The Unsinkable Moggi: Calciopoli’s Unresolved Echoes and a Defiant Legacy

In the intricate tapestry of Italian football, few names evoke as much controversy and enduring fascination as Luciano Moggi. Nearly two decades after the seismic Calciopoli scandal shook the sport to its core, leading to his lifetime ban, Moggi remains a figure who not only refuses to fade but actively shapes the narrative surrounding his downfall.

Indeed, even now, in Turin`s bustling cafes and trattorias, the former Juventus general manager finds himself besieged by admirers. “A selfie here, another there,” he muses, a testament to a popularity that, to the uninitiated, might seem utterly baffling for a man at the heart of such a scandal. Yet, Moggi remains unperturbed, his stance as defiant as ever:

This statement encapsulates the essence of his self-perception: a man who, despite having “paid” and “is paying,” maintains a fundamental innocence, believing the public sees him not as a criminal, but as a victim of a system that sought to dismantle Juventus`s dominance.

Recasting Calciopoli: Moggi`s Counter-Narrative

Moggi’s recent reflections serve not as a confession, but as a vigorous counter-attack, particularly against Franco Carraro, the former President of the Italian Football Federation (FIGC). Carraro had previously suggested that the scandal originated from a political misstep in 2004, an attempt to replace two referee designators, Bergamo and Pairetto, with Pierluigi Collina. Moggi dismisses this with a dismissive wave, labeling it a “hoax.”

Instead, Moggi offers an alternative, unsettling account. He claims that in 2004, during a fierce Scudetto battle between Juventus and AC Milan, Carraro – a former Milan president – actively sought to aid his old club. Moggi vividly recalls a phone call from Carraro to Bergamo, instructing him “not to help Juventus.” This, in Moggi’s retelling, was not about assisting Inter Milan but rather creating an advantage for AC Milan should Juventus falter.

The accusations don`t stop there. Moggi revisits a contentious episode preceding a crucial Milan-Juventus match in May 2005. Juventus had appealed a three-match ban for Zlatan Ibrahimovic. According to Moggi, a telephone conversation between Milan`s referee liaison, Meani, and Bergamo, the referee designator, revealed a predetermined outcome: “Griselli is from Livorno like me; Juve will find the door closed,” Bergamo reportedly stated, implying a bias against Juventus`s appeal. Such anecdotes, Moggi contends, lay bare the hypocrisy of his accusers.

The Fall of Giants: “We Had Become Cumbersome”

Moggi attributes Juventus`s eventual downfall to their overwhelming success. “We had become cumbersome,” he states, “we were winning on the field and beyond; shareholders were seeing their dividends increase.” The turning point, he suggests, was the passing of Umberto Agnelli, a towering figure behind Juventus. Moggi recounts a poignant moment after signing coach Fabio Capello, when he told director Antonio Giraudo to call Umberto, only to be met with the grim reality that Agnelli was gone. “It`s over for us,” Giraudo reportedly said, a prophecy whose full weight Moggi only grasped two years later, in the throes of Calciopoli.

This perspective paints a picture of Juventus as a victim of its own success, a powerful entity brought down not by inherent corruption, but by those who resented its dominance. It`s a narrative that resonates deeply with a segment of the Bianconeri faithful, fueling the belief in a wider conspiracy.

A Grandfather`s Wisdom and Provocation

Away from the legal battles and historical revisions, Moggi today is a grandfather, dispensing football wisdom to his grandchildren`s university friends and to modern-day coaches and directors. His management philosophy, honed over decades, was a blend of astute player scouting and firm discipline, sprinkled with his characteristic wit. He recalls signing Gianfranco Zola for Napoli as Diego Maradona`s understudy:

His handling of Maradona himself showcases this iron will: when the Argentine arrived late for a match in Moscow, Moggi didn`t banish him to the warm stands but instead put him on the bench, “under the snow.” His rationale? “Never treat champions differently; you lose credibility in the eyes of the group.” A similar lesson was imparted to David Trezeguet, who, caught at the entrance of a nightclub on a weeknight, never dared to repeat the offense.

Still in the Game: Thoughts on Modern Juventus

Even in exile, Moggi`s tactical mind remains sharp. He offers pointed advice for current Juventus manager Igor Tudor, a former player whom Moggi clearly admires. “Igor is a leader, he knows how it`s done… he made his way with us despite not having natural talent,” Moggi notes, before delivering a tactical bombshell: Tudor`s success hinges on Dusan Vlahovic, but Vlahovic, Moggi insists, should be brought on “from the bench” to prove his superiority over other attackers. This, he argues, is the path to a top-four finish for Juventus, suggesting an inherent flaw in the current offensive strategy.

The personal connection remains strong. Moggi fondly mentions that Tudor, in his hometown of Split, named his boat “Moggi.” “All my lads loved me,” he says, “and they still do.” This small detail underscores a legacy that transcends the scandal for many players he managed—a testament to the respect he commanded as a football figure, if not always as an administrator.

As the selfies continue and the conversations flow, Luciano Moggi remains an unyielding presence in Italian football`s collective memory. His saga is far from simple, a complex narrative of ambition, alleged manipulation, and unrepentant defiance. Whether viewed as a villain or a victim, Moggi continues to shape his own story, refusing to cede the final word on Calciopoli, steadfast in his belief that “I haven`t killed anyone.”