Poor us! Not even the transfer market makes us dream anymore

Previously, after having had a hard time digesting the sales of Reijners and Teo Hernandez, the die-hard supporters of the Devil had to accept the arrival of Luka Modric, a middle-aged (shooting) star who for some time in Real Madrid has only been put on the pitch in the last quarter of an hour, when the others are very tired. Luckily, Samuele Ricci, a 23-year-old midfielder from Torino who has been in the Azzurri circle for a while, was drafted in instead. Although not a champion, for Milan the former Granata can finally be considered an investment for the future. And then he speaks Italian, a quality not to be overlooked in a football babel where everyone has their say without being understood by anyone.

In short: Allegri or no Allegri, it is better that Milan fans do not even expand with dreams. We recommend erasing the good memories, the last Champions with Ancelotti and even the last scudetto with Pioli. It is better to keep a low profile by erasing fillet and caviar. With Cardinale and Furlani, in fact, we must get used to frozen foods or some zero-mile products to avoid burdening the costs, already burdened by Ibrahimovic's long trips

And Juventus? They too came out battered from both the championship (fourth) and the Club World Cup where their own fans breathed a sigh of relief for not having been too badly beaten by Real Madrid. Our football is in such a bad state, so peripheral, that losing by just one goal, even for Juve, seems almost a feat.

Now everyone at the black and white club is getting excited about the arrival of Jonathan David, a Canadian striker who has played for Lille in the last three seasons, scoring 77 goals.

On paper it seems like a good purchase, but everything remains to be verified. But since deluding oneself is one of life's last pleasures, here is the "Gazzetta", presenting the new centre-forward, with the headline: "David a monster". Making matters worse, by having the Canadian coach, Jesse Marsh, speak, we read this prophecy: "After Haaland, there is Jonathan. He will score 25 goals!".

What can I say? Let's keep our fingers crossed for the Madama supporters who, lately, have really struggled to get excited about the strikers. Not to rub salt in the wound, but how can we forget the incredible story of Dusan Vlahovic, the Serbian striker who arrived from Fiorentina in 2022 for 70 million plus 10 in bonuses?

The striker, whose salary is around 12 million, is being held in suspense by the Bianconeri club who would like to replace him with Victor Osimhen, the new object of desire for Juve. There is only one but: Dusan, who has played only one game out of four in America, has no intention of leaving because he is aiming for a free transfer in a year.

In the meantime, even if he remains on the bench, he enjoys his million net per month until June 2026. As they say for journalists, it's always better than working.

It's hard to understand who is right. The only certain thing about this crazy mayonnaise is that we live in a football - or rather, in a world - completely disconnected where the value of money no longer has any meaning other than that of enriching the agents, very happy with this insane stalemate given that Vlahovic, despite his obsessions and his reckless stops, is always a good centre forward, one who in 145 games has scored 58 goals.

When he arrived at Juve, the Serbian was compared to the terrible Haaland of City. Who did we say David, the new arrival, is being compared to now? Elementary Watson, also to Haaland. Here, at least in the summer, let us dream. But leave the terrible Haaland alone

Tour de France, what a passion! When someone asks what is so fascinating about the Grande Boucle, the answer is to go and watch yesterday's stage again, which ended with the victory of Mathieu Van Der Poel in Boulogne sur Mer, the most important fishing port in France. And if, watching it, he still doesn't understand the magic of the Tour, then go and devote yourself, without offending anyone, to golf or burraco. It must be said that Van Der Poel, who already won this year at Sanremo and Roubaix, not only won the yellow jersey by arriving first in Boulogne, but he did so by beating in the sprint none other than Pogacar (2nd) and Vingegaard (3rd), the two great champions who for the last five years, one time and the other, have arrived in the yellow jersey on the Champs Elysees in Paris.

This is where the wonder comes from: that in an almost banal stage, with the Tour just starting, magnificent champions like these three phenomena have fought tooth and nail to honor the race and leave their winning mark on it. Mind you: no one asked them to, they could have easily left room for some minor figure, waiting for the time trials and the great mountains where the race will be decided. But at the Tour it goes like this: every surrender is lost, every stage is a journey to the beginning and end of cycling, a sport that when it hypnotizes you with its magic you can no longer find the key word to free yourself.