Chapter 7: Meeting Players
The November sky over Salento hung low and heavy, a soft grey quilt tinged with warmth, as if the sea had kissed the clouds and wrapped the land in a salty embrace. There was no bite in the air, no true cold—just a Mediterranean stillness that hinted at rain but never quite followed through. It was a quiet kind of tension, the sort that mirrored the one curled in Alex Walker’s chest.
He stepped out of the club’s black SUV at the Acaya Golf Resort, Lecce’s training ground and retreat nestled in the countryside, and paused for a long moment. Gravel crunched beneath his polished shoes. The breeze smelled of olive branches and old stone. This wasn’t Lisbon, with its damp mornings and crowded trams. It wasn’t Milan or Madrid or Manchester. It was something smaller, simpler.
But maybe, just maybe, that was what he needed.
The facility was serene. Too serene. The silence didn’t feel entirely welcoming. Most of the players were still away on international duty, and those who remained were working on light recovery sessions or seeing the medical team. The resort, usually a hive of intensity and tactical drilling, now felt like a hotel caught between guests.
He pulled his blazer tighter against the wind. A formality, nothing more. Because today wasn’t about comfort.
Due to lingering paperwork surrounding his UEFA Pro License-bureaucracy, always bureaucracy-Alex wasn’t officially allowed to lead full training sessions just yet. Italy’s football federation was meticulous about such things. He could observe. Talk. Analyze. But until the license was fully processed, he couldn’t step fully into the fire. Still, the club had given him the green light to introduce himself and start planting seeds.
He walked into the main building, the soles of his shoes echoing lightly against the tiled hallway. Heads turned—staff, physios, youth players in bright bibs. Some nodded respectfully. Others looked up and away, unsure whether to approach or retreat. His reputation preceded him, for better or worse. A few of the younger players stared as if they’d just seen a hologram walk through the door.
It made sense.
Not every day did a former Champions League winner walk into their dressing room.
Alex Walker wasn’t just a former player. He was a name. A brand. A man whose face once graced billboards and FIFA video game covers. And even though his managerial record was far from stellar, Italy hadn’t forgotten who he was on the pitch.
Pantaleo Corvino, the club’s iconic sporting director, stood beside him like a proud chaperone. With his thinning hair and sharp brown eyes, Corvino looked more like a professor of ancient Latin than the man responsible for finding some of Italian football’s brightest gems. But behind that mild exterior was a legend—an architect of talent.