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+---- Thread: Del Pirlo: One Last Go At It (/showthread.php?tid=10586)
Del Pirlo: One Last Go At It - Zoone16 - 2026-08-20
Guayaquil, Ecuador. 7:32AM Local Time
“Yeah, we should’ve told you earlier, our bad. Here’s a ticket though, it shouldn’t be too long of a flight. See you in Casablanca!”. Those were the words that Alessandro Del Pirlo had to listen to from his phone early this morning. It had been 38 hours through multiple flights to get from Auckland to Guayaquil. Long waits through San Francisco, Miami and eventually to the most populous city in Ecuador had all led to this moment.
It hadn’t been more than a week ago that Alessandro Del Pirlo had been selected by I.R. Casablanca, one of the two expansion organizations coming to the SSL. Slowing down from his glory days and the championship challenges, it was obvious that his time among the world’s elite was coming to a close. Having announced that S27 would be his season in the SSL, it was natural that the organization he spent 14 years with wouldn’t protect him for expansion, preferring to focus on the future. Things hadn’t been so the previous two expansions, he was a star, a legend, a name that every child, teen and adult recognized and grew up with, a name worth protecting if only for the marketing value. A few years later and it’s a firm handshake and on we go, the show continues and waits for no one.
“You guys don’t have a team plane that can make this any faster?”
“Well, we’re still new and the plane is still going under inspection and needs that paint job before the season starts. Look it’s a first-class ticket. Get here and we’ll discuss everything in person”.
Back to the airport from the team facilities. Only a handful of players, expansion selections just like him, were at the practice grounds taking their new reality in. Some apprehended this, some looked at it like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro took it like it was, a last chance for him to score a few goals and justify his presence among the best goal scorers of all-time in the SSL. At least the team had a vehicle ready for him… and a few other passengers.
“Space for a couple more in here?” a familiar sounding voice asked in a honking tone.
“Peter what’s up? Did they call you as well?”.
“Yeah, Denis too. Next plane first class. At least we’re being treated well” responded Peter Apostle, a player that Del Pirlo had gotten to know well from playing together on the Alpine Federation team that reached the semi-finals last world cup. Seeing a familiar face took away some of the frustrations at this situation he was finding himself in. Apostle, a defensive midfielder who spent the last few seasons on Krung Thep in the lower divisions of the SSL was a strong man from Vatican City. His game was often described as someone playing as if they were possessed by an ‘angry goose’ but the man had a warm carefree attitude outside of the game. Moving to Casablanca would be his first shot at the major leagues after 6 years in the minors.
Alongside them, another vaguely familiar face joined them in the team van. Denis Mobek, a towering man that Del Pirlo recognized from training camps in S20 & S21 when both were still part of the Reykjavik/North Shore organization. Mobek, a goalkeeper, was much too young to challenge for a major team position and wasn’t much of a talker back then. Not much of a talker now too apparently as he looked outside the window, taking in the humidity and heat of Ecuador one last time.
Thirty minutes later and they were at the international terminal of the José Joaquín de Olmedo International Airport. It was now 9:30am and the sun began to appear beyond the morning clouds. Two hours until departure. Check-In, drop the baggage, head to security. How many times had he done this routine now? Airports all felt the same to Alessandro by now. They felt like the morning when you open the door to get your day started. They felt like home. Usually there’d be a group of supporters just before security wishing the team well, wanting autographs, photos, anything… and a line of police to keep them back from mobbing the team. Today? No one paid much attention to them; the news of the team rosters would only be announced later that day. There were plenty of Guayaquil jerseys around though. Some with Cheeseburger, some Bajramovic, Rylakn, Krunk, Gruber and many more. Names of the young players selected at the draft. Names of the future. As he followed the others towards security he felt a tug on his shirt. A young kid with one of those light blue jerseys on was there.
“Are you Alessandro Del Pirlo? Can you sign my jersey?” the kid exclaimed excitedly.
“Yeah, sure where do you want me to sign it?”
“On the back!” as the kid spun around.
To his surprise, it was his name on the back. With his iconic number 10. On a jersey he would never officially wear in a professional match.
“This is the only jersey of this team I will ever sign. Take great care of it” said Alessandro as he handed the pen back. The kid disappeared as quickly as he came in the writhing mass that is the airport crowd. One hour until boarding.
In the first-class lounge, a glass of wine in his hand, Italian of course, it was just about passing the time until boarding. He had never been to Morocco before. Not even on holiday. In some way, he looked forward to it. He had heard of how intense the Moroccan crowd could be from other leagues. He would be part of the initial roster of the first ever African major team in the SSL. Perhaps he could become their first ever official goal scorer and become a neat piece of trivia to some British folk in their Monday night pub quiz. He let out a brief chuckle right as the hostess came to get him and his colleagues.
“If you would follow me, your plane to Madrid will start boarding shortly, I’ll bring you directly to your first-class cabins.” She announced.
“Madrid? I thought we were going to Casablanca.”
“Yes. You have a layover in Madrid and then you have another flight to Casablanca. Also first-class in case you were asking”.
Alessandro looked at his flight itinerary. Guayaquil to Madrid and then Casablanca. A total travel time of 18 hours 30 minutes. He let out a sigh of desperation and marched on. The door to his final professional season in the SSL had swung open.
(1113 words)