retired_teju

As I walked into the press conference the next morning, a press conference in which I was expected only to comment on our title triumph, I knew all hell was about to break loose. The more keen-eyed journalists might have been able to discern something from the face of Massimo Moratti. He still looked shocked, but his face had changed somewhat from the blank look he'd worn at the end of the meeting we'd just had in his office. Now his mind was starting to work, just like you would expect from a very successful and very clever man.

As we had walked down the corridor to the press room, Moratti asked me if I was still drunk from the raucous celebrations of the night before. I admitted that maybe I was, yet it didn't have any bearing on what had just happened. He asked me what he would recommend I do now, or more pertinently, who I would recommend. I had nothing much to say. He asked me about Mihajlovic. I said he could do worse. Then he muttered cryptically about karma, about ten years ago, and how the circle had turned. I laughed a little wistfully. He looked at me as though he didn't think it was funny at all.

As we sat down, I had in my mind what I wanted to say. There were no notes. I just got on with it.

"Good morning gentlemen. Now I am aware that you've all come here this morning to talk about our fantastic title triumph. On this occasion, I will have to defer to Mr Moratti for comments on that." I could see a few of the sharper journalists perk up in their seats. "It is with regret that I am announcing my intention to stand down as manager of Internazionale Milan. The reasons for this are many. Foremost however, is the fact that I need to spend more time with my family, and my beautiful wife who is now expecting a child."

"In the four seasons in which I have been honoured to be the manager of this legendary club, I feel we have achieved much. So much in fact, that I feel I have achieved as much as I can. All that remains is to win the Champions League, which we came so close to the season before last. It would be wrong of me to stay on simply for this purpose, when I know that I no longer have the necessary motivation to take charge of the team for the next Serie A campaign."

"There are so many people to thank. Firstly Mr Moratti, who I can call a friend as well as an employer, and who has indulged my less attractive character traits. My coaching staff and the players, who have also put up with me and responded magnificently to every challenge I have ever set them. All the other people who have helped our success in every way. And finally, to the tifosi of Inter Milan, especially the boys of the Curva Nord, who in my opinion, are the greatest fans in the world. Their unswerving support through the darker periods of my time here gave me the motivation to carry on, and everything that has been achieved here, they have played a full part in."

With that, I got up and walked out, with a barrage of questions ringing in my ears. I left the pandemonium behind, and went back to Appiano Gentile to say good bye to all the employees who had done such a great job. There were a few tears from other people, not surprising given that the Italians were an emotional sort, but none from me. I was doing the right thing, with no regrets, and despite my occasional ill tempered outbursts, I always had a stiff upper lip, especially where blubbering was concerned.

Then it was back to the San Siro to clear up the lose ends. That was a mistake. A crowd had gathered, and there was no way I could do anything other than address them warmly. That was the nearest I came to getting emotional, yet again there would be no great display. I just wanted to say thank you and goodbye, then get the hell out.

After a final hug from Moratti, that's exactly what I did, speeding away in the back of his chauffeur driven limo to a pre-arranged meeting with Carla.

The two of us were laughing as we headed to Linate airport, and a flight to London. All the pressure had been lifted from our shoulders, and we were all set to travel and forget football. I had no idea what the longer term future held, except that it didn't involve managing Inter Milan. I'd done my time, I was proud of what I had achieved, now the page was turning.

retired_teju

Over the next few days, the media passed the usual vacuous comments on my reign, and whatever else they decided to pore over. It was all very predictable stuff, high praise from those that liked me, vicious criticism from those who didn't. Laughably, there was comment about how I had only made a statement and said nothing more, with all the usual sort of ill-informed speculation on what that meant. It had no significance at all of course. I had always despised the press, and felt I had no obligation to say anything other than what I needed to say to the fans, via the media, about why I had quit.

At the end of May, Inter appointed Walter Zenga as the club's new manager. It was an admirable tradition of appointing former club greats to coaching roles, though I didn't have any real idea of his coaching abilities. Nor did I care.

And with all that, the chapter was closed, and I was, officially I suppose, yesterday's man. I spent the whole of June travelling around with Carla, from London to Moscow to Tokyo, and a few other places I'd never been. I managed to fit in one or two other places I had been, including a trip to Buenos Aires once again. We never tired of the place.

Moving into July, we were warned by the doctors to slow down a bit. Carla was nearly eight months gone, quite huge, and starting to feel the pace. Neither of us felt like returning to Milan just yet, so I suggested that we go to Barcelona for a couple of weeks, then back to Milan for the birth of the child.

What happened next would probably be described in the media as a delicious irony. I've never eaten an irony, and if I did, I would have imagined it would be bittersweet rather than delicious. But enough sarcasm about the brain dead phraseology of the media. The irony this time centred around a call I received in our rented villa just outside Barcelona from Carlos Sainz, the former world rally champion. I'd heard of him of course, yet had absolutely no idea why he would be calling me, until he mentioned another name I was familiar with, that Carlos was acting on behalf of. Ramon Calderon. As in...Ramon Calderon...President of Real Madrid.

"Real Madrid?" I said, rather dumbly.

"Yes Signor Robinson. The President has asked if you can come to Madrid, to meet with him about our vacant coaching position."

"Emm...only one problem. My wife is within a few weeks of giving birth. I can't really leave her right now, and I don't think she should be flying at this point in time. We were intending to take the train back to Milan when we leave."

"Oh the irony," Sainz laughed. "President Calderon travelling to Barcelona, to talk to an ex Barcelona player about coaching Real Madrid."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that!"

After a few more niceities, we arranged the terms of the meeting, and I hung up the phone. Then it hit me. I'd promised Carla I would step down from coaching and become a family man. Not for three months. For a long time. Oh s**t. I had about 48 hours to break it to her, before a delegation from Real Madrid came trooping into my villa. Like most heavily pregnant women, she had lately been exhibiting a totally disproportionate anxiety about everything. What to do? Call back and tell them no? Or run it by my gorgeous wife and hope she didn't faint?

retired_brianrt

I'm sure the wife will listen Irish just use that charm you've imposed throughout the story

retired_lrenfroe

Don't tell her and coach behind her back!!!

Oh, that wouldn't really work :p

retired_milissac

a brilliant story KUTGW. I love the way you tell it and the extra detail you put in. The main character is brilliant and so is Carla. Oh and don;t go for the job, wait until Barcelona becomes available.

retired_adthompson

Just wanted to add irish that have just read it all in one setting. Quite brilliant, it had everything