Nostalgia is a complex emotional state that manifests as a deep yearning to return to places, times, or events from the past. The word comes from the Greek nostos, meaning “return home,” and algos, meaning “pain.” The term was coined in the late seventeenth century by the Swiss physician Johannes Hofer, who first used it to describe the suffering of Swiss soldiers forced to serve in foreign armies, far from their mountains and native valleys. Over time, however, nostalgia has taken on poetic, poignant shades, evolving from a medical condition into a complex emotion that encompasses sadness, regret, but also a certain joy that comes from remembering happy moments. Paolo Rossi’s two closest friends, his teammates and fellow world champions, are and always will be Marco Tardelli and Antonio Cabrini. As boys, together, they conquered the world; as men, they carried him on their shoulders in the Cathedral of Vicenza, on December 12, 2020. And as friends forever, they remembered him like this:

«Click. Darkness. This morning at dawn, answering Michel’s call like an automaton, the light inside me went out. Pitch black. No tears, no words, nothing at all. Just darkness and an indescribable tangle of emotions stuck in my throat, taking my breath away. I can’t do it, I told myself; I can’t talk or write about Paolo today. A brother who leaves without a reason, without warning. Then I thought about how, in recent times, I looked for you, almost in a panic, as if I sensed something inside, and I couldn’t reach you except by text or through Federica, never in the way I wanted. So, forcing my reserved, shy nature—the one you always found amusing and light-hearted—I’ll try to say it here, brother on the field and in life. Brother of joy, of light, of pure, total happiness. It’s hard, nearly impossible for me to remember everything we experienced together. Beautiful, unique, unrepeatable moments. Together in hardship, together in pain and in the isolation of that ’82 World Cup, when it felt like we were alone against the world, and then suddenly, masters of the whole world. Young and invincible, we even felt handsome and irresistible, just as Italians saw us then, showering us with love up to this day, with all of Italy mourning for you. On July 5th, ’82, against Brazil, you managed to turn my awkward shot into a liberating goal, which I later tried to convince you was a brilliant pass. But with you, everything became great. And then, July 11th, our resurrection, your goal, the hugs that smothered you, that radiant smile I’ll never forget, the joy, the strength, the brotherhood, that lap around the field with the Cup, drunk with happiness. But even more than this, our sleepless nights joking in the hallways, kids playing at saving the world. Prank calls, college jokes with Gaetano and Antonio, and then that veil of sadness that often crossed your lively, intelligent eyes, that immense sense of responsibility toward a country that looked to us as a sign of the future. Pertini, Bearzot, our teacher in life and football, and all Italians. Shirtless, sweaty in the stands, crying and rejoicing with us. At last, a country united by our victory. A miracle, but a miracle created by a group of boys who, even now, almost forty years later, still feel like family, if only from above, the disorientation that travels through the messages in our group chat. Maybe you’re smiling, thinking back to that clumsy, emotional performance with Francesco De Gregori just a year ago, before the light went out. So Paolo, give Gaetano a kiss and hug the Old Man for me, too. You guys start playing; sooner or later, we’ll see each other again….»

Marco Tardelli

«You’re no longer with us. I haven’t just lost a teammate, but a friend—one of those friends you meet along your path who become friends for life, a brother. The emotions we shared turned our lives upside down, giving us priceless feelings. Together we overcame disappointments, fought, won, and sometimes lost, always getting back up with the strength to look ahead to the next goal. Together we learned the true meaning of that word—we were part of a group, that group, our group. I never thought you’d leave so soon. I thought we’d walk together a while longer. I still see you sneaking a candy and slipping it into your mouth, unnoticed, with that quickness everyone recognized in you and that you showed in so many ways. I already miss you: your words of comfort, your jokes, your silly pranks, our arguments, your surprises, and your smile. I miss everything about you, because it’s people like you who make friendship beautiful. Today I want to thank you, my friend. Thank you, because if I am who I am, I owe it in part to the wonderful friend you were. Goodbye Paolo, know that I won’t let you go. You’ll always be inside me. I promise to stay close to Federica and your children, but you, stay close to me. Stay close to all of us. Goodbye Paolo.»

Antonio Cabrini