He said to me, “Oh come on, it’s just Milan.” I’m not sure
if there were words after that or not, because I had already turned my back and
walked away forever. Everyone who knows me knows that it’s never “just Milan”
for me. I don’t even know how I ever lived not knowing about Milan, because the
red and black coursing through my veins breathes life into me and keeps me
going through thick and thin. It is not just my passion, it is literally my
life. And I get that my coworkers or acquaintances may not understand that, but
people close to me do. Or they’re not going to be close to me. And that’s why I
walked away from him.
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| It probably sucks to get dumped for a football team, but it is Milan, after all |
He could never understand how it was to watch the strength
of Baresi, captain both spiritually and tactically, even if I only saw the very
end of his playing days. He was always focused, always knew where his opponents
were, and was always there for his teammates. He led by example, a calm
fortress that was always moving, ever protecting. Watching him play was like
watching a tiger in motion, he was strong, swift, and made no mistake when he
went in for the tackle. I don’t know if I’ll ever see another player quite like
him. How could anyone say Baresi was “just Milan?”
He certainly had no idea what it was like watching the
elegance of Maldini. The Milan hero dispossessed his opponents as if they were
little children. Every bit the graceful artist as he was the respected general,
his breathtaking tackles were as beautiful to watch as the most beautiful of
goals from the best strikers. But he didn’t even have to tackle as often as
most defenders do, because he read the game so perfectly and was always marking
his opponents so well. Whether at left back or at center back, he was like a brilliant
diamond amongst mere granite, with crossing and passes most players could only
dream of. His authority on the pitch was unquestioned, with leadership that was
as innate as it was genetic. Except his legend as both player and captain is
perhaps even bigger than his father’s. How in the world could anyone say that
Paolo Maldini was “just Milan?”
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| My everything |
As with all of life, Milan has had its ups and downs. But
breathing and bleeding Milan through good times and in bad is all I know.
Having survived Milan players from Digao to Traoré, Cerci to Matri, clearly
this is not “just Milan” for me. But I also got to watch players like
Shevchenko, Kaká, Costacurta, Nesta, Inzaghi, Pirlo, Ibrahimovic, and so many,
many more. Through trophies and trials, ecstatic wins and earth-shattering
losses, my relationship with Milan has become communal. I can’t change who I
am, and I wouldn’t want to. Because it’s never been “just Milan” to me.
So yeah, I walked away, and I never looked back. I thought
he understood who I was when we met, given the undeniable presence of red and
black in my home décor, clothing, and basically everything I own. Or the way
that I could turn any conversation to Milan, and consistently did. I thought
that the sacred nature of game times and the constant lack of sleep that came
with them would give him some kind of clue. Maybe he just thought I was another
dumb fangirl, or even just an average fan. But he was wrong, and now I’m gone.
Because Milan isn’t just a hobby or a passing interest or a diversion with
pretty colors. It’s how I think, what I breathe, and part of my very essence. There
are a lot of dumb things men say to lose a woman, but all he needed were two
words: “just Milan.”
This post inspired by the music of Ludo’s
“Good Will Hunting By Myself”