Castrogiovanni, a former striker, now a TV presenter in Italy. Photo: Steve Bisgrove
Standing in Piazza San Cosimato in Rome, I think I know what's coming next. The meeting place – a pharmacy in the center of the cobbled and bustling Trastevere district – and the time – 19:00 – were fixed by the intermediary. Now it's a waiting game.
My mission in the Italian capital is to find one of rugby's most iconic and prominent heroes: Martin Castrogiovanni. As enigmatic as he is, he remains one of Italy's and the Premier League's most decorated players, winning 119 caps during the Azzurri's golden era and six trophies in his seven years at Leicester Tigers.
He last played rugby in 2016, when he retired after being sacked by Racing 92 for partying in Las Vegas with Zlatan Ibrahimovic, which only cemented his legend.
I came to Trastevere in search of the real Castrogiovanni, not the myth: the Castrogiovanni who sided with Zlatan; the Castrogiovannis storming a press conference in Leicester and calling Richard Cockerill a moron while in Toulon; The Castrogiovannis, who caused a social media meltdown last summer, have been accused of falsifying his eligibility for the Azzurri. The clock is approaching seven o'clock in the evening, and I am preparing for a whirlwind evening.
“Where did I meet my wife?” Tinder”
There is commotion in one corner of the square. I notice a hairy man with a ponytail, slimmer than expected, walking hand in hand with his partner. The figure has the appearance of Castrogiovanni; shouts of “Castro!” This is confirmed by visitors to the trattoria.
Castrogiovanni is holding a tub of ice cream and a spoon in his hands, which came as a surprise, because we are about to go to dinner. But this is Italy, and this is, of course, Castro, so the rules of the game are not applied so strictly.
We shake hands, but Castrogiovanni, his beard stained with ice cream, seems unsure and indifferent. Not exactly cold, but more subdued than expected. He imagines his wife Daniela as the complete opposite: flamboyant, charming and full of Italian sizzle. She is a 46-year-old former fashion executive and now Castrogiovanni's personal assistant.
We walk around Trastevere. I'm still a little nervous, if for no other reason than Castrogiovanni's somewhat coldness.
“I hate it when people leave scooters lying on the road,” he blurts, muttering in Italian. “Damn it.”
“They say: “Rome is very dirty because of the tourists.” No, these are not tourists, these are Romans!
Castrogiovanni and his wife Daniela live in the Trastevere district of Rome, where the this evening. Photo: Steve Bisgrove
I ask where he and Daniela met. “Tinder,” he says dispassionately, looking into my eyes. The seconds are ticking; While people finding their soulmate using Tinder has become more common in recent years, for two people over 40 it remains rare. Previously, I was slightly taken aback: “Just kidding,” he replies, bursting into wild laughter, explaining to Daniela and our accompanying photographer what a fool I look. “Yeah, he was my biggest fan on OnlyFans, and then I married him,” Daniela replies, giggling.
“I was the one who paid the most!” Castrogiovanni screams.
I later learn that this is not entirely true, but from that moment on the frost melts away, revealing one of the kindest, most welcoming and most misunderstood souls in rugby, a world away from his rude, terrible reputation.
'Me now 42. It's time to be happy”
In 2017, Castrogiovanni traded grappling for rumba, appearing on the Italian version of Dancing with the Stars. Following his success on the show, the former goofball now presents Tú sí que vales, the Italian version of Britain's Got Talent. It's right. Castrogiovanni, that inflexible first-line striker, is now the Italian equivalent of Ant & December (or at least a good half of them). He and Daniela, residents of Trastevere, are the proud owners of two sausage dogs, Tito and Gilda, and a rescue dog named Blanco.
We enter the San Calisto bar with its crowded terrace, located just around the corner from Piazza di Santa Maria. Castrogiovanni waves to the owners before being ambushed for a photo, but they are not among the rugby fans. This is Castrogiovanni MkII, TV celebrity extraordinaire, on his way. Castrogiovanni and Daniela often visit this bar to have morning coffee with their dogs or sunbathe. In this case, when I'm in tow, it's the latter. Castrogiovanni orders fernet and Coca-Cola, a staple of Argentine cuisine. We leave without paying, but not for lack of trying. The owner would not accept money from me or from one of his country's stars who also played rugby. Castrogiovanni has little involvement in the sport these days – except for charity wheelchair rugby – but he doesn't seem to need it. He's outgrown it.
Castrogiovanni swaps his trainers for dancing shoes in the Italian version of Strictly Come. Dancing Photo: Getty Images/Elisabetta A. Villa
“I’ve never watched one of Martin’s matches,” Daniela admits unabashedly.
“You didn’t miss anything!” says Castrogiovanni as we walk to the restaurant Daniela has reserved. “I’m 42 now. It’s time to be happy. I don't know what I want to do when I'm old. I still don't know. Perhaps a TV presenter. I don’t know yet.
“It would be great to do something in England, but I don’t have an English agent. Last year I went to Twickenham for the first time as a fan. For England against Italy. Lawrence Dallaglio invited me to the green room at the stadium.”
“It was very funny,” Daniela chimes in.
“It was the English way of watching sport,” says Castrogiovanni. .
“Drink a lot,” adds Daniela.
“Make fun of people and have fun,” says Castrogiovanni. “But my English is like Borat’s.”
“I’m not Italian? Yes, Mona Lisa is not French”
After seven years at Welford Road, Castrogiovanni's English is truly excellent, as is Daniela, who spent time at college in Great Malvern in her youth. The walk provided an opportune moment for me to ask about last year's furor over eligibility; for him to set a record.
In an interview with Argentine publication Rugby Champagne, Castrogiovanni said he qualified for Italy not through his grandparents, but through his great-grandparents, which could have disqualified him. The interview was published at the same time that Spain was kicked out of the World Cup for fielding an ineligible player, causing social media to explode.
“I don’t know what happened,” the Argentine native says. “I do not care. There was something political.
“Of course, I had an Italian passport [when I moved to and played for Italy]. Spain got angry and my interview became a big story.
“I was a fat bitch with long hair. I was not Ange Capuozzo. Even the Italian Rugby Union isn't mafia enough to do something like that.
“I never said my parents were Italian. I said it was my great-grandfather. When the media called me last year and told me I was not Italian, I laughed. I said: yes, Mona Lisa is not French. The same thing.
“There was no investigation (neither in 2001, when he arrived in Italy, nor last year). Because I came with all my documents and passport. I went to the town hall of Calvisano. I handed over my papers, which were sent to the embassy. They looked at everything, asked for something called Jure Sanguinis [the opportunity for members of the Italian diaspora to be recognized as Italian citizens regardless of place of birth, subject to meeting certain basic descent requirements]. It was a legitimate thing with [former Argentine President Juan] Peron when he forced Italian immigrants to surrender their passports.
“If you say I'm not Italian, Diego Dominguez won't. All Argentinian-Italians would be the same – and this is not true.”
I ask if Daniela is 100% Italian. “Yes,” she replies with a cheeky grin.
Castrogiovanni can’t help himself: “Yes, don’t pretend like me!”
Castrogiovanni's legacy was unquestioned while he played Photo: GETTY IMAGES/Mike Hewitt “Who wouldn't want a night in Vegas with Zlatan?”
We arrive at the green restaurant Osteria der Belli in Piazza Sant'Apolonia. Before we can take our seats on the terrace, a bottle of dry Franciacorta is submerged in an ice bucket on the table, and as I sit down, plates of shrimp (the mini lobster type, not the deep-fried kind) arrive. ), carpaccio of sea bass and tuna, shellfish and culurgione, stuffed with pecorino, is put on the table. I didn't even bother to ask if Castrogiovanni and Daniela were regulars, and I certainly didn't bother to ask for a menu.
I do, however, jokingly ask if they called ahead to make reservations. They laugh.
“When I was living in England, I remember it was the player’s wife’s birthday and three months in advance they asked me what I wanted to eat!” – exclaims Castrogiovanni.
– Mamma mia! cries Daniela.
“I didn’t have the slightest idea – it was three months later. Very English,” concludes Castrogiovanni.
Now seems like a good time to ask the burning question: what really happened during that fight with Zlatan in Las Vegas in 2016 that ended his rugby career? The player, unselected for Racing 92's European semi-final against his former club Leicester, traveled to Sin City to celebrate Paris Saint-Germain's League Cup win. The problem was that he told Racing that he was visiting his grandmother in Argentina. The pictures appeared as expected; Castrogiovanni, as expected, was fired.
This photo, posted on social media at the time, was one of the ones that landed. Castrogiovanni in hot water
“I remember this,” says Castrogiovanni. “It wasn't that bad. The way I did it was very bad. But what will they say in England? It is what it is; what is done is done. Sometimes when you make a mistake, people invent something.
“I could go anywhere. But it was a mistake. The most annoying thing now is that everyone remembers me for this, and not for what I achieved before.
“Every time I talk about this, the next headline is about me and Zlatan. We hate it.
“It's no longer there. I did it. It was fun, hell yes. I also don't think there are many people who would turn down an offer to spend an evening in Vegas with Zlatan.
“My mistake was not telling the truth. I missed the Heineken Cup semi-final but didn't play. If I had said I was going to Vegas, there would have been no problem. I stupidly said that I was going to Argentina to visit my grandmother, and then these photos appeared. French moaning bitch. They were unhappy with me. This is true. And they were looking for a way to fire me.
“The worst thing for me was that I was not allowed to apologize and say goodbye to the team. I knew I would pay for what I did, but I wanted to say goodbye. That's how I left the game. I never played again. I was fired from Racing 92. I didn't really care that I wouldn't play anymore. This is enough for me.”
He continues the theme: “However, I wouldn’t want to be a coach. I couldn't do it, given all the politics. How to say in English: talk, talk, but don't walk? I had a lot of coaches who talked the talk, and a lot of them who walked the walk.
“And I'm going to get fired for going to Vegas? Fuck you. I'm a bad boy because I… went to Vegas.
“That's why rugby isn't growing. It's the same thing all the time. That's why I left. Fuck ——boring. The same faces every day and everywhere. I wanted a new challenge in my life.”
“I was not easy to cope with”
Sitting opposite me, I notice the tattoo on Castrogiovanni's arm. It says “Rocco”. There is additional space at the table. This is Daniela's 19-year-old son, who joins us for dinner before meeting his friends. His name? Rocco, of course. Castrogiovanni may not have children of his own (yet), but he considers himself a father. Once Rocco sits down and is greeted, the conversation turns to Castrogiovanni's time in the East Midlands.
“I cried a lot when I left Leicester,” he says. “Sad and emotional day. I didn't want to leave. I don't think anyone would recognize me on Welford Road now.”
The opposite is true. He and Daniela had never been to Leicester. Castrogiovanni has not been back since 2014, on that December evening when the Italian – by then a Toulon mainstay – stormed into a press conference and called Cockerill, the Leicester manager, a “jerk” after the Tigers' win at Welford Road. Cockerill did not renew Castrogiovanni's contract a year earlier.
“It cost me a lot of money,” says Castrogiovanni. “I was probably one of the first to pay the fine money. For example, 15 thousand pounds. This hearing made me angry. When you show up at these disciplinary hearings, the people who want to fine you are the same people who used to play and hit people – now they lecture me and tell me I'm the bad guy? I had to pay my lawyer and, if I lost, all the bills for these bastards. I said, “I made a mistake, but I don’t want to give you my money.” Write a paper that I will give the fine to charity.”
Castrogiovanni played 145 matches for Leicester, but his contract is not was renewed in 2013 and he moved to Toulon. Photo: Action Images/Paul Harding
Cockerill has since said they would have a beer and a laugh together one day. Does Castro agree?
“It hasn’t happened yet,” he smiles. “But why not? We're already old. We have children. We're all growing up. You can't live in the past. You have to live in the present. If you live in the past, you'll never move forward. Having a beer with him would be the perfect way to end case.
“I was a hard person to handle – because I didn't listen! I liked being a rebel. That was my problem. I liked talking to the judge. I was a young guy trying to play and win – that's it.” and that's it. And if that meant talking to the referee or looking like a jerk, then that's it.
“When I said this word, everyone took it very badly. But when you are a foreigner, you do not understand the manner of the words you pronounce. I learned my lesson.
“In Argentine Spanish these words are given little attention. It's the way they say it. “Son of a bitch” means nothing to us. And in England it’s bad.
“At that moment I realized that I had made a mistake, but I was just repeating what was said in the dressing room! Either way, it was funny.”
“I never ate breakfast, even as a rugby player” 
Castrogiovanni hardly participates in rugby these days. Photo: Steve Bisgrove
The pasta arrives, but Castrogiovanni does not touch it, explaining that he is intolerant to wheat. An Italian who can't eat pasta? It turns out that Castrogiovanni's rebellious streak even extends to his stomach.
As the ice bucket has been filled more times than I care to remember, it becomes clear that food and family, like all Italians, are two principles of life for Castrogiovanni and Daniela. The couple actually met on a multi-party business video call, chatted and before they knew it they were married in Rome during the Covid lockdown. There were only forty guests, but there was still time for a two-day party. Instead of a wedding cake there was a whole pig.
By the way, our main course, a whole sea bass baked in salt, arrives with great fanfare. Castrogiovanni grabs his head—“the best part,” says Daniela—before I ask the former prop man, now smaller than his acting days, about his relationship with food.
“ I don’t eat during the day,” he says. “I do the opposite of what you should do. I don't eat in the morning, I never had breakfast, even when I was a rugby player. Until noon, nothing but coffee. Sometimes I had to change my schedule because of this.
“I love to grill and I love to be at barbecues, but I don’t like to work! When we do barbecue, we do it for 30 people and I always cook. But I don't want to work on it. For me it's a passion. Being on the grill and having you come to my house and me serving you is what I love to do. I don't want this to become a job.
“When you make what you love your job, you ruin it.” The couple looks at me, the rugby reporter, and laughs together.
Castrogiovanni at a barbecue, in the published image by his wife Photo: Daniela Marzulli “I smoked a pack a day when I was playing”
A French family leans over from a nearby table and asks for a light. To my surprise, since this is continental Europe, none of us can help us.
“I smoked a pack a day when I was playing,” Castrogiovanni says, without prompting. “Since 25. But I used to smoke a lot. Then, when I stopped playing, I began to smoke more, then it was three packs a day. Now I'm a responsible person.”
Semifreddo rounds out the meal (Castrogiovanni, of course, has two), along with the Mirto di Sardegna digestivo, a chilled limoncello-style liqueur made with blueberries instead of lemons.
p>Incredibly, Castrogiovanni pays, much to my embarrassment. “You are in Rome,” he says. “The world of rugby and Italian culture taught me to be hospitable.”
I leave, deceived (and a little tipsy). I expected evidence of Castrogiovanni's rebellious and quarrelsome nature, but instead found that his last decade was spent settling down and building a family. I found the real Castrogiovanni, but the once hefty support system was replaced by a caring husband and caring father; although he'll never have to buy a drink in Rome anyway.
Turns out I had no idea what was in store for me.
Recent Comments