he was 88 years old, he was the heart of the Grande Inter-Corriere.it

It came before Corso. And after Mazzola. He was used to being in the middle. Because, as they say, it really is in medio stat virtus for him. Luis Suarez has left us. He was 88 years old and was born in northern Spain, the one that opens its gaze to the Atlantic: in Galicia. He was the architect of Grande Inter. He built games and doodles of infinite class. Angelo Moratti fell in love with it. But not right away. In the first game he even wanted to kick Helenio Herrera. He had made him believe he had bought a forward midfielder, instead he let the Spaniard play who was starting to lose his hair like a useless midfielder. Three hundred million thrown away, even worse, money given away to help Barcelona finish the huge new stadium, the Camp Nou.

Moratti, however, was wrong. Suarez was not an attacking midfielder and not even a midfielder. Luisito was everything. The essence of football. Pure gray matter on a green field. With him beside him, the Bedins and Tagnins also changed pace and raised their heads. Suarez had a joystick instead of a foot. He could calibrate a forty-yard throw like he had a protractor under his studs. Jair knew that ball would inexorably end up in front of him and he just had to push it to surprise defenses that still didn’t believe it. Before arriving at Inter Suarez was already Suarez. In the sense that he was the Barcelona star who had drawn him from Deportivo La Corua, his hometown team. A frail little boy even to be a footballer with the good fortune of having a butcher father. Guaranteed steaks at every meal and pounds and muscles that grew without the need for an athletic trainer. It is said that even in the years of Inter he secretly brought salami, cheese and other goodies to retreat to resist the impossible diets of the Magician. You started out as a pure striker, then realized that he enjoyed letting the others score more. Altruism combined with the protection of shins and ankles.

So good that he earned the Ballon d’Or in 1960. To win the European Cup and the Spanish Liga. Not so obvious in the years of the Grande Real. For him, Helenio Herrera, who coached with the Blaugrana and the Nerazzurri, first sacrificed Kubala, the Hungarian ace and then, in Milan, Angelillo, the idol of the fans. And also of Moratti. A gamble that blew up the bank. Inter after Suarez was never the same. And Luisito also became another. The Nerazzurri shirt remained attached to him forever even when he played for Sampdoria at the end of his career. In Milan he won everything and also experienced the years of defeat. He never turned his back on the city that had given him life, even off the pitch. He returned as coach to a team that could not be coached. But gracias in Spanish is not a word just to say. He also knew how to do it on the bench and brought the young Spain of the under 21 to the top of Europe. Then the career as a TV commentator. He is able to displace and amaze even in front of a microphone. His technical comments were phrases that helped to better understand what was happening on the pitch. His irony was an antidote to the banal camomile served up by football TV programs. Without ever falling into caciara. Someone like Suarez has a hard time planning the new football. Only those who have started kicking in front of the ocean have fantasy in their feet and the ball never gets wet.