The World Cup final is the biggest match in football, and the biggest event in all of sport. And fittingly, for many of the game’s greatest players, it has been the scene of their defining moments. The images of Maradona and Pele lifting the trophy in utter jubilation at the Azteca, and the rather more sordid one of Messi being draped in Qatari robes with the trophy in 2022, are each seared into the retinas of football fans everywhere. The defining photograph of Roberto Baggio was also taken in the World Cup Final, however there is no joy for its subject. Instead, there is a barely conceivable sadness, isolation, and the crushing weight of what could have been.
As Claudio Taffarel falls to his knees, and Romario, Dunga, et al race around wildly in celebration, Baggio seems almost completely alone as he stands and looks at the spot from where he just missed.
In truth, Baggio had been fighting the battle for Italy largely by himself the entire time. The narrative of a talented but weak virtuoso who fluffed his lines at the crucial moment just doesn’t stack up; as much as anything else, Italy would have been nowhere near the Rose Bowl and the final if it weren’t for their best player. Beyond his prodigious talent, Baggio had become a talismanic saviour figure for underperforming Italy and Juventus sides.
Juve’s successful 1992/93 UEFA Cup run is clear evidence of this. In a tournament which, in this era, was every bit as difficult to win as the Champions League, Baggio demonstrated why he was so clearly the best in the world, and probably the greatest of all time. Effortless dribbling, deft passing, and boundless creativity were married with a priceless knack of scoring in the most vital moments. PSG and Dortmund were among the unlucky sides to find this out, and several more would be reminded of it subsequently at USA 94.
Nigeria (twice), Spain, and Bulgaria (again, twice), were all victims of Baggio. Italy, like Juventus, were a team entirely reliant on the Divine Ponytail. Certainly, going forward, Arrigo Sacchi’s side were entirely reliant on Baggio. Sacchi himself was doubtful of creative number 10 figures, players whom Italian football had previously venerated, and liked to rely on high pressing, not the craft of a gifted individual, to create chances. Thus, Italy’s genius was unhelpfully constrained in the front two of a rigid 4-4-2, rather than drifting in blissful freedom behind a number nine where he would far rather have been. And yet, despite this, Baggio dragged the dogmatic Sacchi and the rest of Italy to the brink of immortality. For the 120 minutes of the final Baggio was half-fit at best. Franco Baresi put in a heroically dogged display, but it was an abysmal match.
In truth, without a fit Baggio, this Italy side were always dismal — their Number 10 was papering over the cracks. And it will always be tragic that he is the man most associated with their defeat. People picture him standing alone; people remember the miss, and sadly they do not remember his tournament, his goals, his career, or his genius.
“I cinquant’anni di Roberto Baggio, la leggenda Azzurra che ha stupito il mondo” by NazionaleCalcio is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
