(The tape recorder clicks on. I’m staring at a whiteboard with two formations drawn on it. One of them has a small, accusatory circle around it in red pen. It’s the one I actually picked.)
Wednesday 13th May, the Olimpico, 68,683 people, and the biggest match of the season. Fiorentina — six-time winners, chasing a first Coppa Italia since 2001 — against Iain’s Lazio, seven-time winners, gearing up for another final because of course they were. I had a plan. The plan was wrong.
I decided we’d come flying out of the blocks rather than sitting in our usual, sensible 4-3-3. I told myself I’d dial it back to the safe shape after ten minutes if it wasn’t working. Reader, it was not working, and I did not dial it back. Aleksandar Stanković put Lazio ahead in the 13th minute with a shot from the edge of the box after a corner that we simply let him have — too easy, no pressure, no excuse. Eight minutes later Giovanni Fabbian doubled it with a scrappy, close-range volley off the post that we defended like a five-a-side team meeting for the first time. 2-0 down inside 21 minutes, entirely of my own making.
We had spells after that. Genuine ones — patches where we had the ball and the territory and looked like we might actually claw it back. But every time we got into a promising area, my players decided the correct response was to smash the ball from twenty-five yards into the stands, or straight at a defender, rather than do the one thing I was screaming at them to do from the touchline, which was simply work it into the box. I lost count of how many good positions turned into speculative efforts that never troubled the goalkeeper. Late on I threw on a third man up top as a last roll of the dice. It achieved precisely nothing, other than confirming that a hail-mary front three is not, in fact, a tactic, it’s a mood.
Lazio 2, Fiorentina 0. Credit where it’s due: Iain’s setup was defensively sound from first minute to last, and I genuinely had no answer to it once we were behind. It was not a good final to watch as a neutral. It was a considerably worse one to manage. The bitter irony is that our actual run to get there was one of the most entertaining stretches of football we’ve played all season — four matches, thirteen goals scored, nine conceded, penalty shootouts and extra-time winners and the lot — and then the final itself was over as a contest by the 21st minute. Football does love a punchline.
Here’s the thing keeping me from sulking about it for the rest of the month, though: while all that was going on, we quietly wrapped up Champions League qualification. A 1-0 win over Udinese at the Franchi — Francesco Pio Esposito converting a VAR-checked penalty in the 23rd minute, 65% possession, 2.23 xG to their 0.50 — was enough to confirm it, with games still to spare. We are going back to the Champions League next season. Say what you like about the manner of Wednesday night, but that’s the kind of consolation prize that actually means something.
And in the sort of scheduling coincidence only this rivalry could produce, our very last match of the league season is away at Lazio. Him again. So soon.
Next time: Lazio, one more time, in the league, because apparently we haven’t seen enough of each other this month.