Whenever the name Mario Balotelli is brought up, particularly in Italy, the conversation is almost inevitably laced with a sense of regret. There is that lingering “What if?”, a collective sigh over a player who possessed the raw, undeniable potential to be one of the best in the world, if only things had been different. Yet being in front of him, with a smile on his face, it becomes clear the 36-year-old striker has reached an unexpected level of wisdom and maturity, traits that shine through in his lucid analysis of Italian football’s current struggles and the vanishing street culture of the sport.
As Balotelli reflects on what he would tell his adolescent self, there is also a distinct feeling that he has finally made peace with his own turbulent narrative, that he isn’t chasing the ghosts of unfulfilled expectations. Balotelli joined Al-Ettifaq in the Saudi Pro League simply to enjoy the game, to find pure joy on the pitch, and to realise a long-held family dream of playing alongside his brother, Enock Barwuah. The project interested me.
Everyone always says: ‘You go to Dubai for the money,’ but thank God, I’m not short of that. So, money wasn’t the only goal. The project was actually nice and competitive.
I grew fond of the idea and decided to give it a try.” The realities of playing in the Middle East present a stark contrast to Balotelli’s past experiences. The stadiums are beautiful. The problem is the public: there’s no crowd, which is a bit sad,” he says.
I’m talking about all the teams across the board.” On linking up with his sibling, he says: “It’s beautiful. Ever since we were little, we always said we’d play together one day. He’d always ask me: ‘If you play for Inter, Milan, or [Manchester] City, how can I play with you?’ I used to tell him that when I got older, I might play in a team of a slightly lower level and maybe they’d give us that opportunity.
It’s always been a dream, and now it’s coming true.” Despite his new surroundings, Balotelli remains acutely aware of the deep-rooted problems plaguing football back home, particularly after Italy’s failure to qualify for three successive World Cups. I remember my mum getting mad at me because I’d stay out until it was too dark to see the ball. They’d threaten you that you couldn’t go out to play the next day.
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