I Think Therefore I Play by Andrea Pirlo, Alessandro Alciato

and a teacher for me, a kind, friendly man who knew how to make things fun. I’d spent the best years of my career with him. If you’re a player who wants to get on and give everything, you won’t find anyone better than him.
    Ancelotti’s even more impressive than Carlo Mazzone back in my Brescia days. You wouldn’t see the latter on the training pitch right up until the Thursday. He’d stay in the dressing room, wrapped in a massive jacket out of the cold while his assistant took the session.
    Carlo Ancelotti was my motivation for agreeing to head to London. But, in the meantime, Berlusconi had pulled out a second piece of paper. This time there were loads of names with ticks next to them, and one that had been circled.
    “Stay. We’ve signed Huntelaar.”
    Huntelaar…
    “We could have brought in other guys, people like Claudio Pizarro, 28 but we chose him.”
    Huntelaar...
    “Listen, Andrea, you just can’t do this, damn it. You’re the symbol of Milan, a standard bearer for this team, and we’ve already sold Kaká. You can’t jump ship as well. It’d be a terrible blow, to our image as much as anything. We can’t have everyone leaving.”
    During the Confederations Cup that I’d just finished playing, Ancelotti and I spoke a fair bit on the phone, not least because there wasn’t much of a time difference between South Africa and England. There was no need to get up at the crack of dawn to hear this particular serenade.
    He wanted to bring me to London at all costs, and cost was indeed the last hurdle still to be overcome. Insurmountable, as it transpired. Milan wanted too much cash, and they were also pushing for Branislav Ivanovic to be included in the deal. Chelsea hadn’t the slightest intention of letting the defender go.
    “Mr President, I really like all this talk of being a standard bearer. But my contract here is about to run out, and those guys are offering me four years.” At five million euros a season. It wasn’t money that had convinced me, more the length of the deal. That’s always very important.
    “Where’s the problem, Andrea? You can sort all that out with Galliani, can’t you? Take it as read.”
    “You sure?”
    “Absolutely positive.”
    No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he shot out of the room to tell the media: “Andrea Pirlo is not for sale. He’s staying with Milan and he’ll finish his career right here.”
    As it turned out, I moved to Juventus. That’s Berlusconi all over, though. He’s theatrical and knows exactly what he wants. It’s what makes him such a fantastic president and lover of pure, beautiful football. Winning isn’t enough for him.
    When he was at his busiest with political commitments, we didn’t see that much of him. He’d only come to the really big sold-out games like the Milan derby and when Barcelona or Juventus were in town. He’d go whole years without coming to see us, and we certainly felt his absence, but that was all blown away on the rare occasions when he did drop in.
    It’s perhaps difficult to understand, and even harder to explain, but whenever we heard the whir of his helicopter at Milanello, it sparked a positive feeling deep within us. We were like abandoned dogs furiously wagging our tails at the return of our master.
    Once he was on the ground, he’d speak with the players and soon have us wound up like coiled springs. From that point of view, he’ll always be the best; a presidential version of Conte. He’d call us individually into a small room a few metres along from the training pitch. He loved those one-on-ones, and he’d usually spend a little bit of extra time with Inzaghi, whom he also phoned on occasion.
    They had a lot to talk about. I, on the other hand, have never taken a call from Berlusconi. I’ve voted for him in the past, even if he never asked us to directly. Often he’d say that football was sacred and politics profane. Naturally, he’d explain why his plans would make Italy great,