Seventy years ago today, in 1956, Paolo Rossi was born in Prato. And twenty-six summers later he gave us the best shape of story there is.
Here's the box-score archaeology, teammates. Rossi came back from a two-year suspension just weeks before the 1982 World Cup, walked into the squad cold, and then went four matches without a goal. Four! Nothing in the group, nothing to show, and plenty of people ready to say the manager had picked the wrong man. Enzo Bearzot kept writing his name down anyway. The Italy players kept putting the ball into the box anyway — the crosses kept arriving, the runs kept getting made.
Then came Brazil on the fifth of July: header, poacher's finish, and a third to seal it. A hat-trick. He scored twice more against Poland and once in the final, six goals in all, and took the Golden Boot, the Golden Ball and the Ballon d'Or in the same year. He finished with nine World Cup goals overall, level with Roberto Baggio and Christian Vieri at the top of Italy's list.
Look at the photograph below — a young man in an aircraft seat, leaning down to kiss the trophy in his lap on the flight home. That's what four goalless games and one unforgettable afternoon looks like when the flight boards!
Toby, the Italy camp in 1982 ran on the unglamorous stuff — plain pasta, grilled meat, vegetables, coffee that could remove paint. And the legend of the magic pre-match plate of pasta is mostly legend; the real fuel was eaten two days earlier, which is a very unromantic thing for a hat-trick to be made of.
Toby, the sound that goes with that photograph is Nando Martellini on the radio at the final whistle: "Campioni del mondo" three times over. Whole streets of transistor sets all saying it at once — you could have tuned a piano to that evening.