Читать книгу Zonal Marking - Michael Cox - Страница 12

In the closing stages of Juventus’s 1996 Champions League Final victory over Ajax, there was an unusual incident that summed up so much about Juventus, and so much about Italian football.

Ajax, in keeping with their customary approach, constantly switched play in the first half between right-winger Finidi George and left-winger Kiki Musampa. Juve’s aggressive 4–3–3 system, featuring three outright forwards in Alessandro Del Piero, Gianluca Vialli and Fabrizio Ravanelli, meant that neither of Juventus’s most impressive performers on the night, the unheralded full-back pairing of Gianluca Pessotto and Moreno Torricelli, were afforded protection against Ajax’s wingers, but both defenders were magnificent, sticking tight and refusing to let the Ajax wingers turn. Pessotto completely nullified Finidi, while Torricelli intercepted passes and launched quick counter-attacks. Louis van Gaal evidently decided that Ajax weren’t likely to get the better of Torricelli, and at half-time he removed Musampa. Ronald de Boer, who had started in central midfield, moved to the left.

Late in the game, however, Torricelli started to struggle with cramp, so for extra-time Van Gaal introduced Nordin Wooter, another speedy winger, to attack Torricelli, testing the right-back’s mobility. Juventus boss Marcello Lippi had already used his three substitutes, and therefore devised a novel solution: he switched his full-backs. Pessotto had played 90 minutes at left-back, but played extra-time at right-back, and stopped Wooter. Torricelli made the reverse switch, and was less troubled by the fatigued Finidi.

It was, on paper, a simple solution, but it’s difficult to imagine other full-back pairings of this era doing likewise. You wouldn’t have witnessed Brazil switching Cafu and Roberto Carlos, or Barcelona moving Albert Ferrer to the left and Sergi Barjuán to the right; it would have been unthinkable and fundamentally compromised their natural game. Italian sides, though, weren’t about playing their natural game; they were about stopping opponents from playing theirs. They were – and still are – defensive-minded, reactive and tactically intelligent. Torricelli and Pessotto weren’t playing out of position, they were in another position they could play.

For all Juventus’s superstars during the mid- to late-1990s, it’s those underrated, jack-of-all-trades, versatile squad players who best exemplify the nature of Italian football. Lippi could depend on four players who would struggle to identify their best position, something that would be considered a sign of weakness elsewhere but was very much a virtue in Serie A. Torricelli, Pessotto, Angelo Di Livio and Alessandro Birindelli could play as full-back, wing-back or wide midfielder, they could play on the left or the right and sometimes through the centre. These were the club’s leaders. ‘Every year we sold our best players, but the backbone of the squad stayed,’ remembered Lippi. ‘And when new players would arrive and wouldn’t work as hard, players like Di Livio or Torricelli would put an arm around them and say, “Here, we never stop, come on!,” and the message would come from these players who had won the league and the Champions League, and on the pitch they worked their arses off. They were exceptional examples.’

This quartet of players were workers rather than geniuses, with a single year of Serie A experience between them upon their arrival at Juventus. Torricelli was plucked straight from amateur football at a cost of just £20,000; Pessotto had played five of his six full campaigns in the lower leagues; Di Livio had played eight seasons without any Serie A experience; and Birindelli had played more in Serie C than Serie B, never mind in Serie A. ‘It’s not just the real quality players like Zinedine Zidane or Del Piero that captured everyone’s attention,’ observed Roy Keane, whose Manchester United side regularly faced Juventus in the Champions League during this era. ‘But tough, wily defenders, guys nobody’s ever heard of, who closed space down, timed their tackles to perfection, were instinctively in the right cover positions and read the game superbly.’

That described Torricelli, Pessotto and Birindelli perfectly; they were probably defenders who could play in midfield, while Di Livio was the reverse. He was nicknamed Il soldatino by Roberto Baggio, who observed that he continually sprinted up and down the touchline like a little soldier. It didn’t matter which touchline, and while Di Livio was right-footed, he occasionally took corners with his left. Usually the mark of a technically outstanding player, the workmanlike Di Livio hardly falls into that category. In his case, it was a sign of a flexible player who had worked hard to improve his weaknesses and could adapt to any situation.

The rest of Juventus’s backbone were similarly versatile. Ciro Ferrara and Mark Iuliano were centre-backs, but when Juventus defeated Ajax again the following season, this time in the semi-finals, both were deployed in the full-back positions and performed excellently, while Alessio Tacchinardi, usually a holding midfielder, filled in at centre-back. Meanwhile, Antonio Conte was the epitome of the Italian midfielder: a dependable general capable of performing equally well in the centre or out wide. These players could seemingly be deployed anywhere within the defensive section of the side, which allowed their manager, Lippi, to become Europe’s most revered tactician, changing formations regularly, between games and within games. ‘If you have smart players who understand tactics and are comfortable in big systems, then making frequent changes can be a big plus,’ Lippi believed. So did his compatriots.

Lippi was the most celebrated graduate from Coverciano, the Italian Football Federation’s technical headquarters. Based in Florence, just over a mile east of Fiorentina’s Stadio Artemio Franchi, Coverciano was different from Clairefontaine in France, for example, which was famous for its development of players. Instead, Coverciano focused primarily on the development of coaches, and was effectively football’s version of Oxford – Europe’s greatest university of football coaching.

Coverciano’s highest coaching certificate was necessary to coach in Serie A, but entry requirements were strict, with only 20 places per year. You needed to be an Italian citizen or to have resided in the country for two years, you needed to have qualified from the second level of coaching course, and then you had to complete an assessment based upon your playing career (35 points), coaching career (40 points) and academic career (5 points), with 20 points on offer for your performance in an interview.

Playing and coaching careers were assessed according to an absurdly complicated points system that awarded 0.02, 0.04 and 0.06 points for club appearances in Serie C, B and A respectively, with bonus points available for winning Serie A, playing internationally or appearing in the World Cup. The famous quote from Arrigo Sacchi, who never played football professionally, about how ‘a jockey doesn’t need to have been a horse’, becomes more significant when you realise the extent to which the Italian coaching school was predisposed to favour former players.

In all, graduating from Coverciano involved over 550 hours of study, and because it is mandatory for coaching in Serie A, Italian coaches were furious when Sampdoria circumvented the rules and appointed the underqualified David Platt, although technically he was only an assistant because he lacked the requisite certificates. ‘It’s like a student nurse conducting a heart operation,’ blasted Bari manager Eugenio Fascetti. There was widespread glee when Platt departed after an unsuccessful two-month tenure. Luciano Spalletti unexpectedly found himself as a manager in Serie A without the necessary qualifications after back-to-back promotions with Empoli and, after publicly questioning whether he was good enough for the top flight, juggled coaching with studying, regularly making the trip across Tuscany to Coverciano. The academic approach has proved invaluable to numerous Italian coaches. With modules on ‘Football technique’, ‘Training theory’, ‘Medicine’, ‘Communication’, ‘Psychology’ and ‘Data’, they are thoroughly prepared for the rigours of Serie A. Before graduation, students are obliged to write a dissertation. Carlo Ancelotti wrote about ‘Attacking Movements in the 4–4–2 Formation’, Alberto Zaccheroni’s was concisely titled ‘The Zone’ and Alberto Malesani offered ‘General Considerations from Euro 96’. These documents are stored in Coverciano’s library, which boasts 5,000 such papers.

Lippi is among the greatest advocates of Coverciano. ‘I started to understand why, as players, you were asked to do certain things,’ he explained in Vialli’s book The Italian Job. ‘It was an eye-opener because it encouraged me to question and evaluate everything we take for granted in football. That’s what I truly found important about Coverciano, the exchange of ideas between myself and my colleagues. The more I think about it, what I hold dear is not just the course in itself, it’s the atmosphere around it, that challenging, thought-provoking environment … Coverciano does not give you truths, it gives you possibilities.’

That sense of openness was echoed by Gianni Leali, head of Coverciano during the mid-1990s. ‘We don’t teach one system,’ he said. ‘We teach them all, and then show the advantages and disadvantages of each one. There’s a variety here, and that makes Serie A a lot more interesting.’ Whereas Dutch football was fixated on 4–3–3 or 3–4–3, Italian football featured almost every possible formation, and just as Juventus’s versatile defensive players had no defined position, Lippi and other Italian coaches had no defined system. They reacted to the opposition’s tactics to a greater extent than coaches elsewhere, and they routinely substituted star forwards to introduce defensive reinforcements.

Lippi’s Juventus defined Italian football during this period. They became European and World champions in 1996, won Lo Scudetto in the next two campaigns, while reaching the Champions League Final in both years too, being beaten by Borussia Dortmund and Real Madrid in turn. Juve had long maintained a reputation for losing superstars yet continuing to prosper, sacrificing World Cup winners like Paolo Rossi and Marco Tardelli in the 1980s without suffering, while the players themselves declined after departing Turin. After the 1996 final it wasn’t just their defeated opponents Ajax who suffered because of the Bosman ruling; Juve lost Ravanelli and Vialli to newly monied Premier League clubs. Ravanelli had finished as Juventus’s top goalscorer that season, while Vialli had been named Player of the Year by World Soccer magazine, who commended him for being ‘equally at home on the right, the left or the centre of the attack – he defends like a tiger and attacks like a lion’. In other words, in keeping with the Juventus ethos, he could do whatever job Lippi demanded.

Juve still had Alessandro Del Piero, their golden boy, and replaced the outgoing duo with three players: Alen Bokšić, who led the line effectively but rarely scored; Christian Vieri, a complete striker who changed clubs every summer; and youngster Nicola Amoruso, who didn’t quite fulfil his potential, although his arrival was certainly appreciated by Del Piero, who married Amoruso’s sister. Veteran Michele Padovano was still around too, and proved a useful supersub.

Lippi therefore had five good options up front, and the nature of Juventus’s goalscoring throughout their 1996/97 title-winning campaign underlined how he used different strikers in different situations. Bizarrely, for champions, none of the five strikers recorded more than eight goals: half as many as Sandro Tovalieri, who played half the season for Reggiana and half for Cagliari, both of whom were relegated. Lippi had fully embraced rotation, and his five centre-forwards all played a similar amount: Bokšić scored just three goals from 51 per cent of Serie A minutes, an injury-affected Del Piero managed eight from 48 per cent, Vieri eight from 43 per cent, Padovano eight from 39 per cent and Amoruso four from 36 per cent. There was no grand hierarchy, no divide between untouchable first-teamers and frustrated back-ups, and everyone provided different qualities. Bokšić offered hold-up play, Del Piero provided invention, Vieri lent his aerial power, Padovano was a good poacher and Amoroso brought speed.

Significantly, Bokšić was the least prolific striker and yet also the most used, because he consistently worked hard and brought the best out of others. ‘No prima donnas, no privileges,’ declared Lippi. ‘If a player doesn’t agree with that, he can walk. You might like the antics and the eccentricities of a champion, but I believe people appreciate things like humility and intelligence.’ Lippi’s tendency to rotate forwards by using them tactically remained one of his trademarks throughout a long coaching career. When leading Italy to World Cup success in 2006, Lippi named six forwards in his 23-man squad: Francesco Totti, Pippo Inzaghi, Luca Toni, Alberto Gilardino, Vincenzo Iaquinta and his old favourite Del Piero. All six found themselves on the scoresheet.

When Ronaldo, the world’s most exciting striker, was destined to leave Barcelona and move to Serie A, Juventus declined to become involved in a bidding war, not because the sums of money were too vast, but because Umberto Agnelli, the club chairman, believed such an overt superstar would ruin the club’s spirit. Even Zinedine Zidane, who joined in 1996 and soon became Europe’s most celebrated player, was diligent, introverted and hard-working, a world away from the self-indulgent galáctico that he would later become at Real Madrid.

Zidane was shocked by the intensity of Juventus’s fitness sessions, led by the notorious Giampiero Ventrone. ‘Didier Deschamps told me about the training sessions but I didn’t believe they could be as bad as all that,’ he gasped. ‘Often I would be at the point of vomiting by the end, because I was so tired.’ Ventrone was nicknamed ‘The Marine’ by the Juventus players, and he had three terrifying mottos: ‘Work today to run tomorrow’; ‘Die but finish’; and ‘Victory belongs to the strong’. The players had a love–hate relationship with him; Ravanelli said he couldn’t cope without him, while Vialli once became so incensed by Ventrone’s approach that he locked him in a cupboard and called the police, not the last time the Carabinieri would take an interest in Juve’s methods of physical conditioning. It was Lippi, however, who remained Juventus’s most important asset. ‘He was like a light switch for me,’ Zidane said. ‘He switched me on and I understood what it meant to work for something that mattered. Before I arrived in Italy, football was a job, sure, but most of all it was about enjoying myself. After I arrived in Turin, the desire to win things took over.’

This is essentially what defines Italian football: the absolute primacy of winning. In other major footballing nations, to varying extents, emphasis is placed on the spectacle; attacking football is respected and sometimes considered an end in itself. But in Italy the result is paramount and the end justifies the means, which largely explains why Italian sides are content to win tactically rather than through finesse and panache. There’s certainly a reverence towards certain types of stylish player, particularly classy liberos and gifted trequartisti, but teams are under little pressure to provide dazzling collective performances like Ajax or Barcelona. Italian football therefore places huge emphasis on workmanlike players performing functional roles.

‘To Italian players, it’s a job. It’s not fun, not a game,’ said Fabio Capello. ‘When I was coaching Real Madrid, training would end and everyone would stay and eat, get a massage, go to the gym together … in Italy, they’ll stay as long as they have to, then they’ll go. We don’t have this joy inside us. It’s almost as if they don’t like being footballers.’ Capello was another celebrated Italian tactician, and his experience at Real Madrid during 1996/97 was particularly enlightening.

Capello had succeeded Arrigo Sacchi at Milan in 1992 and won four Serie A titles in five seasons, strung together an unprecedented 58-game unbeaten run and won the Champions League in 1994 with a memorable 4–0 thrashing of Barcelona. Capello was less ideologically attack-minded than the revolutionary Sacchi, but he provided creative players with more licence to express themselves, usually from wide roles in a 4–4–2. After Real Madrid slumped to sixth place in 1995/96, their worst season in nearly two decades, they turned to Capello. President Lorenzo Sanz declared him ‘the greatest manager in the world’ upon his appointment. Capello won the league in his first season. He then promptly returned to Italy.

While Capello brought success to the Bernabéu, that wasn’t enough for Real’s supporters and president, none of whom appreciated Real’s style – or lack of it – under Capello. While Barcelona showcased speed and trickery courtesy of Ronaldo’s legendary single season at the Camp Nou, Real were boring, functional and tactical; essentially, Capello had made them Italian. Raúl González, Spanish football’s new superstar forward, was asked to play from the left, with new signings Davor Šuker and Predrag Mijatović preferred up front. Real’s most common tactic involved centre-back Fernando Hierro launching long balls for overlapping left-back Roberto Carlos, a perfectly legitimate tactic that Real supporters nevertheless considered too direct, too brutal. Real insisted on inserting a clause in Capello’s contract that prevented him from joining Barcelona for three years after leaving Madrid, but if Real were so determined to compete with Barcelona in terms of attractive football, Capello heading for Catalonia would have helped redress the balance. ‘I believe the most important thing is to win,’ Capello once said. ‘Nothing else matters.’

‘In Spain, everything that comes from Italy is seen in a negative light,’ said defender José Amavisca, quoted in Gabriele Marcotti’s biography of Capello. ‘Because he’s Italian, everything Capello did was seen as ugly, dirty, nasty or boring.’ Capello’s training sessions were typically Italian: long periods spent drilling the back four into the correct shape, and a strong emphasis on hardcore fitness work. He spent much of the season squabbling with Sanz, the Real president, partly because Capello consistently refused to select his son Fernando, a graduate of the club’s academy. He also encountered problems with forwards Mijatović and Šuker, who were frequently substituted when Capello summoned defensive reinforcements. ‘My matches only ever last 75 minutes,’ complained Šuker. More than half of the Croatian’s La Liga starts ended with his withdrawal, a stark contrast to the star treatment Real Madrid forwards are usually afforded. His replacement was always a defender or defensive midfielder.

Capello was justified in sacrificing big names, because his tactical acumen was outstanding. During 1996/97 Real Madrid regularly started poorly and found themselves a goal behind, before Capello’s instructions enabled them to readjust and clinch victory. Real came from behind to win with incredible regularity: against Real Sociedad, Valencia, Atlético Madrid, Deportivo de La Coruña, Hércules, Racing Santander, Sevilla and Sporting Gijón.

The Sevilla comeback, in mid-April, was most significant. Capello started with his usual 4–4–2, with Raúl drifting inside from the left, but Real were absolutely battered by a rampant Sevilla, particularly down the flanks. Tarik Oulida, the Ajax-schooled left-winger, crossed for right-winger José Mari to head home in the first minute, then Oulida made it 2–0. Real could have easily been 4–0 down. Therefore, Capello made two tactical changes midway through the first half. Veteran defender Manuel Sanchís replaced beleaguered right-back Chendo. Next, Capello sacrificed Šuker and introduced defensive midfielder Zé Roberto. The home supporters were understandably bemused; at 2–0 down Real needed goals, and Capello had taken off a striker.

First, though, Capello knew Real required defensive solidity. Raúl pushed up front, Zé Roberto played on the left of a midfield diamond and screened Roberto Carlos. Real now coped down the flanks and could work their way into the game. On the stroke of half-time, Clarence Seedorf got a goal back, then Raúl scored the equaliser in the second half. Hierro headed home seven minutes from time, and then Seedorf teed up Mijatović. Real had been 2–0 down, Capello had made two first-half substitutions purely for tactical reasons, including substituting his top scorer, and they ended up winning 4–2.

Winning in this fashion would have been celebrated in Capello’s home country, but Real demanded more spectacular performances, and despite the title success, this was a loveless marriage that lasted just a year. Curiously, a decade later Capello returned for a second spell at the Bernabéu, with somewhat familiar consequences; he won the league, then he was sacked. ‘We have to find a coach who gives us a bit more,’ said Real’s sporting director, after Capello’s second departure. ‘We need a coach who, as well as getting results – which are very important – can help us enjoy our football again.’ The identity of the sporting director? Mijatović, the frequently substituted forward from Capello’s first stint. Two seasons, two titles, two acrimonious departures. Italian methods were not popular outside Italy.

But they were clearly conducive to success, because the three most respected Italian coaches of this era completed an extraordinary treble in 1996/97. Lippi triumphed in Serie A with Juventus, Capello was victorious in La Liga with Real Madrid, while Giovanni Trapattoni won the Bundesliga with Bayern Munich.

This was Trapattoni’s second spell with Bayern, after a disappointing 1994/95 campaign that he blamed on not mastering German properly, although upon his return his communication skills had only improved slightly. Trapattoni initially attempted to use a four-man defence, before reverting to the sweeper system that was more typically German, and indeed more typically Trapattoni, after some disappointing early results, including a 3–1 aggregate UEFA Cup defeat to Valencia. ‘Too many changes have upset their rhythm,’ claimed Trapattoni’s predecessor Otto Rehhagel after that European exit. ‘Bayern are paying for the mistakes in signing the wrong players and not sticking to a definite tactical system.’ Not sticking to a definite tactical system, though, was entirely Trapattoni’s plan.

His tactical tinkering continued to frustrate and caused problems among his key players. In late November Bayern were 2–0 up at half-time against relegation strugglers Hansa Rostock, so Trapattoni ordered his players to concentrate on keeping a clean sheet. But centre-forward Jürgen Klinsmann encouraged his teammates to continue attacking. The players were caught in two minds, conceded 20 minutes into the second half and limped to a 2–1 victory. ‘That’s why we lost our shape,’ complained left-wing-back Christian Ziege. ‘One defensive player would make a forward run, and everyone else would stay back and watch him disappear into the distance. Very confusing.’ But Trapattoni’s focus on tactical discipline, and his refusal to indulge FC Hollywood’s superstars, proved successful; compared with the previous campaign, Bayern only scored two more goals, but they conceded 12 fewer. ‘Under him, I learned how to defend,’ explained midfielder Mehmet Scholl. ‘But I also learned that if I played a bad pass, I would be substituted.’

Just like Capello in Madrid, Trapattoni’s substitutions proved particularly controversial in Munich, particularly with Klinsmann, who took a break from squabbling with long-time foe Lothar Matthäus to row with Trapattoni instead. Klinsmann knew exactly what to expect, having previously played under Trapattoni at Inter, but he frequently complained about the Italian’s defensive tactics and about being hauled off midway through the second half, generally so Trapattoni could introduce a defensive player. The final straw came three games from the end of the campaign, in a 0–0 home draw with Freiburg. Trapattoni summoned youngster Carsten Lakies for his first – and last – Bundesliga appearance, in place of Klinsmann, who screamed at Trapattoni on his way off, made an ‘It’s over’ hand gesture and then furiously booted a large, battery-shaped advertising hoarding, momentarily getting his foot stuck. ‘I was just trying to open the game up a bit,’ explained Trapattoni afterwards, gesturing as if he wanted more runs from wider positions.

The advertising hoarding later found its way into Bayern’s museum, a monument to Klinsmann’s rage and Trapattoni’s ultra-Italian tendency to sacrifice stars when tactically necessary. Bayern won the league and, after the celebratory parade, Trapattoni, in traditional Bavarian dress, treated Bayern’s supporters to some Italian songs from the balcony of Munich’s town hall. It was indeed over for Klinsmann after winning his only league title – he returned to Serie A, joining Sampdoria. ‘I wanted a club where the philosophy of football was right for me,’ he announced. ‘Sampdoria is that club and César Menotti is that sort of coach.’ It was a pointed dig at Trapattoni.

‘As an Italian coach in Germany, I was trying to change their mindset,’ remembered Trapattoni. ‘I was met with resistance, because you don’t change a mentality in two or three months. I wanted them to get accustomed to thinking tactically, developing the play and seeking options. I had to let them play their way and gradually blend in my tactics. After my first year, they began to change a little, but it was a cultural clash. In Germany, they follow a fixed plan. In Italy, we are more flexible.’

Trapattoni’s second campaign was less successful, and was most notable for his infamous press-conference rant in broken German, during which he screamed into the microphone, justifying his decision to omit Scholl, a classy playmaker, and Mario Basler, an unpredictable winger, neither of whom had been pulling their weight defensively. Trapattoni was keen to stress that Bayern played positive football in his diatribe. ‘No team in Germany plays attacking football like Bayern,’ he declared. ‘In the last game, on the pitch we had three strikers – Giovane Élber, Carsten Jancker and Alexander Zickler. We mustn’t forget Zickler! Zickler is a striker, more than Scholl, more than Basler!’ Even in this irritated state, Trapattoni felt compelled to underline that his selection wasn’t too defensive, too Italian.

In Italy itself, of course, no one had a problem with defensive football, and Lippi’s Juventus won the 1996/97 Serie A title in stereotypically unspectacular fashion. In their 34 matches they only scored the joint-fourth highest number of goals, but they conceded the fewest. They won fewer matches than second-placed Parma, but Parma lost four more. Juventus weren’t about scoring goals and winning matches, they were about not conceding goals, and therefore not losing matches.

Juve’s centre-back duo of Ciro Ferrara and Paolo Montero were hugely dominant, although both found themselves in trouble with referees. Montero was sent off away at Napoli and Cagliari, and both were suspended for the home contest with Milan in mid-November, a furiously contested game, delayed because of heavy downpour in Turin, with the touchlines needing to be repainted beforehand. Juventus, as ever, coped without key players, and the makeshift partnership of Sergio Porrini and Alessio Tacchinardi, a right-back and a central midfielder respectively, excelled against Roberto Baggio and George Weah. It finished goalless.

There were starring performances from Zidane, who recovered from a slow start to dominate Juve’s attacking play, and Del Piero, who suffered from injuries but also netted some crucial goals, including the winner in the Intercontinental Cup victory over River Plate. Lippi evolved his default system from the previous season, shifting from 4–3–3 to 4–4–2, which became 4–3–1–2 with Zidane shifting forward into the number 10 position. As always, Lippi used his functional players excellently. The wider midfielders, often Di Livio and Vladimir Jugović, played busy roles, tucking inside to support Didier Deschamps, who became Juve’s primary holding midfielder after Paulo Sousa’s move to Dortmund. Genuine width came from the left-back, usually Pessotto, and Juve shifted towards a three-man defence in possession with the right-back – Porrini or Torricelli – tucking inside, a trademark move from Italy’s old catenaccio system.

Lippi’s policy of switching full-backs, as witnessed in the Champions League Final against Ajax, was again used after 20 minutes in a 2–1 victory over Perugia in February. Porrini, playing as a right-sided centre-back alongside Ferrara, departed through injury but was replaced by Iuliano, who was left-footed and therefore played to the other side of Ferrara. Lippi decided Iuliano needed more protection, so switched Torricelli from right-back to left-back, and Pessotto made the opposite move. Again, only an Italian side would switch their full-backs so readily.

Lippi was never afraid to make early defensive changes, sacrificing Pessotto after 30 minutes against a rampant Udinese because he needed extra pace. Di Livio, a right-midfielder in the previous game, came on at left-back. Converting energetic right-sided midfielders into rampaging left-backs became something of a Lippi speciality; in a second stint with Juventus he did something similar with Gianluca Zambrotta, who became the world’s best in that position, and played both right-back and left-back under Lippi during the World Cup triumph in 2006.

Even when Lippi’s Juventus thrashed the opposition, they often did so efficiently rather than joyfully. In the 6–1 battering of PSG in the European Supercup first leg at a snowy Parc des Princes, Juve’s first four goals came from set-pieces. In fairness, they also defeated a shambolic Milan side by the same scoreline at San Siro in an incredibly dominant display, while the season’s most impressive victory was the 4–1 Champions League semi-final victory over familiar foes Ajax.

In the previous year’s final, Juventus were superior but only won after a shoot-out. This time they were rampant, underlining Italy’s dominance over Holland. Lippi, typically, sprung a tactical surprise in his 4–3–1–2 by using Ferrara and Iuliano, two centre-backs, in the full-back positions either side of Montero and Tacchinardi, forming a formidable, physically dominant defensive quartet. Up front, Juve pressed energetically, with Zidane joining Bokšić and Vieri in shutting down Danny Blind, Mario Melchiot and Frank de Boer. Ajax’s build-up play was disrupted and they uncharacteristically resorted to long balls, which played into the hands of Juve’s four centre-backs. Juventus, meanwhile, played direct football excellently, constantly launching the ball for Vieri and Bokšić, their strongest forward partnership, to batter Ajax’s defenders.

Zidane, meanwhile, ran the show. Supported by the positional discipline of Deschamps, and the energy of Di Livio and Attilio Lombardo – who switched flanks midway through the first half – the Frenchman was superb. In the first half he collected possession 40 yards from goal, advanced with the ball then slowed his dribble, before jinking past three challenges towards the left flank. He then crossed for Vieri, whose shot was deflected wide. Zidane swung in the corner, and Lombardo headed home. The Frenchman was involved in the build-up to the second, scored by Vieri. For the third, Zidane’s speed allowed him to intercept the ball in midfield and he launched a counter-attack, wrongfooted Danny Blind with a stepover and allowed substitute Amoroso to tap into an empty goal. Zidane scored the fourth himself, receiving a pass from Didier Deschamps and faking a shot to leave Edwin van der Sar on the ground, before finishing into an open goal. ‘He is, without a doubt, the greatest player I ever coached,’ said Lippi. ‘And I also think he’s the greatest player of the next 20 years. The previous 20 it was Maradona, and the next twenty, Zidane. I am convinced of that.’

The Ajax victory was arguably Juventus’s greatest under Lippi, and highlighted the three areas in which Italian football had an advantage over Dutch football: tactical flexibility, physical power and a standout individual performance from a world-class talent. ‘Zidane was different class, even in such a remarkable team,’ declared a defeated Louis van Gaal. ‘They are a great team with great skills, a pleasure to watch. I’ll repeat what I said after the first leg: I have never met opponents who beat us like Juventus did.’

Juve were surprisingly defeated 3–1 in the final by Dortmund, who were better prepared for Juventus’s physicality and nullified Zidane through Paul Lambert’s excellent marking. Yet the game could have been very different; Juventus created the better chances, twice hit the woodwork and Bokšić had a goal controversially disallowed. After Juve found themselves 2–0 down at half-time, they switched from 4–3–1–2 to 4–3–3, with Del Piero on for Di Livio. This forced Dortmund to retreat, and Del Piero’s backheeled goal from Bokšić’s cross seemed set to launch a comeback. Soon afterwards, however, 20-year-old Dortmund youth product Lars Ricken was summoned in place of Stéphane Chapuisat, and took all of 16 seconds to make it 3–1, scoring with his first touch after streaking away on a counter-attack and producing a remarkable long-range shot that curled around Angelo Peruzzi. It was a shock win. ‘Having watched that final as a spectator, the only sentiment I have is anger,’ said the injured Conte. ‘Because the weaker side won, and because there’s nothing you can do to set it straight – nothing except turn out again in next season’s Champions League, and win it.’

1997/98 marked a shift in Lippi’s approach up front. Vieri had departed for Atlético Madrid, and the arrival of Pippo Inzaghi, Italian football’s brightest young goalscorer, meant Juventus now had a solid first-choice centre-forward. Lippi rotated less, and there was more combination play between the front three. ‘Now, we have to keep the ball on the ground, rather than trying to knock it onto Vieri’s head as we did last season,’ explained Del Piero. Zidane, Del Piero and Inzaghi were largely allowed freedom from defensive responsibilities, and there was a clear split in Juventus’s system: the back seven players were functional, the forward trio were allowed freedom to express themselves. ‘This time, we have the best defence and the best attack,’ bragged Lippi.

Juventus regularly played a 4–3–1–2, taking advantage of their attackers’ natural qualities, but versatility in defensive positions meant plenty of switches to 3–4–1–2, particularly when playing against two strikers. On occasion, Lippi would ask Zidane and Del Piero to drift inside from the flanks in a 3–4–3. ‘There’s not a lot between 4–3–3 and 3–4–3,’ Lippi explained. ‘I want a foundation of seven players who make up a block between defence and midfield, and then in attack I need another three players who don’t need to worry about chasing back. They should have freedom to create chances.’ There was a major change from the previous season’s goalscoring figures, when no one had managed more than eight league goals; now Del Piero managed 21 and Inzaghi 18.

Juventus, and Lippi, excelled during the run-in. In mid-March, Juventus were 2–0 down at half-time to Parma. Lippi made two changes at the break, introducing Di Livio and Tacchinardi for Deschamps and Birindelli, then sacrificed Zidane for a third striker, Marcelo Zalayeta. Juve went from 4–3–1–2 to 3–4–3, and brought the game back to 2–2. The next weekend, with Zidane on the bench, Juve demolished Milan 4–1. Del Piero scored a penalty and a free-kick, Inzaghi finished a couple of one-on-ones.

But the most famous win came over Inter – their major title rivals – in April, when Juventus triumphed courtesy of a classic Italian combination: tactical thinking from the coach, magic from the number 10 and a hugely controversial decision from the referee.

Juventus’s tactics focused on hitting long balls into the space on the outside of Inter’s three-man defence for Del Piero and Inzaghi, and when Inter defender Taribo West advanced dangerously upfield and lost possession, Juve immediately broke into the space behind him. Edgar Davids slipped in Del Piero, dribbling forward in his classic inside-left position against Salvatore Fresi, the sweeper who had been dragged across to cover for West. Juve’s number 10 produced an extraordinary goal, pretending to change direction twice, courtesy of a stepover and then a feint, before attempting to cut the ball into the six-yard box and getting it stuck under his foot, then pivoting and somehow steering a shot into the far corner.

In response, Inter pushed forward in numbers. The intensity was increasing, with various skirmishes between players, and then came the infamous 69th minute. Inter played a long ball that bounced kindly for Iván Zamorano, who was held up by Birindelli’s desperate lunge on the edge of the box. Zamorano’s strike partner Ronaldo quickly raced on to the second ball, knocked it into a favourable shooting position, but was flattened by a body-check from Juve defender Iuliano. To the fury of Inter’s players, referee Piero Ceccarini waved play on. Juve launched an immediate counter-attack through Davids and Zidane. The Frenchman played the ball on to Del Piero, who was clumsily fouled by West. Ceccarini pointed to the spot.

Even by the standards of 1990s Serie A, when players weren’t afraid of confronting referees, the subsequent reaction was unprecedented. Within seconds Ceccarini was surrounded by ten furious Inter players, which eventually became 11 once Ronaldo had picked himself up from the opposition’s penalty box. Inter’s usually placid coach Gigi Simoni was sent to the stands, restrained on his way by a policeman, while shouting ‘Shameful!’ towards the officials. West’s tackle on Del Piero was definitely a penalty, his challenge so wild that his boot made contact with Del Piero’s shoulder. Iuliano’s challenge on Ronaldo was arguably also a penalty, but it was the type of coming-together that, in real-time, could be wrongly called by a referee making an honest mistake, especially just two seconds after Birindelli’s challenge on Zamorano.

But Italians don’t believe in honest mistakes when it comes to favourable decisions towards Juventus, and this decision prompted years of conspiracy theories. The debate peaked three days after the game inside Italy’s Chamber of Deputies. Parliament was suspended after an extraordinary row between far-right politician Domenico Gramazio, who pointedly declared that ‘a lot of Italian referees drive Fiats’ – Fiat being Juventus’s parent company – and Massimo Mauro, a former Juventus player turned politician, who repeatedly chanted ‘Clown’ at him, with ushers being forced to physically restrain Gramazio, who was attempting to punch Mauro. Del Piero, for the record, had his penalty saved by Gianluca Pagliuca, but his earlier piece of brilliance meant Juventus still won 1–0.

Juve wrapped up the title with a 3–2 victory over Bologna, courtesy of an Inzaghi hat-trick, including two trademark goals from inside the six-yard box, and a fine finish after brilliant interplay between Zidane and Del Piero between the lines. The target, though, was recapturing the Champions League, and Juventus fell at the final hurdle for the second year running, losing 1–0 to Real Madrid, courtesy of a Predrag Mijatović goal.

Lippi appeared unable to explain the defeat. ‘It was one of those evenings where a large part of the team played well below the level they are capable of,’ he said. ‘The reality is that over the whole 90 minutes, we were never dangerous.’ That sole Champions League victory in 1996 doesn’t adequately represent Juventus’s dominance of European football during this period – it probably should have been three in a row.