The so-called Pope's Curse dated back to 1978.
That had been a miserable year for AC Milan. Juventus took the league title, Milan failed in Europe, and their city rivals Inter won the Coppa Italia. For the Rossoneri, it was a season that ended without a major trophy and provided rival supporters with plenty of ammunition.
That same year, the Catholic Church endured extraordinary upheaval. Pope Paul VI died in August, and his successor, John Paul I, died only thirty-three days after being elected.
Under normal circumstances, none of that would have had any relevance to a Champions League final nearly three decades later.
Football journalism, however, had never needed much encouragement to create a superstition.
Pope John Paul II had died in April 2005, and some reporters quickly began drawing parallels with 1978. Once they started looking, they found enough coincidences to keep the story alive.
Juventus had already secured the Serie A title, and had effectively done so at Milan's expense. The Rossoneri had been forced to watch their domestic rivals celebrate while their own championship challenge collapsed.
Inter, meanwhile, had reached the Coppa Italia final and would face Roma.
For anyone determined to believe in patterns, the ingredients were perfect.
A Pope had died. Juventus were champions. Inter were chasing the domestic cup. Milan were heading into a European final.
The curse, according to the more excitable sections of the press, had returned.
Galliani had no patience for any of it.
The AC Milan delegation had barely arrived in Istanbul when an English reporter asked him directly about the Pope's Curse.
Galliani's expression hardened.
"Those things have nothing to do with one another."
That should have ended the exchange.
Naturally, it did not.
The reporter followed him through the airport.
"What about the statistics suggesting teams in red win more often?"
Galliani stopped.
That particular story had emerged from research publicised by a British university before the final. Researchers had examined results from major international competitions, including the World Cup, European Championship and Olympic football tournaments, and claimed teams wearing red appeared to enjoy a slight statistical advantage.
The idea had immediately been repackaged for the Champions League final.
New Manchester United would wear red.
AC Milan would wear white.
Real Madrid might have won the European Cup more times than anyone while dressed in white, but that did not stop newspapers from combining colour theory, superstition and the supposed Papal Curse into one convenient conclusion.
New Manchester United were destined to win.
Galliani stared at the reporter for several seconds.
"I don't believe in curses, shirt colours or historical coincidences," he said. "Football matches are decided by coaches and players."
Then he turned and walked away.
Once inside the car arranged by the club, Galliani took out his phone.
He called Mauro Tassotti.
"We need to talk at the hotel."
Fifteen minutes later, Galliani entered a private room where Tassotti was already waiting.
The Milan coach had spent his entire adult life around the club and understood its power structure better than almost anyone.
There was Galliani.
Above him, in influence if not always in day-to-day involvement, stood Silvio Berlusconi.
Milan had never been a club where the head coach operated in complete isolation. The ownership had opinions on football. Strong ones.
Stories still circulated about Berlusconi becoming involved in tactical decisions and team selections during previous European campaigns.
That history inevitably crossed Tassotti's mind when Galliani asked to meet him privately less than two days before a Champions League final.
Was there another instruction coming from above?
A preferred formation?
A demand regarding Inzaghi or Palacio?
Or something worse?
Perhaps Milan had already decided that defeat in Istanbul would cost him his job.
Tassotti was not Mourinho.
He was not the type to confront directors publicly or turn every disagreement into a test of authority.
His personality was closer to Ancelotti's.
Measured.
Loyal.
Willing to work within the structure of the club.
Critics sometimes used that against him, arguing he lacked the independence or force of personality associated with great managers.
Nobody could dismiss his results so easily.
He had taken Milan to the Champions League final.
That alone demanded respect.
Tassotti had prepared himself for almost anything by the time Galliani walked through the door.
Even dismissal.
If Milan believed replacing him was best for the club, he knew himself well enough to understand that he would probably accept it with far less anger than most managers.
His attachment to the Rossoneri ran too deep.
Galliani greeted him politely and sat opposite.
His expression remained serious.
For a moment, Tassotti's anxiety increased.
Then Galliani slid a document across the table.
Tassotti looked down.
A contract.
Not a termination agreement.
A new contract.
He looked up sharply.
"A renewal?"
Galliani nodded.
"Two years."
Tassotti read the first page again, almost as though the words might change.
The salary was substantially higher than his current deal.
Galliani allowed himself a small smile.
"Silvio and I have discussed it. We believe you're the right coach for Milan."
"You've done an excellent job, Mauro, and we want you to continue."
For several seconds, Tassotti said nothing.
His hands were trembling slightly.
The significance of the timing was obvious.
This was not merely a contract extension.
It was reassurance.
Milan were telling him, before the biggest match of his managerial career, that the result in Istanbul would not determine whether he still had a job the following morning.
The newspapers had spent weeks suggesting otherwise.
Tassotti had supposedly been under constant pressure from the board.
Some reports claimed that losing Serie A to Juventus had already weakened his position.
Others described him as a temporary solution who would never last more than a season.
Galliani was now cutting through all of it.
"Don't carry unnecessary pressure into the final," he said. "We've trusted you since the day we gave you this job."
Tassotti understood the politics well enough not to take every word literally.
AC Milan managers did not control the club's transfer policy.
Galliani and Berlusconi retained enormous influence over recruitment, sales and the overall direction of the squad.
The head coach could recommend.
He could argue.
He could explain what he needed.
But in the end, he worked with the players the club gave him.
That was simply how Milan operated.
Tassotti accepted it.
He had always accepted it.
What mattered was that the club had now given him something tangible.
Trust, even if conditional.
Galliani was not finished.
"There's something else."
Tassotti looked up.
"We've completed another deal."
Galliani leaned back.
"Thiago Silva."
That caught Tassotti completely by surprise.
The Brazilian centre-back had spent the season on loan at Benfica and emerged as one of the standout defenders in Portugal.
Benfica had enjoyed an excellent European campaign, reaching and winning the UEFA Cup, and Thiago Silva's performances had attracted attention from across the continent.
Right-back Dani Alves had taken much of the individual praise, but scouts had been equally impressed by the Brazilian centre-half playing behind him.
Milan had looked at both.
Alves, however, had attracted heavy interest from Liverpool and several other clubs, which drove the price beyond what Milan were willing to pay while also strengthening centrally.
Centre-back was the greater need.
Costacurta had performed admirably, but age was catching up with him.
Jaap Stam's departure the previous summer had left Milan without the kind of long-term partner for Nesta that Tassotti wanted.
Galliani had solved that problem.
"Fifteen million euros," he said. "Thiago Silva joins us next season."
Tassotti stared at him.
This was more than reassurance.
It was evidence that the club was listening.
He had repeatedly asked for a younger central defender capable of eventually anchoring the back line.
Now he had one.
Tassotti stood and shook Galliani's hand.
"I'll give everything I have tomorrow."
Galliani smiled.
"I know."
They signed the renewal that evening.
By the following morning, the story was everywhere.
Mauro Tassotti had extended his contract with AC Milan.
The announcement was interpreted exactly as Galliani intended: Milan were united before the final.
At almost the same time, New Manchester United were dealing with a very different contractual issue.
Kolo Touré submitted a formal transfer request.
The Ivorian had been one of the club's most important defenders for several seasons and had spent long periods as first-choice right-back.
This year had changed the picture.
Maicon's development had been dramatic.
The Brazilian's attacking ability had never been in doubt, but his defensive awareness had improved enough for Mourinho to trust him consistently in major matches.
Once that happened, Touré's role diminished.
In itself, competition was nothing unusual at Newton Heath.
Touré had originally earned his place by outperforming Bosingwa.
Nobody was guaranteed anything.
The real complication lay elsewhere.
Yaya Touré's move to Manchester City had transformed the family's situation.
The younger brother had immediately become one of Van Gaal's central players.
His wages had more than tripled.
He was playing every week.
And Manchester City had made it clear that they considered him part of the foundation of their new project.
Kolo and Yaya shared the same agent.
Unsurprisingly, the success of one affected negotiations with the other.
Kolo's representative began arguing that an established Premier League defender with Champions League experience should not be earning substantially less than his younger brother.
New Manchester United were willing to improve his contract.
The problem was no longer purely financial.
Manchester City wanted him.
Van Gaal had struggled to settle on his preferred centre-back combination and believed Kolo Touré was better suited to central defence than to right-back.
That matched the player's own ambition.
Touré had always wanted to establish himself permanently in the middle.
At New Manchester United, that path was blocked.
Terry and Curtis had formed the club's established partnership.
Vidić was pushing hard for more minutes.
Chiellini was developing quickly.
Even when Mourinho used Touré centrally, there was no realistic guarantee he could become first choice.
Manchester City could offer almost everything he wanted.
A reunion with his brother.
A substantial pay rise.
A permanent role at centre-back.
And, most importantly, status as one of the key defenders in Van Gaal's team.
The attraction was obvious.
Contract negotiations at Newton Heath gradually stalled.
His agent pushed.
Manchester City waited.
Eventually, Ethan, Mourinho and Kolo sat down together privately.
There was no shouting.
No accusation of betrayal.
No attempt to force an artificial display of loyalty.
Ethan asked Touré what he wanted.
Touré answered honestly.
He wanted to play centre-back every week.
He wanted a bigger role.
And if possible, he wanted to play alongside his brother again.
Mourinho was equally straightforward.
He valued Touré.
He would happily keep him.
But he could not promise him the position he wanted.
That settled it.
Touré submitted a written transfer request.
New Manchester United accepted it and placed him on the market.
Interest arrived immediately.
Arsenal wanted a centre-back.
Chelsea wanted defensive depth.
Manchester City had already been pushing hardest.
Outside England, AC Milan, Inter and Barcelona all made enquiries.
Touré's preference, however, was clear.
He wanted to remain in the Premier League.
More specifically, he wanted Manchester City.
The only major obstacle was the transfer fee.
Touré still had two years remaining on his contract.
New Manchester United had no reason to sell cheaply.
Every club in England knew how difficult it was to buy from Ethan once the club held a strong contractual position.
The player wanting to leave did not automatically mean the price would collapse.
Arsenal sent an enquiry.
Chelsea followed.
Manchester City submitted their own proposal.
The European clubs remained interested in case the situation changed.
For a transfer market short of proven defenders, Touré had suddenly become one of the most attractive names available.
He was quick, powerful, tactically experienced and capable of playing both centre-back and right-back.
He had won major trophies.
He knew the Premier League.
And at twenty-four, he still had his best years ahead of him.
That combination guaranteed competition.
Mourinho stayed out of the negotiations.
Once the football decision had been made, he left the financial side to Ethan, Mark Davey and the club's executive team.
There was no benefit in the manager becoming personally involved in bargaining over fees.
He also made one immediate decision.
Touré would not be included in the Champions League final squad.
The choice was not intended as punishment.
Mourinho had spoken openly with him and respected his honesty.
But a European Cup final demanded absolute clarity.
If Touré's future was already somewhere else, Mourinho preferred to travel with players whose attention was entirely on Milan.
The following day, New Manchester United left for Istanbul.
As usual, the travelling party was larger than the match squad.
First-team players came.
Academy players came.
Several footballers currently out on loan were invited as well.
It had become a club tradition.
New Manchester United had taken young and loaned players to both UEFA Cup finals so they could experience the scale of major European occasions.
Now the same principle applied to the Champions League.
Most of those youngsters would never step onto the pitch.
Some would not even enter the dressing room.
That was not the point.
They would see the final.
They would see the preparation.
They would see how senior players behaved on the biggest night of their careers.
And, perhaps, years later, one of them would remember Istanbul when it was finally his turn.
(To be continued.)