The beginning of the World Cup was perfect for everyone—except for a team living under intense public and media pressure.
The bus left the hotel at 4:15.
Marco was sitting in his favorite seat in the third row, close to the coaching staff. Outside the windows, the city of Hannover looked clean, organized, and calm—nothing like the chaos that defines Italian streets. Germany controlled itself, while Italy could never contain itself, even if it tried.
Today, more than forty thousand people were waiting for the Azzurri.
The players arrived at the stadium to a passionate استقبال—as if they had already won the trophy.
The dressing room before the match held something invisible, something no one could truly describe. It was neither noise nor silence… it felt like the sound inside a submarine, each player locked inside his own world.
Then suddenly, Marcello Lippi entered, his eyes filled with hope and confidence. His presence alone was enough to motivate any player. The way he stood, the way he looked at each of them—it was as if he was telling them: I have seen everything… and nothing worries me.
He spoke for seven minutes about defensive details and key players from the opponent. Simple things. Clear things.
Then the captain, Fabio Cannavaro, stood up.
He looked around at Gianluigi Buffon, at Alessandro Nesta, at Francesco Totti, and at the younger players who tried to look calm but couldn't. Then he said:
"We know what's waiting for us back home. It stays there. Everything we have—we leave it on that pitch tonight."
Everyone stayed silent. Then they all walked toward the tunnel.
Group E was considered the "group of death." Their opponent was the young and determined Ghana national football team, playing their first World Cup—something that made them even more dangerous, because they had nothing to lose.
Lippi had warned his players about the first twenty minutes.
Ghana pressed hard, as if they didn't know Italy's history—as if they hadn't even read the names of the players they were facing.
But as time passed, Ghana's pressure dropped, and Italy began creating chances. However, the attack failed to turn them into goals.
Time moved to the 40th minute.
Francesco Totti stepped up to take a corner. He delivered it beautifully, but it passed through heads and bodies and fell outside the box—right to Andrea Pirlo.
Pirlo struck it.
The ball passed through a forest of legs and found its way into the corner of Ghana's net.
Italy took the lead.
Everyone ran toward Pirlo, and in that moment, something inside Marco was released—not joy… but a deep sense of relief.
Then came the halftime whistle.
Calm finally filled the dressing room, but Lippi kept talking about caution.
The second half was more careful. The match became a game of calculations.
Then came the 84th minute.
A defensive mistake from Ghana—Vincenzo Iaquinta took advantage, dribbled past the goalkeeper, and scored a beautiful goal.
It was a decisive goal. A confirmation of a deserved victory.
Just minutes later, the final whistle blew—announcing the beginning of Italy's journey toward their fourth title.
Only six matches remained between them and the dream.