ROME LETTER:My friend died last week at the age of 59 after a brave three-year battle with cancer, writes PADDY AGNEW
THREE YEARS ago, my friend and colleague Corrado Sannucci was diagnosed as suffering from multiple myeloma, a cancer of the white blood cells.
Like many before him, and no doubt many after him too, Corrado had no intention of sitting back resignedly while the “Big C” played with his destiny.
Corrado opted to do one of the things that he did best, namely write – about his illness.
(A senior sports writer for the daily La Repubblica, in a previous life Corrado had also been a cantautore, singer-songwriter).
Like all of us who write a book, he had the problem of finding a good title for his opus.
One day in the bar (in Rome) where he often stopped for his morning cappuccino, the title presented itself to him.
Like a lot of us, Corrado had become friendly and familiar with one of the barmen. On many mornings, his opinion on the current state of Roma football club was anxiously sought.
On this occasion, the barman could not help but notice that Corrado’s impressive head of greying hair, complete with pony tail, was no longer, due of course to the devastating effect of chemotherapy.
Corrado patiently explained the history of his illness.
After listening for a while, the barman, in a truly Roman manner, observed: “Allora, doctor, apart from the cancer, is everything OK?”
Corrado took force and inspiration from that battuta (quip) and did indeed use it for his book, Apart From The Cancer, Everything's OK – Me and My Family Against Illness.
The book was a major success too, primarily because it offered sympathy, solidarity and solace to those who, like him, were battling the “Big C”. This is how he described the moment when he was told of his illness: “There is a brief silence between us, the doctor is fully aware of the importance of the news he has just given me. I am stunned by a tsunami of total emotional shock. Multiple myeloma.
“It’s December now, will I get to March? Will I have time to sort out the family’s affairs?
“Should I ring the office and tell them that I can’t cover Roma v Valencia this evening?”
Books of this nature, while far from unprecedented in the Anglo-Saxon world, are still unusual in Italian culture, above all, because of their willingness to look the grim reaper in the eye.
As “Valentina”, clearly a fellow cancer sufferer, put it in a website comment in May of last year: “Finally, someone has talked about us.”
It is, as you will have guessed, sadly now my turn to talk about Corrado, for he died last week at the age of 59 after a brave three- year-long battle. I knew him for 20 years and more. Our paths regularly crossed – at the Olympic Stadium in Rome, the France’98, Germany 2006 World Cups, the Euro 2000 finals and many other places.
A great rugby enthusiast, he was a regular and much delighted visitor to Ireland.
As a football writer, I often found him illuminating. Coming from a background of 60s music and political commitment, he tended to take a very “broad” view when analysing Italian football.
His book, La Notte Del Calcio (The Dark Night of Football)is an eloquent condemnation of many of the ills afflicting modern Italian football – violent fan behaviour, corruption, match fixing, racism and much else besides.
I name Corrado in the acknowledgements to my own opus on Italian football, Forza Italia, precisely because of that book. Once, during the Germany 2006 World Cup, Corrado came across me in the press centre, listening to my Ipod.
What are you listening to, he asked?
Eros Ramazotti, I replied.
Corrado frowned, pop stars like Ramazotti and their music were not to his liking.
He then told me of how, once in a fast food restaurant in Turin, he had threatened not to pay for his food unless the management turned off the piped music, at that moment blasting out Eros Ramazotti.
I then handed him the Ipod earphones. I had actually been listening to Planxty Live, 2004.
A few notes from Messrs Lunny, Irvine and O’Flynn brought a big grin to his face. He thoroughly approved of Irish music and, what is more, he no longer had to strike me from the list.
Corrado’s funeral last week, held in the Aranciera del Semenzaio di San Sisto, a sort of 19th century botanical garden cum green house close to the Terme di Caracalla, was dominated by music.
Where in a church there would have been the altar, here there was a grand piano, flanked by Corrado’s coffin complete with his picture.
As we walked into the bright and airy building, Corrado’s own music rang out, while his funeral “service” comprised a whole series of musical (and verbal) tributes from friends and colleagues.
Funerals are never exactly cheerful occasions, especially if, like Corrado, you leave behind a wife, Maresa, and a nine-year-old daughter, Olimpia.
This one, however, if not happy, was certainly uplifting.
Corrado would have approved. Ciao Corrado.