The Lay-Flat Dream of a Five-Year-Old, 1988
"So what if I'm the third-choice goalkeeper? I get a 500,000 euro annual salary and watch games for free every week!" -- Berni.
In the summer of 1988, the afternoon sun in Fiorentina was like melting honey, thickly poured onto the red brick stands of the Stadio Artemio Franchi.
The cheers of 43,000 fans created a deafening roar, causing the rusty iron railings to vibrate and hum.
Five-year-old Tommaso Berni held his father Old Berni's hand tightly, his nose brushing against the sweat-soaked back of the jerseys of the spectators in the front row. The stadium was filled with the aroma of popcorn and butter, and the scent of sun-baked grass from Southern Europe.
Little Berni looked around curiously, his first time on the pitch beginning his first experience with football.
As a longtime member of Fiorentina, Old Berni sat with his son in a front-row seat in the stands.
It was almost right next to the Fiorentina substitutes' bench below.
From a superb vantage point, the scene was incredibly exciting, with both sides trading blows in a captivating display. Young Berni, watching a game live for the first time, didn't fully understand the action, but the sight of over twenty people chasing a single football still deeply impressed him.
"Dad, why are so many of them fighting over one soccer ball? Wouldn't it be better to give each of them one?" Little Berni asked innocently, his eyes clear and bright.
"Haha, son, that's the charm of football. You'll understand later!" The father laughed, patting his son's head.
The 1988-1989 season saw Fiorentina and Inter Milan shine with star power.
"Look, the guy with the ball is Baggio, the most talented striker in all of Italy! Look at his dribble, amazing!"
"This is Antognoni, the soul of our team, and a key midfielder in our country's 1982 World Cup victory!"
"The player with the ball right now is a Brazil named Socrates, we usually call him Doctor, haha, he's a tough guy!"
After discussing Fiorentina, the father began to introduce Inter Milan.
"Their number 10 is a Germany named Matthaus, a player with a strong mentality who excels in both offense and defense."
"See that blond guy? Klinsmann, he's Germany too. His headers in the box are amazing, we need to be careful! Oops, that was close, he headed wide!"
"Sigh, what saddens me the most is Berti. He was technically gifted and had a tough style of play. It's a pity he transferred from our team to Inter Milan last summer. He was on the field, and everyone booed him, but I didn't."
Under his father's guidance, little Berni nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.
But in his heart he was thinking, "It's so hot, the sun is so strong, and twenty people are fighting over one ball, it must be exhausting!"
Little Berni suddenly noticed something. He shook his father's hand, pointed at the Fiorentina goalkeeper, and asked, "Dad, why isn't that uncle standing next to the goal trying to steal the ball?"
The father, engrossed in watching Baggio and Matthaus' one-on-one duel, gently pushed his son aside and casually remarked, "That's the goalkeeper; he doesn't need to fight for the ball, he can just stand there."
Little Berni's eyes widened in surprise.
Why does everyone else have to run and try to get the ball, but the goalkeeper doesn't?
Wouldn't they be very relaxed and comfortable?
Berni Jr. was thinking about this all first half.
The sunlight slanted down a bit in the second half, giving the sunshade over the substitutes' bench a golden edge.
"Dad, look!" Berni exclaimed excitedly as he turned around. "There's a row of uncles sitting down there. They're wearing jerseys, but they don't have to fight for the ball. They can just sit and watch!"
Berni's excited shouts drew laughter from the surrounding fans.
The father laughed, pulled his son back, and said, "Silly son, that's the substitutes' bench. Those uncles will be coming on later."
As expected, Fiorentina made three substitutions within 30 minutes.
However, Berni noticed that one substitute player remained seated the entire time, without moving, even when his teammates went to warm up.
His sneakers were spotless, his curls held in place by hair gel were perfectly styled, and he was waving an orange sports drink bottle in his hand.
When players collided in the penalty area, he even took out a piece of chocolate and broke it into pieces to eat, acting as if it were none of his business.
"Dad, who is that person? Why is he sitting still and eating? It looks like... like he's sitting in a coffee shop reading a newspaper!" Little Berni asked curiously.
"Oh? You mean our backup goalkeeper, Tolisso," the father said.
"Why isn't he moving? He's just sitting there?" Berni pressed.
"Hey, substitute goalkeeper, what's the point of moving him? He won't get a chance to play anyway, so it's like he's getting paid to watch the game," the father joked.
Little Berni nodded, seemingly understanding.
His eyes were fixed on the substitute goalkeeper, Tolisso, and he noticed that Tolisso looked quite content.
He would take a sip of his drink, wave a towel, stand up and shout a few words, then sit down again, put his feet on the chair, whisper to his teammates, and occasionally chat and laugh with the blonde female staff member who walked by.
Finally, he simply put both hands behind his head, crossed his legs, and looked like he was waiting to leave work.
Berni grew increasingly curious as he looked.
Why is everyone else so nervous, but this person seems so relaxed?
Berni then ran up to the Inter Milan substitutes' stand, stood on tiptoe to look down, and found that there was another person like that on the Inter Milan substitutes' bench.
The match is over.
Fiorentina lost 0-2 to Inter Milan at home.
The father carried his son on his shoulders as they strolled along the cobblestone streets of Fiorentina.
Berni sat there, unable to see his father's expression, but from his tone, he sensed that his father was unhappy.
"Son, you have to work hard in the future. Grow up to be a top striker and a top midfielder, and play for Fiorentina. We're lacking in midfield and attack, which is why we lost. If nothing unexpected happens, Inter Milan should be able to win the Serie A title this season."
Berni said, "Dad, you told me that when I grow up I'll go to work and earn money. How will I earn money if I play football?"
This five-year-old child's understanding of football is still limited to it being a game played by friends.
The father chuckled with delight, his upper body swaying slightly, which startled little Berni, who was sitting on his shoulders, so he quickly hugged his father's neck.
"If you can play for Fiorentina, you can make a lot of money. If you go to Inter Milan, you can make even more. You won't have to work anymore, and neither will your parents or grandparents."
The fountain on the street corner splashed water, reflecting the last rays of the sunset.
The two passed by a villa, and the father pointed to the villa and said:
"If you go to Inter Milan, your annual salary will be enough to buy this house, and we won't have to live in this cramped apartment anymore."
Little Berni's eyes widened like saucers.
If I went to Inter Milan, could I buy a big villa with a year's salary?
"Dad, I'm going to become a professional player and make lots of money so that Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Grandma, and Grandpa and Grandma on my mother's side can all live in the big house I buy!" Little Berni said proudly, his hands on his hips, perched on his father's shoulders.
Old Berni stopped and picked up his son.
As soon as the streetlights came on, their glow melted away beneath the feet of the father and son.
"Players have to run all day under the scorching sun," the father said, squeezing his little arm. "They'll scrape their knees if they fall on the grass, and their hands will be so cold during winter training that they can't hold the ball. Making big money isn't that easy, son."
Berni Jr., however, stared at the lights of the Stadio Artemio Franchi in the distance, those beams of light piercing through the deepening night.
He remembered Tolisso sitting on the bench, a drink bottle dangling from his seat, chatting with his legs crossed; he also remembered Inter Milan's substitute goalkeeper lazily yawning—
"I want to be the backup goalkeeper!" he suddenly shouted, his eyes shining like stars. "Like Tolisso, sitting under the awning watching the game and making lots of money!"
The evening breeze stirred up the fallen leaves on the stone path. Old Berni paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"What nonsense are you talking about? My son is destined to be a forward like Baggio and Matthaus, and you want to be a goalkeeper, a backup goalkeeper at that? You're just too adorable!"