I’m looking out at the Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight. The time has come. I’ve summoned them all poolside an hour before the usual practice time. With them is my faithful assistant coach. I tried to jot down a couple of lines of rough text for the last speech I’ll ever make to them, and after a minute I find myself forced to improvise. I know that I’m an important figure to them, and I want to leave them with a few fundamental messages. I get straight to the point.
“Guys, I have a liver tumor. It’s very serious—it’s metastasized to the lungs. I don’t have long to live. And, unfortunately, this is the last time we’ll see each other.”
They aren’t expecting it. They exchange glances, trying to figure out if this is a joke of some kind. But my tone of voice makes it clear that it’s not. Not at all.
“A few months ago I decided to deal with my tumor with a smile. I haven’t always succeeded, but I’m trying to be happy every day that I have left to live. I’m still in decent shape and I’ve done my best to beat the disease. But it hid inside me, and by the time I’d ferreted it out, it was too late to have any hope of defeating it. You know, at your age, I had plenty of dreams. I have to confess to you that I didn’t achieve a single one of them, but I never gave up hope. Always remember that the only riches we possess are the dreams we have as children. They are the fuel of our lives, the only force that pushes us to keep on going even when things have gone all wrong. To crown the dreams of the child that lives inside you should be your chief goal in life. Don’t ever forget that you’ll become adults in appearance only, but that little man still lives on inside you. Dedicate yourself fully to your work, whether that work is water polo or anything else. You should try to be the best you can be in every walk of life, even if you’re selling fruit in a farmers’ market. Everyone should say: “What excellent fruit that guy sells.” Life will present you with plenty of challenges, many of them much more important than a water polo championship playoff, and you shouldn’t ever retreat in the face of those challenges. Just work, work, work, even at the risk of making mistakes. And if and when you do make mistakes, and you do hurt someone, ask for forgiveness. Asking forgiveness and admitting you’ve made a mistake is the hardest thing of all. But if someone else does you good, remember it always. Showing gratitude is every bit as complicated. When you happen to win something, don’t mock your opponents and don’t boast.”
Everyone looks around in amusement: winning is a word they’re not familiar with.
“As you know, I have two children, and knowing that I won’t be able to watch them grow up is the thing that hurts me most. In a few days, I’m going to leave on a trip with them and with my wife. I won’t be coming back. And I won’t be able to watch the playoff games. But I’ll be with you in my heart, and Giacomo will tell me everything you do. He’ll be here and you can rely on him for anything you need. He’s ready to coach you next year; he has the skills and the temperament to do it.”
My assistant coach didn’t expect this investiture and he’s clearly overcome with emotion.
“I ask you only one thing: however the game turns out, fight all the way to the end. And if you can do it, win these three matches for me. It would be the best farewell gift. One day in the distant future, when you have children of your own, I hope that you’ll remember your old coach and you’ll take them to the pool and teach them to care about this wonderful sport we love. You’ve been the best team a coach could ever hope for. Even when we were losing. I’m so sorry.”
I go to pieces. I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t cry, but I break that promise. I hug them all, one after the other, last of all Soap-on-a-Rope and Martino.
“I want you to listen to me, boys, make me proud of you.”
Then it’s Giacomo’s turn.
“Have a good trip, Coach, wherever it is you’re going,” he whispers to me during the hug. “I won’t forget you.”