"Sir Norbert Stiles." But I must say, it sounds good. I also repeat aloud: "Sir Norbert Stiles." Yes, I like it. I, Norbert Stiles, Nobby said, but also known as 'The Ugly Duckling', or, better yet, The Killer, face pimples, bandy-legged, with my meter and sixty in height, look bad, the teeth I have left on God knows how many football fields, with dentures, I'm knighted by His Majesty. It is also a world champion.
I would want to go out on the street, and just one look at me wrong, or enough, to put my grins under the nose and scream: "What the fuck you want? I am Sir Norbert Stiles, idiot. "
God, how much anger I have accumulated in my life! Even as a child. The son of an undertaker, a small, ugly, full of pimples, bandy-legged, the epithet more sympathetic to the other kids turned to me was 'nano'. And I silently swallowing, cursing them and their wickedness. How often I clenched my fists to hurt me not to cry, not to give others the satisfaction of seeing my tears. But then, once home, once closed the door of my room, then I could let go, and I cried without restraint.
I remember vividly an incident that occurred when I was thirteen. I was at school and during the break between classes, I heard Jimmy Armfield Sunders and Patrick, two of my classmates, who were talking among themselves. They were planning a party, those parties of kids with some records, especially the first few drinks and girls. They were making a list of who to call, and at one point he turned to Jimmy and asked softly, pointing to Pat: "Hey, Stiles?" Who? The dwarf? Are you crazy? If we call that, makes us miss all the girls. "
Obviously I felt everything and it seemed to me that the world falls on me. I went to the bathroom, pulling out all my great despair, all total, absolute devastation I felt inside of me. Even today, think back to those words, pain and despair of that day, well, 'still feel a lump in my throat hurts.
It was at that time, however, I found a friend. No, not a person. A balloon. I started to attend, including the skepticism of all, the horn of my neighborhood. You know what? For the first time in my life so I could use to help my anger and my pain. And I would say, fortunately. Maybe I will take crazy, but when I read some news story about someone, the victim of hatred, perhaps exterminating co-workers, or classmates, b ', as I understand it. No, of course, condemn him, but I understand. Because I know what it means to hatch within himself the hatred and anger for many years, unable to get them out. Become a time bomb that eventually explodes. Here, fortunately I found the ball. On a football field every time bomb that could explode without doing harm to anyone (apart from some unlucky opponent, of course). When I ran up and down the field, or hit the ball, or detracting from the foot of an opponent, or face the rain, cold, the mud, when I had to throw in a fight to defend my teammates here, there could leverage all my anger and my pain. I called the butcher, I said, of all colors, but when I was there in the middle of the field, and I felt my feet sink into the mud, when I had to wipe the rain from his face, then I do not care nothing about insults.
Since then I have not winced nor with the angle of the district, or with Manchester United, nor with the English national team. I have many teeth left on the fields of middle England, I beat opponents, I was beaten by them, but I never had no mercy, never, neither me nor them. Almost all my colleagues, when they scored a goal, or when they win a big race, say it is 'for' someone. No, my successes have always been 'against'. Sunders against Jimmy Armfield and Patrick, against girls that I wanted, against those who insulted me, who does not respect me, who I loved.
In every ball that came in every opponent I faced the face I saw Jimmy Sunders, dull face of Pat Armfield and everyone else, and then I could throw out everything I felt inside. That is why, after some time, I climax they hitch that nickname, Killer. I have not had pity on anyone, I.
If you look at my pictures I always look pissed. I think that will never end, I believe this desire to break all will never leave me.
But now I enjoy them, these moments. The 'Nano' is a baronet, and is world champion. Yes, I know, all talk of Bobby Charlton, Bobby Moore, Hurst, our gunboats, and about me just mention a few, maybe the color on my face, my legs wrong, in my wickedness, on fouls that commit. But do not give a damn. I know, I'm sure, without me, without Killer, perhaps England would not win.
Yes, because a few days ago we won the World Cup of soccer. We beat Germany, 4-2, and maybe we've even stolen. But it is even more beautiful. Even I have stolen many things. Who gives me back the party to which I was not invited, the serenity that I have taken away the dignity that I have trodden? Yes, we stole, and not just against Germany. I should have been expelled in all the games I played in this World Cup, and instead I've finished them all. Ben is there. Well there is Jimmy Sunders, Patrick Armfield, you do well, girl I laughed in my face when I asked you to go out with me, you're well, stupid fans who insulted me: this victory is 'against' you.
After the final with Germany we went to the Queen, and then gave us the cup. When I are found between the hands, well, 'for the first time in years I was speechless. I wanted to scream something, I wanted to say something, or even think, but I just felt so much hatred, so much anger. I do not know if you noticed my face, while we have made the rounds of the camp to be feted by the fans. All my teammates were laughing, shouting, expressed their joy. Not me. I have tried, in the faces of all the fans, the features of some known person. Yeah sure, Jimmy Armfield Sunders and Pat, and I regret not finding them. Why would I spit in their faces, with all the scorn and hatred as possible. "This is the nano spotty" I shouted their "ugly fuckers. I waited thirteen years, but it was worth it: this is the pimply nano world champion, while you are there you are the shit. "
Maybe because I did not put anything, but this tie gives me a great nuisance. I hope this ends soon.
"Sir Stiles?".
Yes, it is a torture 'is fucking tie.
"Sir Stiles? Sir Norbert Stiles? ". Miss
must be almost under my nose for me to understand that you are paying me. True, Holy shit, it's me 'sir' Stiles!
"Oh, tell me."
"Stiles Sir, we would be ready. When we want to begin the interview. "
Tale Piero Cavallotti
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