This was to be expected. When you replace a commentator at the last minute – who is already contested and certainly not a phenomenon – with a manager who has collected votes of no confidence as if they were stickers, the result can only be one: disaster. And indeed it arrived, punctual, devastating, embarrassing. The RAI commentary of the opening ceremony of the Milan-Cortina 2026 Olympics will go down in history as a case study on how not to comment on a global event. Over a billion viewers around the world attended Marco Balich’s show last night – “elegant”, “poetic”, “absolutely Italian” according to the international press from the Los Angeles Times to the Guardian. And while the world applauded, we Italians had to endure three hours of uninterrupted talk, grotesque gaffes, total unpreparedness. Because at RAI, on certain occasions, as we know, presenteeism is an obligation: and preparation is optional.

Paolo Petrecca: the man of records (negative)

Let’s start with the protagonist of this debacle. Paolo Petrecca, director of RaiSport, the same one that RaiNews journalists wanted to send home with 84% votes of no confidence. The same one who proclaimed himself the commentator of the ceremony after the last-minute exclusion of Auro Bulbarelli, guilty of having spoiled Mattarella’s presence in a clip which saw him as a passenger on a tram heading to San Siro with Valentino Rossi driving.

And what does Petrecca do in the most awaited moment of the evening? Meanwhile he welcomes us from the Olympic Stadium. Which would be in Rome. Then he triumphantly announces Mariah Carey’s entrance. It’s a shame that the one in the frame is Matilda De Angelis. A Milanese actress who has as much cabbage and snacks in common with the American diva.

The gaffe would even be forgivable – we are human, mistakes happen – if it weren’t for three details that those who work as commentators cannot afford to ignore. The first: the production of the show, very complex and full of historical and anecdotal quotes, equips every entitled network and every commentator with a document of hundreds of pages that explains everything, down to the smallest detail. And who even advises – time code in hand – what to say and when to say it. We’ll be back later…

Second: you only had to look at the screen to understand that this wasn’t Mariah Carey. Third, and this is the crucial point: when you comment on an event with a billion viewers you cannot afford to go off the cuff and hope for good luck.

Social media exploded. And rightly so. Because this is not an oversight, it is the emblem of a wrong approach to journalistic work: the idea that it is enough to “be there” to do your job well. That preparation is optional. That studying is for losers.

The ghost document and the culture of improvisation

And here we are at the rotten heart of the problem. The Olympic ceremony is not commented on by ear or even by feeling. Without wanting to seem blasphemous, one should not improvise in commenting on the election of a Pope or the night of the Oscars. It takes years of experience, preparation, curiosity and knowledge. And often they are not enough. Precisely for this reason there is an ironclad protocol with a document that describes every single second of the ceremony. Who enters, when they enter, what they do, what it means. The names of the artists, the meaning of the choreography, even the moments in which the commentators have to keep quiet.

It is embargoed with very strict rules. It’s the Bible. Those who commented on the Olympics know it: that document must be studied, internalized, learned almost by heart. It tells you what to say and above all when to be silent. Which is always advisable when in doubt.

But to know that, you should read it. And here the donkey falls. Because at RAI, evidently, reading 200 pages was considered a waste of time. Better to improvise, go by feeling, hope that everything goes well. After all, what do you want to happen?

It happens that you confuse De Angelis with Carey. It happens that you don’t recognize five out of six Italian volleyball champions. It happens that you speak over Andrea Bocelli who sings “Nessun dorma”. It happens that while the world looks at San Siro with eyes shining with emotion, you say that you have a sore neck because of the pillow.

Fabio Genovesi, one of the three musketeers of the commentary, in the middle of the ceremony felt the need to share his cervical problems with a billion people. He probably thought he was on the couch at home with friends, not live on the world. Or perhaps, more simply, RAI has completely lost the sense of reality.

The ghost champions: when you don’t know who the Italian athletes are

The most offensive moment – and the word “offensive” is even too kind – comes during the passing of the torch. Giuseppe Bergomi and Franco Baresi hand over the torch to six Italian volleyball champions. Not just any athletes: Danesi, Egonu, Cambi, Giannelli, Porro, Anzani. World Champions. Captains of the national teams. Star of Italian sport, in a historical moment in which Italian volleyball is a global point of reference. Even those who only follow curling or bowls would recognize those six.

And what does Petrecca do? He only recognizes Paola Egonu. Indeed, to be precise he says “she seems like Paola Egonu to me”. It seems to me. As if he were trying to get lucky at the Superenalotto. The other five? Ghosts. Ectoplasms. Unknown. For the record, they are Carlotta Cambi, Anna Danesi, Simone Giannelli, Simone Anzani and Luca Porro.

Now, let’s do the math. Six athletes on stage. One recognized (barely). Five ignored. Failure rate: 83.3%. If a student got a grade like that in school, they would be sent back to September. But at RAI, evidently, 83.3% ignorance is considered an acceptable result.

And the “we didn’t have a list of torchbearers” excuse isn’t valid. Of course you had it. It was in the document that no one read. The one with 200 pages that describes everything, absolutely everything. What is needed to avoid planetary shit figures. What, at RAI, they consider waste paper.

The volleyball world exploded with anger. And he has every reason. Because it’s not about forgetting a name: it’s about humiliating six athletes who represented Italy in front of the whole world. It’s about sending the message that, for RAI, Italian sportspeople are all the same: who knows them, who cares.

Three and a half hours of useless chatter over a perfect show

But the gaffe about De Angelis and the ignorance about volleyball players are just the tip of the iceberg. The real, devastating problem of RAI commentary was another: three and a half hours of uninterrupted chatter. Always, anyway, everywhere.

They spoke over Laura Pausini who was singing the Mameli Hymn. Above Andrea Bocelli performing “Nessun dorma”. Above the tribute to Raffaella Carrà. Above the choreography, above the music, above every single moment that deserved respect and silence.

Social media shouted: “Shut them up”, “Unsustainable”, “But why don’t they shut up?”. The answer is simple: because at RAI no one has the courage – or the intelligence – to say to a manager “look, forget it, maybe you don’t even know how to be a manager but it’s certainly better if you don’t comment”.

The problem is not the individual commentator. The problem is systemic. It’s a sick corporate culture, where “being there” is more important than “knowing how to do it”. Where a manager can proclaim himself a commentator even if he doesn’t have the skills. Where 200 pages of briefings are considered optional. Where preparation is seen as a weakness, not as a professional duty.

The merciless comparison: what the rest of the world saw

And here comes the final blow. While we Italians endured this disaster, the rest of the world watched the same ceremony with trained, professional, respectful commentators. And guess what? They loved it. The Los Angeles Times: “An elegant show, as only Italians can do.” The Guardian: “An emotional and warm show, intimate but huge at the same time.” The New York Times: “Great and eccentric poetry, romantic but self-deprecating, capable of enhancing the immense Italian cultural heritage that we can only envy.”

On the one hand, those who have seen and recognized the art, the music, the emotion. Us? We heard Petrecca confusing De Angelis with Carey and Genovesi complaining about the pillow.

It’s as if two people were watching the same film: one sees a masterpiece, the other only hears the guy in the back row talking on the phone with his wife throughout the screening. Well, we were the ones with the guy in the back. And the guy was ourselves. RAI. And let’s stop saying that the commentary was free: RAI pays itself, and it costs enormously because it collects from an increasingly less justified license fee and from shameful advertising competition.

The real problem: when arrogance meets incompetence

But the real point is another. This story is not just the story of an evening gone wrong. It is the perfect photograph of a company – RAI – which has completely lost its bearings. He chases listening and audiences without knowing what public service is anymore, which he fills his mouth with as if it were a divine investiture.

A company where a manager with 84% votes of no confidence can appoint himself as a commentator. Where no one has the courage to tell him “maybe it’s not a good idea”. Where preparation is considered optional and improvisation is the norm.

A company that in a normal country would have made a choice: either to become a truly public service like the BBC, with very high professional standards and no compromise on quality, or to admit failure and privatize itself. Instead we are in limbo: neither fish nor fowl, neither public nor private, neither professional nor improvised. Just incompetent.

A lesson that will never be learned

What will happen now? Probably nothing. Petrecca will remain in place. Or from mistrust to mistrust he will be parachuted into a fairly large seat without consequences. The damage is now done. Because this is the real drama: not a single evening gone wrong, but a system that produces disasters in series. A system where no one ever pays for mistakes. Where incompetence is rewarded with new assignments. Where saying “I’m not ready” is considered cowardice, while going on the air blind is considered courage.

Marco Balich has created a masterpiece. Bocelli, Pausini, Impacciatore, Theron graced the stage with extraordinary performances. The world applauded Italy. The Italians applauded Balich. And RAI? RAI broadcast three commentators who transformed a triumph into a grotesque farce. Who spoke above every emotion. Who confused names, ignored samples, told banalities.

Next time, do us a favor: send the live broadcast without comment. At least we’ll make ourselves look better. Or better yet: give the microphone to someone who wants to study those 200 pages. Someone who considers preparation a duty, not an optional. Someone who knows the difference between Matilda De Angelis and Mariah Carey.

A company that prides itself on being an excellence of our country is asked to meet the damned minimum standards of professionalism and humility: even that of saying ‘I’m not up to par’. But perhaps, for RAI, it is really too much.

The gaffe on Mattarella and “his daughter”, the booing of Vance, Ghali “not included”: the best and worst of the Milan-Cortina ceremony