What if we said Paulo Dybala? Chimera? Isn’t it a more daring fantasy? Dream of a sick mind? The fact is that if we had said or predicted José Mourinho only a year ago on the bench of the Rome we would have been accused of much worse insanity and a propensity for delirium. The fact is that Mou, against all reasonableness, made himself flesh, bones and verb, is here among us, first praised and then contested and reviled, of course, we are Rome, unavoidable. The fact is that his arrival in Trigoria fully falls into the category of “dreams come true”. I will say more, of dreams not even conceived or conceivable, not even in the most sensational storm of shooting stars.
So why not? Dream calls dream like in the midsummer or midwinter nights of English bard which, moreover, he often chose Italy for its luxurious dreamlike raids. Having said that the Roma fan has always been the most available to dream by detachment on the planet, a little by natural inclination, a little because by dint of tightening the belt, running out of medals, cups, trophies and any other testimony of a real greatness , sheltering in the grandeur of castles in the air is the only salvation (someone will say “pathological”, the Lazio shore for sure, “healthy” others will say, we will say, less inclined to distinguish the border between reality and dream), so why not try again?
For at least three reasons, one more groundless than the other, but which together make a perfect suggestion. That also sounds good. Call her Joya. Are not suggestion and dreams the skein of cinema? So here we are comfortably seated and dreaming in the living room of Friedkin house and screen in cinemascope. First reason. The most absurd, therefore the most exciting: his name is Paulo. Need to add more? Probe the Roma people of several generations and name the Francesco, Daniele, Rudi, Bruno and Paulo to touch only the last forty years, there will be no misunderstanding on how to complete.
Second reason. The dream starts, not surprisingly, at the end of a nightmare. The surreal enormity of the 3 to 4 Sunday at the Olimpico, perhaps the most brutal, incomprehensible and indigestible defeat of Rome ever. José at the end of the game is not a man, but an open wound. However, he finds the strength and the clarity to approach Dybala, the most enlightened of his executioners of the evening, for a declaration of esteem and perhaps of love: “I would love to train a talent like you one day…”. We do not know what Dybala answered him and what meaning to attribute to his smile, if circumstance, gratitude or, attention, here the dream flares up, the crumb of a temptation that Shaman of Setubal he would inject into the beautiful little head of the Argentine.
Third reason, and here we become prosaic bordering on the heavy. Dybala’s contract with Juve. To date, no one knows exactly what the boy’s and what are in the head Jorge Antun, attorney and family friend. Handshakes, declarations of intent and verbal agreements in the world of football count for zero. In fact, there is no black and white for his future in black and white. At Juve, the accounts weigh, the doubt is palpable.
Joya makes ten million a year. Sustainable? Maybe yes, if taken at no cost. It would take a cinematic hit. The last, prehistoric Scudetto of Rome was also and above all the consequence of a cinematographic coup, that of Franco Sensi who, tired of Lazio revelry, tired of dreaming, cut short and brought the “impossible Batistuta” to Rome. Dino Viola he did the same, twenty years earlier, with Paulo Roberto Falcao. Contagious players who change the destinies of a team. They create technical and environmental euphoria. The rest is all in the boy’s head. In his disposition to a life as a hero rather than as a supporting actor, at Juve or Inter. That, winning in Rome, with Roma, this is what it is about. Heroes forever.