2008, Florence stood still. The streets, normally bustling with tourists and daily life, fell silent. Only the distant echo of a orchestra playing Nessun Dorma could be heard as a crowd dressed in violet marched toward the Pablo Lombardi Stadium, formerly known as Artemio Franchi.
The man who had transformed a Serie B team into Europe's most dominant force for almost three decades, the genius who had dreamed the impossible, was preparing for his farewell.
The Final Locker Room
Inside the dressing room, players from two generations gathered.
The Veterans:
Zidane, holding his 1998 Ballon d'Or.
Batistuta, holding the first Champions, embracing Zamorano, who was holding the second Champions, both with tears in their eyes.
Del Piero, who had returned from Turin just for this moment, holding the third Champions.
Cafú, the first captain and defensive pillar, holding the first trophy of the era, the 1993 Coppa Italia.
Gattuso and Nesta, holded the fourth and fifth Champions, who couldn't hold back his tears when Pablo entered.
The Current Stars:
Buffon, his Golden Gloves gleaming under the lights.
Kaká, displaying his 2007 Ballon d'Or.
Cristiano Ronaldo, wearing the number 7 Pablo had given him.
Matías Fernández, Sergio Ramos, Xavi, and Pirlo, forming a circle of respect.
Pablo, with a calm smile, looked at them all:
"Don't thank me. I'm the one who should thank you."
The Ceremony
The stadium, packed with 70,000 souls, chanted his name. At the center of the pitch, a circle displayed the 21 titles won under his leadership:
9 Serie A titles
5 Champions Leagues
7 Coppa Italias
5 Club World Cups
One by one, the players stepped onto the podium:
Zidane placed his Ballon d'Or on a pedestal.
Kaká did the same with his.
Buffon set his Golden Gloves beside them.
"These aren't mine," Buffon said into the microphone. "They're yours, Pablo. You made us believe we could fly."
The Speech
When Pablo took the microphone, the silence was absolute:
"When I arrived in 1990, I asked for only one thing: trust. You—the city, these players—gave it to me a thousand times over."
He pointed to the stands, where Matías Fernández held a giant banner with his face and the words: "Grazie, Maestro."
"This isn't my stadium. It's yours. I only laid the bricks. You poured in the soul."
The Gift
The players formed a guard of honor. At the end waited a classic car: a violet Fiat 500, identical to the one Pablo drove when he first arrived in Florence.
"So you remember," said Del Piero, "that even the greatest journeys begin humbly."
The Final Act
Before leaving, Pablo asked for a ball. With all 70,000 fans on their feet, he began showcasing his skills—juggling effortlessly, flicking the ball behind his neck, then settling it at his feet. The crowd roared as he positioned himself near central circle.
With a deep breath, he unleashed one last 30-yard strike... a perfect, curling shot that screamed into the top-right corner, leaving Buffon rooted to the spot. The net billowed. Silence. Then—an eruption.
The goalkeeper, hands on hips, could only laugh and shake his head.
"Sempre lo stesso mago" Buffon shouted across the pitch.
Pablo simply raised one finger to the sky. No words needed.
The Perfect Goodbye
The shot was later measured at 98-99 km/h—nearly identical to his first goal as Fiorentina's manager in 1990, a free-kick against Pisa that started the legend.
As the ball was retrieved, Matías Fernández knelt and kissed it before handing it to Pablo. The message was clear: This is how giants say farewell.
The lights dimmed. Only the stadium's new name remained illuminated, shining under the Tuscan night sky:
PABLO LOMBARDI STADIUM
The next day, La Nazione published just two words on its front page:
"VIOLA PASSIONE."
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