Nothing to do, not even this time will we be able to see the Italian volleyball players with gold around their necks. The most haunted medal in Italian sport remains that of men’s volleyball. There is no more painful wait. Even Italy coached by Fefè De Giorgi – swept away by the hosts France 3-0 – stopped at the gates of Olympus, forcing us to bet everything on the final for the bronze against the USA that will be played on Friday 9 August.

Since Barcelona 1992, the Italian Volleyball team and many of our fans have been waiting to fill a missing space, which became an obsession when the “Generation of Phenomena”, led by Julio Velasco, was reaping a series of successes between the European Championships, World Championships and World League. A ride that could have already brought the finish line in ’92, but the bitterest regrets are above all for Atlanta 1996, when the eternal rivals of Holland mocked us in the fifth set, after having made us taste the thrill of the match point.

As Velasco himself explains in the beautiful documentary currently on Raiplay, from that moment on, whatever he did in his life, he would always find someone along the way to remind him of the bitter American defeat: “But, that gold that was missed in Atlanta…”. A curse, an obsession, for the strongest national volleyball team of the twentieth century.

National team that has led, in the years to come, thousands of kids to prefer volleyball to football and basketball. So much so that, unlike basketball, there is always an Italian team among the best in the world. In the most opaque moments, at least we find it among the best in Europe. We are always there, we play it to the end. We insert ourselves among the favorites and even the opponents think so.

But the gold at the Games has never arrived: silver in Atlanta, bronze in Sydney, silver in Athens, bronze in London, silver in Rio. The World and European Championships are a great show in the rich Italian showcase, but neither Zorzi, nor Tofoli, nor Sartoretti nor Quantorena, nor Zaytsev nor Vermiglio, have been able to wear the most precious metal. At least for the moment we will not see smiling, with the gold, not even Giannelli and Michieletto. What a shame, what a disappointment. Only tears. We have won six medals in our history, like Brazil and the Soviet Union, but none of them shine as much as we would like.

After a perfect group that had further increased our odds, the first cracks were seen in the quarterfinals with Japan in the first two sets, lived at the mercy of the opponents. The collapse then came against the French, dragged by the home crowd. The “eyes of the tiger” that Velasco asked for thirty years ago were certainly had by the transalpines Ngapeth and Clavenot.

So we will have to watch from afar as Poland, massacred by the Azzurri in the first phase, try to put a spoke in the wheels of the outgoing Olympic champions trained by Andrea Giani, the only Italian who can still aspire to that goal that has always eluded every Azzurri: gold.

The very same one who slammed that last unfortunate ball out of the pole in Atlanta ’96 that, since then, has ruined the sleep of thousands of fans. But perhaps there is a way not to think about how enchanted this damned Olympic dream is for the blue movement: cheer with all your heart for the National team that Velasco coaches these days. Come on girls, make us forget the unpleasant spell of Italian volleyball at the Olympics.