Roma’s Daniele De Rossi is everything you could want in a player: an impassioned, incredibly gifted midfield monster. He guides Roma’s forward movement from just in front of the defenders, and when the defence is threatened he is there to throw a precision tackle, sweep dangerous balls away, and turn around and ignite the counterattack.
Plus he was born and raised in the Rome area. He is the future of this team. There’s no question that when Totti retires, De Rossi will step up to lead the side.
And that’s a beautiful thing. And I think he’s a fantastic player and I will forgive him, but my heart broke a little last night watching the Champions League match. After Doni, Roma’s goalkeeper put an impenetrable forcefield around the net and repelled about three perfect ManU chances, Roma’s counterattack got stronger. On the half hour Mancini, Roma’s winger was taken down in the area and the ref gave us a a penalty kick.
“Holy Fuck,” I screamed, hanging up on Chiara. We just got a PK: the miracle we need could happen. A PK gives us an away goal and all of a sudden we’re within one more goal of turning this Champions League tie on it’s head.
Of course, in the absence of Totti, it’s De Rossi who takes the kick. Staring down the barrel of unbearable expectation and pressure, he steps to the spot, and kicks the ball at the upper deck.
The “fuuuuucks!” I screamed now were those of despair, disappointment, and disbelief.
De Rossi has vowed to put the miss and the loss behind him, and he’s a world-class player of unbelievable resilience and fortitude. I have no doubt he can.
I however, will be wondering ‘what if…’ and ‘why?’ and ‘if only’ for a long, long time.