There was a long silence. Then, unexpectedly, Careca spoke. The Brazilian striker stood up.
“I came here at the same time as Diego,” he said in Italian with a strong accent, “and I’ve noticed the same things he has. But do you know what else I’ve noticed? How much they love their city. How much they love this club. I’ve seen Giuseppe cry after losing important matches. I’ve seen Salvatore turn down offers from bigger clubs because he wants to stay in Naples. I’ve seen Ciro, a local lad, choose Naples over Juventus because this is his home.”
Careca looked around the room.
“That love, that passion, that’s what this team needs. But they also need the talent to win, and Diego has that talent. So here’s the question: what’s more important? Their pride, their ego, or finally winning something for this city they love so much?”
The question hung in the air. No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Bruscolotti stood up. He was the captain, and when he spoke, everyone listened.
“They’re right,” he said softly. “Diego, Careca, Mister… they’re all right. I’ve been, we’ve been stupid, selfish. We let zeal blind us.”
Bruscolotti turned to look directly at Diego.
—I grew up in Naples. I’ve spent my whole life watching our city be treated like garbage by the rest of Italy. They call us dirty, criminal, inferior. Teams from the north win Scudettos every year while we fight to avoid relegation. And I’ve dreamed since I was a little kid of being part of the team that changes that, that finally gives Naples something to be proud of.
Bruscolotti’s voice grew louder.
—And then you come along, the best player in the world. And instead of being happy, instead of thinking, “Finally, we have a chance,” I thought, “This means I’m not important anymore.” And you’re right, that’s pathetic. That’s putting my ego above the team, above the city I love.
Bruscolotti walked towards Diego and extended his hand.
—I’m sorry, Diego. I really have been an idiot. And if you give me another chance, I promise I’ll be the best teammate I can be.
Diego took Bruscolotti’s hand and shook it firmly.
“We all make mistakes,” Diego said. “Me too. I’ve been impatient. I’ve judged too quickly. Let’s start again.”
One by one, the other players stood up. Ferrara was next, then Carannante. Finally, Bagni stood up. He looked as if it physically hurt him to do this, but he walked over to Diego anyway.
“I’m not going to lie and say everything’s fine now,” Bagni said. “It still hurts that they took the number 10 from me. It still hurts that I get paid four times less than you. But you’re right, that’s not your fault. And if I really want to help this team win, I need to let it go and work with you, not against you.”
Diego nodded.
“I appreciate your honesty, Salvatore. And just so you know, I don’t want your position. I don’t want to replace you. I want to play alongside you. I want us both to shine. There’s enough glory for everyone if we win together.”
Marchesi, who had been observing in silence, finally spoke.
“Okay, this is good. But words are easy, actions are hard. Starting tomorrow, I want you to really work as a team. Diego, be more patient with your teammates while they’re still adapting to your style of play. And you guys”—he gestured to the Italians—”really try to connect with Diego. Not just on the field, but off it too. Get to know who he is, understand where he comes from. You can’t be brothers on the field if you’re strangers off it.”
The following days and weeks brought a gradual but noticeable change. Bruscolotti invited Diego to dinner at his home, where Diego met the captain’s family, ate traditional Neapolitan food, and listened to stories about the club’s history. Ferrara began staying after training to practice with Diego, working on their timing. Even Bagni, still clearly struggling with his feelings, made the effort to pass the ball to Diego in scoring positions during training.
But the real breaking point came three weeks later, during the first official game of the season against Verona.
It was Diego’s Serie A debut with Napoli. The San Paolo stadium was packed to the rafters: 85,000 Neapolitans chanting his name. The match was tough. Verona came to defend, putting ten men behind the ball. Diego tried everything: dribbling, passing, long-range shots, but nothing worked.
And then, in the 73rd minute, it happened. Diego received the ball on the left wing. Three defenders immediately surrounded him. The obvious move was to dribble, to try and get past all three. But instead, Diego saw something: Bagni making a run down the right, completely unmarked.
Diego could have attempted the dribble and possibly scored a spectacular goal that fans would remember forever. But instead, he launched a perfect 40-meter pass directly to Bagni’s feet. Bagni controlled it, advanced, and fired a low shot into the corner.
1-0 Napoli!
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