(The tape recorder clicks on. I’m sat in an empty away dugout at the Olimpico long after the final whistle, holding a stat sheet in one hand and a glass of something Tuscan in the other. Somewhere behind me, security are still sweeping confetti that isn’t ours.)
Act I: One Last Afternoon with Iain
Saturday 23rd May, the Olimpico, the final day of the season, and of course — of course — it had to be him again. Aleksandar Stanković put Lazio ahead in the 25th minute, but we didn’t blink: Albert Guðmundsson equalised seven minutes later, pouncing on a mistake from Jonas Urbig, and Francesco Pio Esposito put us 2-1 up a minute after that with a VAR-assisted strike. For half an hour we were cruising.
Then, because this fixture simply refuses to be straightforward, Iain threw on Victor Osimhen, and the super-sub did what super-subs do — levelling it up in the 73rd minute after Piero Hincapié switched off. Pietro Comuzzo picked up a needless red card for unsporting behaviour in the 81st, and Osimhen himself went off with knee ligament damage a minute later following a challenge from Hincapié, which felt less like justice and more like the universe evening its own books. Lazio 2, Fiorentina 2.
It was the eighth match running without defeat, and it was enough — just enough — to see us home in third place on 81 points, while that same point away from home was exactly what Iain needed to drag Lazio over the line into fourth, eight points behind us but safely into next season’s continental football all the same. A draw that mattered enormously to both of us, for entirely different reasons, on the same afternoon, in the same stadium. Football does love a coincidence.
Act II: The Numbers That Actually Matter
Strip away the emotion and look at what this club actually did across the season, because it’s a genuinely remarkable body of work:
- Serie A: 3rd place, 81 points. Board expectation was simply “qualify for the Champions League.” We did that with room to spare — and, in the board’s own slightly deflating words, “at one point we looked like serious title contenders, so that does take some of the shine off the achievement overall.” Thanks for that.
- Supercoppa Italiana: Winners, at the first attempt, beating Inter 5-3 in the semi-final and Lazio 3-1 in the final back in January. Still the only piece of actual silverware this group has to show for the season, and I’ll take it.
- Coppa Italia: Runners-up. First final since 2001, ended by a flat, error-strewn 0-2 defeat to — who else — Lazio, after a run to get there that produced thirteen goals in four matches, including a 7-6 aggregate epic over Napoli in the semis.
- Champions League: Quarter-finalists. Board only asked us to reach the competition proper. We beat Aston Villa 5-0, went unbeaten through most of the league phase bar defeats to Inter and Liverpool, scored a 93rd-minute winner away at Wolfsburg that apparently sent home fans into fits of regret for leaving early, overturned a 3-0 first-leg deficit against Ajax to go through 5-4 on aggregate, and were finally undone by Paris Saint-Germain on penalties after a 2-2 aggregate draw across both legs.
Four competitions, one trophy, two finals, and a Champions League run further than anyone reasonably expected in August.
Act III: The Individual Honours
I picked up Serie A’s Manager of the Month award twice this season — once in August, right at the start, and again in May, right at the death. I’ll allow myself that one.
On the playing side: Francesco Pio Esposito was voted Fans’ Player of the Season, which is a nice piece of irony given he’s spent half the year trying to get out the door. Valentín Carboni took Young Player of the Season. Harvey Elliott — the free-transfer heist that’s quietly been one of the smartest bits of business of my time here — was named Signing of the Season, and topped the club for assists with 12 to go with his own goals. Endrick’s extra-time winner against Napoli in April, the one where he beat three men before finishing well, was voted Goal of the Season, deservedly. Albert Guðmundsson was our top scorer across all competitions with 14 and picked up the most Player of the Match awards of anyone in the squad, while in the league specifically it was Lorenzo Lucca who led the way with 17 — proof that even a striker who spends half his season either brilliant or infuriating can still finish top of the pile.
And then there’s the disciplinary record: Manu Koné finished the season with 13 yellow cards and a red, comfortably the worst behaved player at the club. Someone has to hold that title, I suppose.
Act IV: The Walking Wounded
I’d be lying if I said the season came cheap. Our own injury report makes for genuinely grim reading at the top: Samu Omorodion missed 56% of the entire season through injury, across four separate spells, the worst of which was six months out with damaged cruciate ligaments. Six months. For a striker we brought in to lead the line. It’s the single cruellest punchline to a running joke that started as “delicate ligaments” back in the autumn and ended as a genuinely serious injury that cost him more than half his season.
Ben Doak missed a third of the year with a torn calf. Albert Guðmundsson lost three months to a broken ankle in among his goalscoring exploits. Amir Richardson’s broken arm, Simone Pafundi’s groin strain, Valentín Carboni’s torn hamstring at the worst possible moment against PSG — the treatment room barely had a quiet month all season. Francesco Pio Esposito, by total contrast, was almost never injured — a handful of days all year — which might be the strongest argument yet for keeping a player who otherwise wants nothing more than to leave.
That’s Season Three, then. A trophy, two cup finals, a Champions League quarter-final, a third-place league finish that’s the best in years, and a physio’s bill that would make anyone wince. Onwards to the summer.