Francesco - A Question of Credit

To this day, we still do not know who actually scored that goal: Inter’s centre-forward at the time or their goalkeeper. The replays do not settle the argument. But the story of how we got there is worth telling.

To this day, we still do not know who actually scored that goal: Inter’s centre-forward at the time or their goalkeeper. The replays do not settle the argument. But the story of how we got there is worth telling.

Inter vs. Juventus is never just another game. It cannot be. Marcello Lippi tried to suggest otherwise in his press conference, but even he did not believe it. Cuper was more realistic: this was no ordinary fixture. The game drifted along until two minutes from time, when Camoranesi burst forward and Coco mistimed his challenge. A penalty, which Del Piero converted with his usual ruthlessness. Juventus led 1-0. Game over. Except it wasn’t. More than 94 minutes had been played when Crespo launched a desperate move down the right. Ciro Ferrara deflected his cross behind for a corner. One last delivery from the flag, clearly the final act of the match. Goals from goalkeepers are few and far between. Penalty takers aside, of course. Beyond South America’s prolific pair of Chilavert and Rogério Ceni, Europe had Hans-Jörg Butt, scorer of 37 goals from the spot. Three came in the Champions League, for three different clubs: Hamburg, Bayer Leverkusen and Bayern Munich. Incredibly, every single one came against the same opponents: Juventus. One last thing before we close that digression: do you remember who was in goal for Bayern Munich in the 2010 final in Madrid? Come on, that’s an easy one. Scoring from open play, though, was a different matter.

Goalkeepers venturing into the opposition box have become a familiar sight over the past decade. Our own Ivan Provedel knows all about it, having been Lazio’s Champions League hero for a night after scoring against none other than Atlético de Madrid. Back then, it happened far less often: even defenders were frequently under strict tactical orders, such as never crossing the halfway line, let alone goalkeepers.

Michelangelo Rampulla had headed in a corner in Atalanta vs. Cremonese. Massimo Taibi had done the same in Reggina vs. Udinese. That was it. Yet that day, Francesco Toldo thought: “You know what? It’s over anyway. I’m going up.”

From Emre’s corner came primordial chaos, a tangle worthy of Laocoön: five or six players fused into one human mass, a golem with ten heads and twenty legs, and the ball somehow rolling into the net. It was hard to unpick, impossible to say which touches were deliberate. San Siro’s scoreboard operator, at least, had no doubts at the time. “Inter vs. Juventus 1-1, Del Piero 88’ (pen), Toldo 94’” appeared on the big screen. And we like to think that was how it happened: that a goalkeeper once had the final say in the Derby d’Italia, venturing out, like Ulysses, to see what lay beyond the Pillars of Hercules.