When the pop singer-songwriter and poet recounted his story in a Milan hotel suite, touching on extraordinary women, fantastic cars, and sporting exploits, with Fausto above all. From there begins our very personal memory-comparison with the musical poems dedicated to the Campionissimo's historic rival and to Costante Girardengo, who betrayed Sante Pollastri, from "The Champion and the Bandit," written and sung by Francesco De Gregori.
On March 24, 2026, another giant of our time passed away: Gino Paoli. The portal "italiani.it" promptly reported the news and detailed the life of a graphic designer who, step by step, became a poet of pop music, returning to his beloved jazz in the final years of his life, which ended at the age of 91 (he was born on September 23, 1934). He lived a life divided between Monfalcone, Milan, and—above all—his native Genoa, which embraced him like Fabrizio De Andrè and Bruno Lauzi.
The curtain fell on Gino Paoli's life at the same time as Carmine "Elo" Castellano and Dino "SIDI" Signori. The former, who had already organized the Giro d'Italia during a less than stellar period for the great women's race, despite having seen the likes of Miguel Indurain, Marco Pantani, and Mario Cipollini; the latter, a Venetian shoemaker who became an industrialist thanks to his ability to have his entirely Made in Italy shoes worn by cycling and motorcycling champions.
The passing of Gino Paoli has overshadowed those of Elo Castellano and Signori Signor Sidi.
The editorial staff of “italiani.it” has been exhaustive about the Paoli best known to the public, but certainly could not have known what happened towards the end of the 1980s to your humble writer of sensations… the semi-clandestine encounter with the singer-songwriter who a quarter of a century earlier had shot himself with a .5 caliber Derringer (and not the much more dangerous .22 caliber), a bullet that miraculously stopped before hitting the heart (and with it lodged in his chest he has lived with it ever since July 11, 1963).
That afternoon, almost forty years before his death, a tip reached the top brass at La Gazzetta dello Sport, informing the humble reporter of the illustrious Cycling column that Paoli was staying at the Executive Hotel, just steps from the editorial offices on the equally illustrious Via Solferino (still home to the Corriere della Sera, while Gazzetta was relocated to the eastern suburbs in the first decade of the 21st century). Pad and pen in hand, and off we go! A short stroll along Corso Como and we arrive at the Executive, which was a four-star hotel before being transformed into a tasteless residence.
In that suite furnished for passing businessmen, Paoli would certainly have also met Ornella Vanoni, who together with a couple of wives and Stefania Sandrelli was among the women for whom he wrote memorable songs such as “Senza fine”, sung for the first time five years before our meeting.
There, between a coffee (ours) and a shot of whisky (his), Paoli talked about the first Lambretta he used when he worked as a graphic designer; he unraveled his love for unique cars, from the Mini Cooper to the Alfa Romeo Giulietta, by way of the Austin Healey; he delved into the lesser-known details of when he met Enzo Ferrari, driving his 275, 208, and Scaglietti… He praised Lancias, Porsches, and so on.
Being a Gazzetta, he also spoke of his passion for boxing and his propensity to support Grifone Genoa without disdaining Sampdoria.
He also talked about "La Gatta," written when he was 21 and I was in the season of my birth... And on to "Il cielo in una stanza," sublimed by Mina. And, above all, considering I was working on the Cycling column, he hummed his "Coppi" with that opening "pedal..., pedal..., pedal..." and the "little man with wheels," which you only need to hear once to never forget.
We propose it here together with Bartali by Paolo Conte and “The Champion and the Bandit” by Francesco De Gregori dedicated to Costante Girardengo and his friend Sante Pollastri, presumably betrayed during a Six Days in Paris.
COUPLES
by Gino Paoli
(Pedal, pedal)
(Pedal, pedal)
A little man with wheels
Against the whole world
A little man with wheels
Against the Izoard
And it goes up
More
And it goes up
It comes from the effort
And from the white roads
The silent and white fatigue
That never changes
And it goes up
More
And it goes up
Here with us five times
Then twice in France
For the world four times
Against the wind two
Gentle eyes and nose
That divides the wind
Black and serious eyes
They look at the cobblestones
And it goes up
More
And it goes up
And it goes up
And it goes up
POI
Up there
Against the blue sky
With the snow rising around you
And then down
(Pedal, pedal)
(Pedal, pedal)
There's no time to stop
To stay behind
The lady without wheels
Wait no more
A little man who has no
The champion's face
With a big heart
Like the Izoard
And it goes up
More
And it goes up
And it goes up
And it goes up
And it goes up
And it goes up
And it goes up
And it goes up
—–
BARTALI
by Paolo Conte
A beautiful bouquet of roses will be nice
And also the noise that cellophane makes
But a beer is even more tempting
On this sticky rubber day
I'm sitting here on a bumper
And I'm minding my own business
There's a silence between one motorcycle and another
I don't know how to describe you.
How much road in my sandals
How much Bartali will have done
That nose sad like a climb
Those cheerful eyes of an Italian on a trip
And the French respect us
That he's still pissed off
And you tell me: “We have to go to the movies”
“But go to the cinema, you go”
It's a whole complex of things
Which makes me stop here
Women are sometimes grumpy, you know?
Or maybe they just want to pee
And this day sets in orange
And it swells with memories you don't know
I like to stay here on the road
Dusty, if you want to go, go
And go on, I'm here waiting for Bartali
Kicking on my sandals
From that curve it will emerge
That sad nose of a happy Italian
Among the French who get pissed off
And the newspapers that flutter
There's a bit of wind, the countryside is barking
And there's a moon at the bottom of the blue
Among the French who get pissed off
And the newspapers that flutter
And you tell me: “We have to go to the movies”
“But go to the cinema, you go”
THE CHAMPION AND THE BANDIT
by Francesco De Gregori
Two boys from the
villages that grew too quickly
a single passion for cycling
a crossroads of destinies in a strange story
the memory of which has been lost in our days
a story from another time, before the engine
when you ran out of anger or love
but between anger and love the gap is already growing
and it's already clear who the champion will be.
Go Girardengo, go great champion
no one follows you on that road
Go Girardengo, you can't see Sante anymore
it's around that bend, it's getting further and further away.
And behind the curve of time that flies
there's Sante on a bicycle and he has a gun in his hand
if he is being chased at night he shoots and hits every headlight
Sante the bandit has an exceptional aim
and the banks know it and the police know it
Sante the bandit is really scary
and sizes are not needed and courage is not enough
Sante the bandit has too much of an advantage.
It was ancient misery or a wrong suffered
to make the boy a ferocious bandit
but no one escapes his destiny
you sought justice but found the Law.
But a good cop who knows how to do my job
He knows that every man has a vice that will make him fall
and made you fall for your great passion
to wait for the arrival of the champion friend
that flying finish saw you in handcuffs
they shone in the sun like two bicycles
Sante Pollastri your tour is over
and it is already said that someone has betrayed.
Go Girardengo, go great champion
no one follows you on that road
Go Girardengo, you can't see Sante anymore
it's further and further away, it's further and further away
further and further away, further and further away…
Go Girardengo, you can't see Sante anymore
Further and further away, further and further away…
If you wanted, you could hold a contest to discover each reader's preferences. But this isn't the place to play games; here we want to commemorate a special encounter, documented in the pages of the Gazzetta, which offered the most assiduous cycling fans of the "pink newspaper"—and there were millions of them at the time!—a cultural perspective thanks to a singer-songwriter and pillar of the so-called "Genoese School," known worldwide despite not singing catchy tunes.
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