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people.
     
    10. Italy beat France on penalties to win the final of the 2006 World Cup in Berlin
after the game ended 1-1. Pirlo was named in the FIFA team of the tournament after finishing up with a goal and three assists in Germany.

Chapter 6
    It’s no coincidence that such overwhelming emotions come from wearing the Italy shirt. Blue’s the colour of the sky, and the sky belongs to everyone. Even when it’s covered by clouds, you still know it’s there.
    After the World Cup in Brazil in 2014, I’ll retire from international football. I’ll be hanging up my heart. Until that day, nobody must dare ask me to stop, apart from Cesare Prandelli, should he have tactical reasons. I’ll be 35 by then, and it’ll be time to give someone else a go. I’ll probably not feel as useful as I do now and have done in the past – but, to be clear, that day hasn’t arrived just yet.
    Being part of a team that belongs to everyone makes me feel good and at peace with myself. It relaxes me. A lot of the time, it’s better than sex: it lasts longer and if it all falls flat, it can’t just be your fault.
    Take someone like Antonio Cassano. He says he’s slept with 700 women in his time, but he doesn’t get picked for Italy any more. Deep down, can he really be happy? I certainly wouldn’t be. That second skin, with its smurf-like blue, gives you a whole new image across the world. It makes you better, takes you to a higher level. Much better to be a soldier on the pitch than in the bedroom.
    The moment the first bars of the national anthem Inno di Mameli ring out, you’re representing everyone – a soloist becoming part of an orchestra. And, in theory, you should never say goodbye to the national team; it should always be a coach taking the decision for you. That would make things that little bit sweeter and a whole lot less complicated.
    Apart from a few friendlies, no club I’ve played for has ever put any pressure on me to turn down an Italy call-up. Probably because they know fine well what the response would be – not a particularly polite one. I think that if it did happen, I’d act on instinct and go against the wishes of the directors. Italy is simply more important. More important than Inter, Milan, Juventus or any other club side. It’s the biggest deal there is.
    I find it really irritating when we’re in camp at Coverciano and it’s obvious that clubs are looking after their own interests. Remembering Italy only when there’s a World Cup or European Championship, bringing with it a bandwagon they can always climb aboard if there’s success to celebrate. For these people, it’s the league, the Coppa Italia and the Champions League that matter; they don’t give a toss about anything else except for a month every other year.
    This sporadic pride really makes me angry. It wounds me more than people can possibly imagine. Players know that if they get injured with Italy, there’ll be trouble waiting for them when they return to their clubs. And yet I’ll never rein myself in or take a backwards step – for me, that would be high treason.
    My first experience of international football was with Italy’s under-15s and, since then, I’ve never looked back. I’ve ticked every box along the way. I think of it as a ladder where you can’t see the top, but you’re well aware of a plaque positioned on the bottom rung: Paradise This Way. To tell the truth, my first experience of that under-15 team was a little bit unlawful. I didn’t meet the minimum age to take part in tournaments, but the selector, Sergio Vatta, called me up anyway for a spot of work experience.
    We could have forged the documents, but that’s not the right thing to do even if, a few years later, a similar ruse was considered to allow me to play in the Brescia reserves. It’s funny – women knock a few years off their age, but people always seem to want to make me older.
    I was happy to receive a call-up because I got three days off school –