The European Championship won was a happy interlude between years of disappointments in the national team and in the clubs. Our football pays a huge price: there is still a lack of vision and there is no courage
Miracles never repeat themselves. We waited, we hoped, we believed it. The night of Palermo instead brings with it a boundless bitterness. No hugs, but the wide and incredulous eyes of Mancini and Vialli looking at a group of Macedonian players in celebration. We are not going to the World Cup for the second time in a row, because Italian football has remained the periphery of the evolved one, despite the fact that we had deluded ourselves, in July, at Wembley, that we had finally regained our place at the head of the table among the great football players. It didn’t happen that way. The month of the European Championship was only a happy interlude in the midst of years of disappointments between the national team and the club in the cups. A few flashes (Conte’s blues) but always too little for a country that has won four World Cups, reaching the final six times.
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