Dear Maurizio, not even the last sweet words you managed to keep his mouth shut. From your teeth appear serene smile, now finally rest. Now that will not last the phone rings, do not look worn numbers on your calendars, now that the Almighty sighed, already knowing a soul that will endure that as no puffs, provokes, teases, attacks, presses and blizzard. Exaggerate. Surround you on a cloud to wonder who will win the Scudetto, as always stand in your way between angels and demons, but still stand out, talking to everyone, without depriving anyone of a joke, a prediction, your ferocious irony. It will huff, the Almighty. Finally, you will love, hateful, like those who have not had time, so you know which man it was unbearable in the small anarchist unruly, brash, tongue. Brilliant. I have loved and detested. No fearful brave as you. No mask, no armor, pure truth as credible in your size in your mistakes, driven by your instincts because the damn liver was the first and the only one, and the last, to no longer holds, but the heart and your mind you have not abandoned until the last minute. Supported by compulsive love for your work on the ball, to the softly light your life trapped in those two words: work and football. Exactly. Dear Maurizio, impossible to describe in a few lines in a few minutes, what's wrong sense to have the chance to work, live with you. And how heavy that void now. The only difficult thing to understand in your life with fireworks, which space is in you and what God had to disorient you totally peace in today will seem surreal to wake up. The only secret that you bring away and now you will have already been revealed. The only secret that takes you right now, along with our good fortune to have you lived.
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