stand-up comedy. I must admit I didn’t understand a word of it (it was only afterwards I found out I was not the only one) but I laughed fit to burst just the same at the way he told the jokes and the way he himself was laughing at the end. This was a wonderful bonding experience, which kept morale high and brought the squad together.
Obviously I do not get as physically tired as my players during the training camp, and so it generally happens that when they flop into bed exhausted (at least, I hope they do) I have a bit of time to myself. The usual phone call home, the usual scribbles in my notebook, jotting down plans and formations, and a chat with my staff, perhaps to find out how work is going with a specific player or more generally with the squad as a whole. All this and more, because after dinner, in the cool evening air, thoughts turn inevitably to what the coming season will, or at least might, hold in store. But this year had been different. There had been no time to think because, fortunately for us and thanks to the efforts of the club, the reality had materialized simultaneously with the dreams. I was in touch continuously with London, both in my mind and on the phone, as there was something important happening every day.
We had still not played our first friendly, a fixture against Lazio in Rome set for 18 July, when a second great piece of news arrived from Stamford Bridge. The Cameroon midfielder Geremi had been signed from Real Madrid for £7 million. I must say that I had had my eye on him for some years. In fact he could almost be considered a fixation of mine. I have always liked players who are tactically flexible, individuals with character who never give up and know how to defend. From what I had seen, before having him at my disposal on a daily basis, Geremi combined all of these qualities. It had been a blow to me when John Toshack, then the Real Madrid coach, plucked him from the Turkish club Glencler-birligi, and I freely admit I had already asked Chelsea to sign him the year before. Now that the resources were finally available to acquire him, he was one of the names I had put on my list. He signed for Chelsea on 16 July, straight after Johnson and on the same day that Eidur Gudjohnsen also renewed for three more seasons. This was a pleasing coincidence for me, as it served to underscore what I had always thought and said. The squad that had taken us into the Champions League needed to be improved if it was going to aim for yet higher things, but not discarded.
Just a few hours later, before sitting down to lunch the next day, I received another important telephone call. I was told that the Blackburn winger Damien Duff had flown to London to begin serious talks with Chelsea and to undergo a medical. In reality the deal was not looking quite so much of a certainty the next day, as we prepared to play our first game of the season. Understandably, Duff had wanted a little time to consider his future carefully. The papers put out the news that Manchester United were stepping up their interest in him, and all we could do was wait for him to make up his mind, confident that we had offered him an attractive deal and the prospect of an equally exciting adventure at the highest level. Damien is a player with many qualities. Tenacious, fast, always ready to shoot, a good crosser of the ball. He was the classic footballer, with something extra. When up against Blackburn Rovers in the past, my main problem had always been to keep him in check, and I had greatly admired him during the World Cup in Japan and Korea – in this instance without the anguish of being on the opposing side – when for me he was the one who shone for the Republic of Ireland team. Damien is highly inventive, and in addition, although he prefers to play on the left, he has the great capacity of being effective in more than one position. From the opposite wing, for instance, he can cut in and shoot dangerously at goal left-footed, curling the ball much in the same way as Chris Waddle used to do back in the 1980s. And this was not all. Soon after having him in the side, I found that by playing him in the hole just behind the forwards, where he had never been used before, he could deliver assists of pinpoint accuracy to the strikers – just like the best playmakers in the NBA.
There’s also a little secret I can reveal about Damien Duff. He is my mother Renata’s favourite footballer. She is forever telling me so on the phone, and if this were not enough, she also said so when interviewed on Sky Italia. She described him as Chelsea’s Nedved, and given that Juventus’s Czech international won the European Footballer of the Year award this season, it seemed an auspicious comparison. It meant I’d have to think twice before I substituted him, otherwise she would have something to say! But even my mother, just like Duff and all my other players, must understand not only that every decision taken is strictly in the interest of the team – this goes without saying – but also that in such an important season we cannot afford to wear anyone down physically, because at the crucial moment, everyone must be at their best. They need to be ready both physically and mentally.
This was one of my concerns when we were drawing up our prestigious and well-stocked player roster. Everyone wants to play and always to have a great game. This is nice, and this is how it should be, but I am there simply to take the decisions that can help Chelsea lift as many trophies as possible. Sometimes the choices are not easy to make, but if there is one thing I have always done it is to shoulder my responsibilities, and I knew I would do the same this time around, except that every decision would attract more commotion.
Waking up on the morning of 18 July, I thought straight away it was probably no accident that the most important season of my career would be starting with a match, albeit a friendly, in my native Rome. It was neither an advantage nor a disadvantage, simply a question of fate. Thinking about it, all the big events in my life have had their beginnings within sight of the Dome of St Peter’s. I was born in Rome, began my schooling there, and naturally my life in football began there too. I saw my first football match at the Stadio Olimpico, as a Roma supporter, and it was in that same stadium that I made my debut in Serie A, wearing the red and gold jersey. Now another important adventure was beginning for me, again in Rome, this time at the Stadio Flaminio, which is smaller than the Olimpico and decidedly seedier. It is attractive and has its own little history, but there is practically no football played there nowadays and it could do with rather more attention, although it has had something of a new lease of life in recent years since Italy began playing Six Nations rugby. The Flaminio also happens to be the sports ground nearest my current home in Rome, a nice apartment in the heart of the Parioli district, just a short walk away.
That game against Lazio was our first of the season, but precisely for this reason I was interested in just about everything bar the result. In any case this was not the real Chelsea, considering that of the new signings for the team we were building, only Johnson was playing and even he had only trained with us for two days. Nonetheless, the friendly in Rome confirmed to me that the eyes of the world were on our club, since as a result of the very fact that so much had been said about us, the stadium was full. Everyone had come to see puffed-up and ambitious Chelsea. We played as well as we could at that particular moment – in other words, not very well – and it was no surprise that we lost 2-0. Not that Lazio had outplayed us or shown themselves to be a stronger side, but they were at full strength and further ahead with their preparation, a factor which at this stage of the season makes all the difference in the world. We were still heavy-legged, whereas they were almost in top form and unquestionably brighter. Mr Abramovich was also in Rome to see the game, and I remember telling him not to be too concerned about what he had seen.
‘Not to worry, Mr Chairman, I’m sure we’ll come up against this side again in the Champions League, and then it will be a totally different story.’
I was ultimately proved right, though I would certainly not consider myself clairvoyant because of this. It was something I said, not in trying to justify the defeat, but because I genuinely felt it. I never like to lose, but in all honesty, even though it had happened in my home town and in our first match, I was neither disappointed nor annoyed. Certainly I was not worried, as I am old enough to be part of a generation that considered preseason friendlies as a way of easing into competition, with no weight attached to the results. These attitudes have changed rather in recent years, with television involved. Now there is pressure to win everything, instantly, and it is no accident that early games are contested between teams qualified for the Champions League, rather than amateur sides. I knew this was only a first semi-competitive outing, and played without most of the team we would be putting together.
The next day it was back to London for a short break before taking part in a fairly important tournament in Malaysia. The Asia Cup was organized directly by the Football Association, with entry determined by final