Dear Captain,
Well, I wish I could write it in Italian...
I imagine how it will be. It approximately has been 14 years, 5 months, 2 weeks and 4 days since I knew you for the very first time. I understand it is counted as nothing compares to another amazing Milanista. I understand how short it is. Do you remember about Bologna versus Milan on 24 January 1999? I saw you first that day, night in Indonesia. I remember how clumsy you were. With all my respect, you didn’t impress me at all that time. As a silly kid, I thought that football was only about goal. I thought that footballer was only about the way to win every match with no excuse and exception.
Beppe
Signori’s goal was the first football goal that I saw. He scored twice during
that match. Oh come on, you must remember about it so much more than me. I
remember how I opened my mouth so wide, how I scratched my head though it wasn’t
itch at all. Milan scored twice that time, they were Guly and N Gotty. But you
guys won it, because Mangone scored his own goal in around 58’. I asked my dad
how he could be that stupid, then he just smiled at me. I got some unclear
questions that night. About what the football is, about how it should be, about
who you guys are. But above all, I enjoyed that feeling. I enjoyed the way
silence dominated me and my dad, I enjoyed how silence connected me to him in
its ironic way that words never could. And you were there, Captain. As a part
of that night, as a part of that silence, as a part of that connection, as a
part of my childhood.
Time
flies in its own speed. I’ve found myself has been in the front of television
in every broadcasted Milan match. I found myself how I asked my dad to buy me a
Maldini jersey, then apparently he couldn’t see me in that jersey for God was
sure that this world didn’t deserve to give him any happiness anymore. He took
him from me 3 days after I asked that jersey. But the connection between us has
never stopped. And you have been there too, in that football. Between those invisible
hands who have connected me to him. Weird enough? I guess so.
I
wish I could do some magics to read your mind, to be on your breakfast time but
still become invisible. Maybe I’d see the legendary combination between capuccino and panini. As the legendary as your name. I hate and love mercato all at once. How it surprises
me, how it brings me the irreplaceable adrenaline. The best way to remind me that
people come and go, about hello and good bye. The best way to teach me about
something good in good bye. I remember how fucked up the last summer’s mercato, when those senators and stars
left Milan. When I suddenly became a little bit (much) hopeless for I saw a
very huge hole. But frankly saying, I still felt relieved for you were still with
us.
Last
night it was a time machine. It came with no permission, brought me to the
past. Gave me the beautiful way to dwell myself in the very deep sea called as nostalgia.
It was weird for I could see you clearly. I saw how green those stadiums
grasses. They were beyond beautiful. The
way you created your first goal in Serie A when you guys fought against
Juventus at the third giornata of
season 2000/2001. How was your feeling? Could you sleep that night? Did Paola
welcome and hug you when you made your first step at home after that match? Did
you ever bring it into Federico and Angela bedtime stories? They have gotten me
so curious. You know what, I’ve always thought that you were born in charisma.
Maybe it’d be so embarrassing for you to be so up, I mean very up to react
anything. But, that was your own history. Goal means something really really
really personal to every footballer, according to my own opinion. It seems like
a monumental statue to remind you in very personal way how everything has been
for you. So how did you make a deal with it, to be cheerful but still in
charismatic corridor? Is it something similar with the way you hugged Gattuso
after he punched you?
I
guess you really love the match against Manchester United on 2 May 2007. I
still remember the way you became so intimidative and aggressive that night,
tackled in the unbeaten braveness and passion, the way you protected your mates
until that third goal happened. For God’s sake Captain, how I miss that night.
How I miss every single thing in Ancelotti era. Well another question, how did
it feel when he asked you to play as the left mezz’ala? It was so weird for
you, right? If I don’t get it wrong, it was for Seedorf before you. Don’t hide
it, Berlusconi also threw some critics about it. He thought that it would
create something unproductive in squad. But guess what, Captain. You played
like a boss, a big boss! You answered it in your very classy way, on the pitch.
Then all knew what happenned. The 7th Champions League trophy for Milan.
I
don’t know it’s wrong or right. I mean there are so many sarcasm in our lives
as fans. People love to act like the most right persons, people love to bully
the others – love to make others lower just because they think of something
different. But I guess you just wanted to show that football is the most
sensible miniature of life. As the same as you have to be professional in life,
you also have to be professional in football. Coaches can’t read your mind,
can’t listen to your deepest heart when they asked you to play on something
really not you. But sometimes, there’s a different way to bring up the best
you. Maybe that’s what Ancelotti did in you and thank God, you responded it so
great.
“Massimo is also very disappointed,
but at the end of the day age proved to be more important than emotions.
Ambrosini has been a great Milan player. He played 18 seasons with us and that
is incredible.”
Is
it difficult enough for them to tell you about it earlier? Did they forget
about that silver lining between you and Milan? Did they forget about that
emotion? Did they forget about the way you cheered the squad up though you were
on the bench? What was it all about to be honest?
I
knew it, so clear. They will think how I become so hyperbolic about this one.
They will think that I throw any useless emotion, they will throw any sarcasm.
They will ask me cynically, “Who are you?
Do you give something to Milan directly bla bla bla...” Fuck that! I don’t
and won’t give any single damn on it. But as the same as my dad just smiled at
me when I asked him something stupid, I guess they will do the similar thing. I
bet they as the part of football won’t answer it, leave me alone in my
disappointment. While in the other hand, it whips me that way to live in a
classy mentality. Maybe it’s true that in
some case I don’t need to know the answer immediately but to live it up.
To find it by myself without moaning, then it will just come that way.
How
do you feel right now, Captain? To end your San Siro time with no title, does
it hurt you? I’m still wishing for a farewell match for you but yea, all we can
do is just to see it later. “Ambrosini
leaves quietly out the side door whereas last season Inzaghi, Nesta, Gattuso,
Seedorf, Mark van Bommel, Flavio Roma and Zambrotta had a ceremony,” to be
honest this one spins around in my head. But yea Captain, this is life – this
is football. It could run so clueless, it caught us up in any complicated
riddle. Got us in silence with no words. But just like what I wrote before,
silence could connect us to the answer we need that words never could. Silence could be a secret key to answer our secret petitions.
I’m
sorry for it becomes so lame and stupid. But above all, Captain - above all my moan,
above all my disappointment, above all my adoration, above all my respect,
above all my love – thank you for you made that world’s best footballer to be so cheesy. Thank you for these 18
seasons. Thank you for you were in my childhood and
my teenage days. Thank you for you are in my current days. Thank you for every
lesson you gave with a ball on your feet during these you and me 14 seasons.
So,
when will we meet? Haha.
With
love,
Marini Saragih
PS: I’ve always wanted to name my
first child – don’t care it will be a boy or girl, Maldini. What do you think
about it, Captain?
