Translator: Nicoletta Pedrana Reviewer: Michele Gianella
I swear I don't understand why they stay away from me.
I'm sorry, what is it?
I'm tall, but I'm not bad.
Look how small she is, how small she is.
Actually, she's very normal, thank you - sorry, I can't resist now either.
Let's start with this, you are all good observers
and you saw that I am tall, very tall, too tall.
So tall that, in my life,
I've always lied shamelessly about my height,
taking inches off me.
I used to ask girls, at parties, when I was a kid, "Do you want to dance?"
No.
- Why not? - Because you're too tall.
And I always ended up in a corner, at those parties,
watching others dance.
But then one day, when I was 16, I met her, the volleyball.
Which is a sport for tall people.
In fact, I looked great up there, among giants like me.
Volleyball is a team sport:
six against six,
a ball, a net in the middle and you play with your hands.
But there's something about it that makes it a little special.
Volleyball is the only team sport
which by regulation forces you to pass the ball to your teammates
because no player can touch the ball twice in a row.
Passing balls to teammates
is the only way we can try to win.
And that's why, in volleyball, collaboration is not a choice
but an obligation.
An exciting obligation.
And the legendary Julio Velasco always told us this,
the Argentine coach of our national team.
In 1989, at the Hotel Ritz in Modena our adventure began.
Julio Velasco has just been appointed technical commissioner of the Team
and at the first meeting all together
is thoroughly explaining us
how he plans to train us, and what he expects from us;
and eventually, distributes roles and responsibilities.
And so far,
apart from his beautiful South American accent,
nothing was so special.
When adventure begins you always start like this,
telling everyone what you want to do.
Then, however, Julio spoke to us separately;
I can still remember that meeting, just me and him.
Dear Zorro, in order to become one of the best players in the world,
what do you need to improve?
I replied nervously: Julio, I must improve blocking,
and then be faster in defense and also much better while serving.
He looks at me seriously and says:
I'm sorry Zorro, but what is your role?
I'm a spiker.
Exactly.
And what does a spiker do?
This is what you have to do: spike, spike, spike.
Just better and better.
It's been more than 30 years since that meeting with Velasco
and I keep thinking
that suggesting a spiker to spike better
that's not exactly such a brilliant advice.
But I also remember that from that moment on -
even if I was 24, and very confused -
after that meeting
I knew exactly what to focus my whole life on.
In fact, after those words,
and a lot of training at the gym,
our team started to win a lot of matches.
European Championships, World League, Goodwill Games,
the first world championship.
We traveled all over the world and we played inside huge buildings:
sometimes we were idolized, sometimes unpopular.
So much popularity, emotions and so many victories.
Until the Olympics arrived in Barcelona, in 1992;
we were the World Champions, the Dream Team,
the team poised to win.
Italy-Holland quarterfinals.
Fifth set.
The score is 16 for both teams and the game ends up at 17.
This is the last point.
Van Der Meulen attacks from the second line,
the ball touches Cantagalli's hands, ends up outside and falls to the ground.
Holland wins and Italy is out for just one point.
When such an important ball falls to the ground,
you don't feel anything anymore, everything is muffled and confused.
A moment earlier,
when victory and defeat are before you, at the same distance,
we're all the same,
our eyes are closed, our hearts are beating
and watch the ball fly.
An instant later, when that ball falls,
some scream and jump with joy and others are petrified in tears,
because it's like a stone in the stomach.
In Barcelona,
after that great defeat there was a great silence.
The locker room was quiet.
The reporters were silent.
The great Olympic village: silence.
The joy of victory lasts an instant.
The pain of defeat stays in you much, much longer.
From victory grows self-esteem, and from defeat grows courage;
but only with hard and stubborn effort.
Because defeat either makes you grow or paralyzes you.
Reinhold Messner, the famous hiker,
says that when he was walking across the South Pole,
in hard times he thought:
what can I do,
in front of an infinite horizon of frost and ice?
Walk!
And just think about the next step.
There are millions of steps to take: too many, you can't stand them.
Your only hope is to take the next step,
if you don't stop.
And in fact, step by step, we started again.
We started winning more Europeans and more World Leagues,
the second world championship in the final against the Netherlands,
we continued to work very hard,
like maniacs in search of perfection
which is impossible to achieve,
but is the only thing that pushes you to improve day by day.
And all this we have done, mainly,
to achieve our dream: the Olympic gold.
And in fact, this time, at the Atlanta Olympics in 1996
it's a whole different story compared to four years ago.
We win all the fist five sets.
In the quarterfinals, we defeat Argentina.
In the semi-final we defeat Yugoslavia, get to the final and we are the favourite.
There's still Holland over there, like four years ago.
Let's go to the fifth set, the last one, like four years ago;
but this time we don't lose, like we did four years ago, for one point:
this time,
we lose by two points.
No gold medal,
we still have that damn silver medal;
even if over time, we dealt with it
and now, many years later, that silver shines almost like gold.
After that lost final,
some of my companions showed strength, courage, even stubbornness
to start over again.
And an Italy with many young athletes
started winning more Europeans, World Leagues and Champions Cups;
but most importantly, the third consecutive World Cup.
That team kept winning for ten years in a row
changing players, coaches and always throwing young champions.
And for this reason, not only for the many victories,
all over the world journalists elected us
the best volleyball team of the 20th century.
After that damn silver in Atlanta,
I decided not to keep my head in the box anymore
which for sportsmen means thinking only about your sport,
24/7, every day of the year.
Athletes, whether willing or unwilling, must change their lives at a young age.
In fact, at the age of 33,
I changed my life and I tried
journalism, training, theatre
which gave me the chance to tell my story
and my passion for volleyball.
But the very moment I stopped playing volleyball,
I also stopped having the only recurring dream of my life:
Sport arena, volleyball match.
There's an audience. I don't see it.
The only object I see is a very white ball
that comes at me, and I take the run.
I jump as high as I can, squeeze the ball as hard as I can.
It starts very fast,
passes near the hands of the opposing team,
touches the red white pole and goes fast to the line.
White ball, white stripe, getting closer, they're about to kiss
when, suddenly, the bagger of a faceless athlete
prevents that kiss,
and the white ball stays high suspended.
And then again the ball towards me, I take the chase, jump, squeeze,
white ball, white line, closer,
touch, it's done - and not this time.
One hand, only one hand, prevents the kiss between the ball and the ruler;
and fear begins.
That ball will never fall.
It's an endless infinite cycle that will never end,
until I wake up sweating in some hotel,
a few kilometers away
inside a building where we will play in a few hours.
So many years later,
what is left of this dream I no longer have?
The sharp white ball, in a confused world.
The white line and the fear of failure.
The sharp white ball in a confused world
is the attitude of great athletes
to exclusively focus on one detail,
that is considered crucial.
Everything else does not exist; and if it exists it must disappear.
The white line is the boundary.
A line decides if you did right or if you did wrong.
If you're in or you're out, if you win or you lose.
Truth be told, some also foresee a balance;
but the basic rule in sport is that only one wins.
And if you don't win, you lose.
No mediation, no compromise.
And if that's not enough,
you are judged on the basis of the result.
Did you win?
Great job!
Did you lose?
I'm sorry, but it's all wrong. It's all to be done over again,
as the legendary Bartali said.
The fear of failure is like a very powerful glue
that is drying out,
and slowly starts to block you and you feel you will be immobilised.
Fear is human, we all feel it even if we call it by different names:
pressure, tension, stress.
But sport can help you recognize the signs of fear,
and find out that it's definitely not going to immobilize you.
And that's because in every game you train your courage.
These three signs of a dream I no longer have
are three attitudes developed in the world of sport.
As a player, honestly, I thought that thinking about the ball,
dividing the world in black and white,
and never being afraid
were universal values.
Now that I no longer live in a volleyball bubble,
I believe there's no value to it but related to its opposite,
and that life is a tiring coexistence
with the ambivalence of feelings, emotions and thoughts.
After all, how can you tell hyper-focusing
from a maniac attitude, an obsession?
How can you expect a white line to divide right from wrong,
in a multifaceted world?
And those eternal battles against the fear of failure
that sport forces you to fight every day,
maybe are not a battle you can just win or lose.
I think that, after all,
these eternal questions that sport gives you every day
can help us identify a little better
the point where we are on the pendulum of our life
which keeps shuffling between black and white,
right and wrong, good and bad.
Thanks.
(Applause)