The camera lingers on him longer than the others. It always does. In the chaotic aftermath of the final whistle, while teammates slump to the turf or look accusingly at the linesman, Matteo Pessina stands perfectly still. The U-Power Stadium in Monza empties slowly, the grumbles of the tifosi drifting down from the Curva, but the captain does not retreat to the locker room. He absorbs it. He takes the poison so the others don't have to.
Serie A is a league that fetishizes suffering, but the current plight of AC Monza offers a specific brand of cruelty. History is littered with winless starts—the ghostly spectre of Benevento’s 2017 catastrophe or the toothless struggle of Cremonese—yet this feels different. This is not a team of mercenaries assembled in a panic. This is a team led by a European Champion, a son of the city, whose dream of leading his boyhood club has curdled into a weekly ritual of frustration.
The Analysis
To understand the tragedy of Matteo Pessina’s current existence, one must look at the height from which he fell. Three years ago, he was Italy’s sweetheart, scoring crucial goals at Wembley and the Stadio Olimpico, lifting the Henri Delaunay Trophy under the confetti rain of Euro 2020. He was an Atalanta star, a Gasperini disciple, a player valued at €30 million with the world at his feet.
He chose the romantic route. He chose to return to Monza, the club where he first kicked a ball, the club his grandfather supported. It was supposed to be a fairytale backed by the financial muscle of the Berlusconi family and the guile of Adriano Galliani. But fairytales in Italian football are fragile things. With the passing of Silvio Berlusconi, the aura of invincibility faded, leaving Pessina as the solitary figurehead of a project suddenly looking mortal.
The recent analysis of winless Serie A teams points to a common denominator: a lack of identity. When teams panic, they lose their shape. But Pessina’s struggle is not a lack of identity; it is an excess of responsibility. Watch him play in these winless weeks. He is everywhere and nowhere. He drops deep to collect the ball from the goalkeeper, trying to be the regista. He drives forward to support the lonely striker, trying to be the trequartista. He sprints to the flanks to cover for an out-of-position wing-back.
| Metric | The "Winless" Average | Pessina's Output |
|---|---|---|
| Possession Won | 3.2 per game | 6.8 per game |
| Progressive Carries | 1.5 per game | 4.1 per game |
| Win Percentage | 0% | 0% |
The table above paints a picture of futile heroism. Pessina is doing the work of two men, yet the result remains stubbornly zero. This is the "Lesson" that history teaches us about winless teams: individual brilliance rarely breaks the curse. The psychological weight of the armband is crushing him. Every misplaced pass by a teammate seems to physically pain him.
The Ghost of Benevento
The parallels to previous winless catastrophes are frightening. When Benevento went on their record-breaking losing streak in 2017, they had a captain, Fabio Lucioni, who tried to hold back the tide until a doping ban removed him from the equation. Pessina faces a different kind of banishment—an emotional one. He is trapped in a cycle of high expectations and low delivery.
Critics argue that Pessina should have stayed at a Champions League club. They whisper that he "settled" too young, that the romantic notion of leading Monza was an ego trip. These critics miss the point of the tragedy. Pessina didn’t settle; he gambled his prime years on legacy. He wanted to be the Totti of Monza, the Maldini of the Brianza.
Instead, he risks becoming its Atlas, buckling under the globe. The tactical setup under Alessandro Nesta hasn't helped. The midfield is porous, leaving Pessina exposed. He is constantly chasing shadows, his elegant, intellectual style of play reduced to frantic firefighting. The grace that defined his time at Verona and Atalanta has been replaced by a gritty, desperate survival instinct.
There is a moment in the recent draw that defines this downfall. In the 88th minute, with lungs burning, Pessina made a 60-yard recovery run to stop a counter-attack. He won the tackle, stood up, and looked for a pass. There was no one. The team was too deep, too scared, paralyzed by the fear of losing. Pessina threw his arms up, not in anger, but in sheer exhaustion. It was the body language of a man realizing that willpower alone cannot bend mathematics.
Redemption or Ruin?
Can he turn it around? The history of Serie A offers a sliver of hope. Davide Nicola’s Salernitana pulled off the "Great Escape," and Crotone managed miraculous survivals. But those teams thrived on chaos. Pessina is a player of order. He needs structure to shine. The current Monza side is entropy in motion.
If Monza is to survive, Pessina must change. He must stop trying to save the city and start just playing the game. The heroic burden is noble, but it is heavy, and it slows the feet. The lesson from the winless ghosts of the past is clear: you cannot win a war if your general is fighting every single battle personally.
Until that first win comes, Matteo Pessina remains the tragic figure of the Italian north. A European Champion fighting relegation in his own backyard. A prince who returned to his kingdom only to find the castle crumbling. As the season grinds on, the question isn't whether Pessina is good enough for Serie A; it is whether his heart can survive the heartbreak of failing the only people he truly cares about.