If we ended with a question – how on earth do our athletes win, in a country with distracted media attention and gyms and athletic tracks that, very often, are falling apart? – the answer is as surprising as it is profoundly Italian, and it’s hidden in two places that, at first glance, seem to have nothing to do with sports: family and the barracks.
The success of Italian sports doesn’t rest on a system but on an alliance. An unwritten pact between two pillars that support the entire social edifice: the family, in its role as the primary financial, material, and logistical supporter of athletes, and the State, in its most unexpected form, namely, the military apparatus. This hybrid model isn’t designed to create a mass movement, but it proves to be an incredibly effective machine for forging champions. Champions who learn not only to win but, first and foremost, to endure. Endurance, as we’ll see, is one of the cornerstones of the model and its success.
The Pillars of the Italian Model
Before an athlete becomes a household name, they are a cost on the family budget. And even before that, they are a dream in their parents’ hearts. In Italy, during the long and difficult phase from their first steps in a gym to the thresholds of elite competition, the real sponsor doesn’t have a logo but the face of a mother or a father.
This support is measured in miles driven to take children to training, in sacrificed holidays for away games, in money spent on equipment, registrations, and coaches. But if you ask them, those parents, they’ll tell you they’re not “sacrifices.” It’s a word they don’t like because it has a bitter, negative taste. They’ll tell you they are “choices made for love,” for passion. This is a fundamental nuance because it reveals an impulse that comes from below, a dedication that allows talents to overcome the obstacles of a system that often ignores them. The images of Marcell Jacobs’ mother cheering for her son or the words of Gianmarco Tamberi’s mother defending his efforts are testimony to this irreplaceable role.
This model, however, has a downside. The same passion that fuels the dream can turn into enormous pressure. Parents can become too involved and project their own ambitions onto their children.
The Athlete-State: The Security of the Uniform
When an athlete, after being supported by their family, has managed to survive the tough initial selection and has shown significant talent, the second pillar intervenes: the State, through the Military Sports Groups. Corps like the Fiamme Gialle (Financial Police), Fiamme Oro (State Police), Carabinieri, Army, Navy, and Air Force are the true “secret” of Italian Olympic success.
When a national-level athlete is enlisted, their life changes. They receive a salary, access to first-rate facilities and medical support, and, most importantly, the security of a future job once their sporting career ends. This economic stability is a mirage for those who practice minor or secondary sports (as, unfortunately, they are often called) in other countries. It’s the peace of mind that allows them to dedicate 100% to training and preparation, without the anxiety of having to find a second job to live. It’s no coincidence that about 70% of the Italian delegation at the Paris 2024 Olympics was composed of athletes in uniform, and across the entire Italian landscape, about 1,200 professional athletes are part of State corps.
This system, however effective, is not perfect. Enlistment can become the only viable way to continue playing sports at a high level, and it creates fierce competition for the few available spots. And the “early militarization” of very young talents can sometimes impose rhythms that risk burning out a potential champion. But the fact remains that, without this pillar, Italy’s medal count would be much, much lighter.
The Forge of Champions
This model, based on the synergy between family and State, doesn’t simply create athletes. It forges fighters endowed with extraordinary resilience. Their stories are proof of how the system transforms difficulties into strengths.
Federica Pellegrini: her career is a treatise on how to manage pressure. An immense talent enclosed in a body that psychosomatized anxiety to the point of giving her a fever before finals. Her continuous coaching changes, often criticized, were a desperate search for balance to tame her fragility. Her ability to win world and Olympic golds under those conditions demonstrates mental strength built to withstand the expectations of an entire nation.
Gianmarco Tamberi: his story is the emblem of resilience. The injury that prevented him from participating in the Rio 2016 Olympics as a favorite would have broken anyone. His comeback and the gold in Tokyo are the result of a journey he himself described with brutal words: “I tortured my body with exhausting diets and training, I mistreated my mind by always demanding something more from it.” His almost symbiotic relationship with his father-coach embodies the dual role of the family: support and pressure. Tamberi is the product of an iron will, forged in the fire of disappointment.
Bebe Vio: her case is the most radical. Struck by meningitis at age 11, which took away her arms and legs, she found herself facing a wall. Fencing, her sport, offered no way to compete in those conditions. Doctors and coaches told her it was impossible. It is here that the Italian model showed its wildest strength. Her father, Ruggero, did not give up and, together with an orthopedic center, literally invented a prosthesis for her to hold the foil. They created a solution where the system had none. Bebe didn’t adapt to a path; she built a new one, driven by her determination and the support of a family that refused the word “impossible.”
Cultivating Talent, Not Relying on Miracles
Italian sports, if you look closely, are like a runner who has learned to run a very tough marathon on a rocky path, with worn-out shoes. They have learned that fatigue is not an option but a travel companion. They have learned to find strength within themselves, in their family, because they know they cannot count on a smooth road. And when one of these marathoners crosses the finish line first, we all stop to applaud, momentarily forgetting the potholes they had to dodge and that the institutional system, many times, has not been able to create a favorable climate for the development of certain talents.
The question this “extraordinary moment” leaves us with is this: is it enough for us to be a nation that celebrates the survivors of such a ruthlessly selective system? Or do we want to use the energy of these victories to finally start repairing the road, so that more people can run, and run better?
The challenge is not just to keep winning. It’s about transforming the exception into accessible normality. It’s about moving from a model that extracts a few rough diamonds to one that cultivates an entire field of talent. A future built on care, not just resilience. A future where every step, even the slowest, is a way to stay in sports. And in life.