Tonali are you sure you're happy?

Tonali are you sure you're happy?



LaPresse photo

The sports sheet - the portrait of Bonanza

Alexander Bonan

Little Sandrino wrote love letters for Milan, the great Sandro played with his favorite team. Now Newcastle will arrive, an excellent contract, but...

I don't know if money has a colour, a smell, a dignity. I think I have already expressed this doubt in one of the writings dedicated to the beloved Foglio. The fact is that I don't understand money, I don't even know exactly how it is made. Maybe because I've always had them (don't worry, I'll explain now), to the extent that I haven't missed them. And so I never looked at them, weighed them, I simply spent them. I'm not rich, trust me, certain statements do not belong to arrogance, to the obtuse superiority complex that afflicts many "really rich", I simply live life without worrying about making money but about earning enough to cultivate all my passions. I'm lucky, and that can be said for sure. The brief personal digression serves as a premise to pronounce on what is happening in football with the tearing down of many so-called flags, in the name of money.

The last in order of time is called (was called) Sandro Tonali. Little Sandrino wrote love letters for Milan, the great Sandro played for his favorite team. He chose money, a lot of money, to take off that shirt and put on another rather anonymous English one: the Newcastle shirt. I confess, Tonali seemed like me, indifferent to money. An absolute protagonist of his life, with a fabulous parable of the one that crowned the dream I had as a teenager, in love with his team. His way of being taciturn helps me in this conviction. Tonali has said so little about himself and about Milan in recent years, to prevent me from even grasping the timbre of the voice. How does Tonali speak? God, I still don't know. His way of keeping silent sounded to my ears like confirmation of his difference. It seemed to me to have come out of one of the chapters of a famous children's book, where the author, a rather important British writer who lives in Oxford, recounts the dreams of a silent child, and therefore considered by adults rather strange, named Peter Fortune . In one of these chapters, Peter compares his carefree and colorful life to the schematic and repetitive life of adults. Looking at Gwendoline, a friend's older sister, and seeing her frowning he wonders: is she sad because she doesn't like being grown up?

A very legitimate question that I would like, more or less in this form, to address Tonali as well, imagining him distant, silent and serious, over the English Channel, flying towards England. A question written like this: "Now that you're grown up, Sandro, and like all grown-ups who believe in money as a life resolution, you've achieved a goal, that of being rich, very rich, practically the richest in the realm, now, that to give you this wealth, you took off the shirt you dreamed of as a child, are you sure you are happy?”.



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