at peace with himself. He rarely is animated above a goal celebration and even those look as if they are bursts of passion in slow motion. He’s deceptively one-paced, scarcely gearing into a breakneck sprint. His mono-speed adds to his genius as midfielder, fluidly finding space that others train their entire lives to create. Almost lounging in front of the back line on occasions, a glimmer excites your senses when he receives the ball. It’s a chance to look what only a genius would do. Like studying fine art, it’s not only that his brush strokes exist, but what is their deeper meaning? What did his check do to open space somewhere else? What did an elementary ball do to set a greater plot in motion? Then when you overthink it, he’ll play the incredibly obvious ball over top to the precision that makes it extremely affective. What would the game look like if everyone were able to think on his level? It’s a spooky thought.
Eerie, indeed but what may be more unsettling is the question of how much of Andrea Pirlo does the world have left to admire? Understandably he isn’t a box to box style midfielder whose energy output doesn’t outrank that of his teammate Arturo Vidal but the midfield is a demanding place despite your age or role in it. The World Cup in Brazil this summer may very well be Pirlo’s last. With a birthday in May, he’ll be 35 by the time Italy lines up against England. Having won the competition in 2006, and in possession of a personal trophy cabinet that can exhibit amongst some of the world’s greatest ever names, another winner’s medal would put Italy equal on five World Cup triumphs for most of all time with Brazil in Brazil. Pirlo could bow out of the international game a king. Dauntingly, no European team has ever won a World Cup in the Americas but that would just add to the lore, wouldn’t it?
Glasses are tipped a miraculous player that doesn’t always receive the attention that he deserves ( but it’s not as if he’s seeking it). Though admittedly annoyed at first, high amongst the gods at the San Siro with my pitchy fellow match-goer, in hindsight I’m glad she brought Pirlo’s every touch of the ball more into my focus. That way I could treasure the opportunity to see him play for the national team of Italy before it’s too late. Whether or not Italy put another star above their crest, they are in the debt of an unbelievable talent.
Bravo Andrea.
