Blocked by Language Barrier : Guizzetti, Big Star in Italy, Struggles With Chargers

LA JOLLA — Francesco Guizzetti, who is reputed to be the biggest, fiercest, strongest defensive lineman in Italian football history, is trying to latch on with the San Diego Chargers, but come quick, as he will be leaving any day now.

Football can’t be too tricky in Italy, because Guizzetti thinks a “defensive stunt” is something in a James Bond movie.

Question: Hey, Francesco! Know what a sack is?

Answer: No. I am not sure what you mean.

Q: You’ve never sacked a quarterback?

A: What you mean?

Q: A sack is when you maul a quarterback or sit on a quarterback or make him fall down . . .

A: Oh, yes. I like that.

So at least the basics are there. Like any red-blooded American he-man, Francesco Guizzetti loves to maim quarterbacks. He just has trouble reading screens or filling the gap or staying home on misdirection plays.

Maybe he should have stayed at home, period. The Chargers won’t let him scrimmage for fear that he’ll run the wrong way and accidentally kick someone in the knee. They’ll likely cut him any day now.

“To be honest, it’s really difficult for Kiko (Guizzetti’s nickname) to make it, because of the language barrier,” said defensive line coach Gunther Cunningham. “Sometimes you catch yourself looking at him, and it’s like he’s looking off into the wild blue yonder. . . . I like him, but the chances of him making the team aren’t real good.”

Guizzetti has no idea what’s ahead. Actually, he thinks he might make the team. He trained hard for this. He did two-a-days for a year.

Asked if he’ll suit up against the Kansas City Chiefs come opening day, Guizzetti, 27, scratched his head, which is checkered with gray hair, and said: “No.”

Then he paused. Then, he said: “Well, that’s a very dangerous question. I think it’s not possible to say yes or no.”

When Guizzetti’s name comes up, the Chargers use words such as “fun” and “It was a favor.”

A couple years ago, Steve Ortmayer, the Charger director of football operations who was then with the Raiders, was in Italy and saw Guizzetti play. The Italian coaches said he was their best lineman. Later, Guizzetti wrote Ortmayer and asked for a tryout.

Ortmayer said yes.

Guizzetti, who is 6-feet 3-inches, showed up too slow and too light. The Raiders never really gave him a chance. Ortmayer told him to gain weight and speed and to give him a call. Then Ortmayer forgot him.

So what a surprise when Guizzetti wrote him back this spring.

I have gained weight and speed as you requested. May I come?

Sincerely, Francesco Guizzetti.

Only out of respect, Ortmayer said yes.

To get ready, Guizzetti had moved away from home. He found a little house in a suburb of Milan. He’d be in the gym lifting weights all morning and on the field running sprints all afternoon. He went from 245 pounds to 265.

Why do it?

“Mucho dinero, “ he says, winking.

Really, why do it?

“Because I like very much football,” he says. “For me, it’s very important. It being possible to play is important . . . for my life.”

He was too big for soccer in Italy, too big for hockey.

“In Los Angeles, the Raiders say my sprint is no good. Mr. Ortmayer told me to eat more. So that’s what I do. I went back and train very hard for one year. I wanted to realize my dream, if possible. My dream is to play football. In life, a man must sacrifice for his dreams.

“If it (playing in the NFL) is not possible, I will be angry because I work very, very much for one year. My life in one year has been long. I stay alone in another city than my home. If it’s not possible, I’d accept it, but I’d be angry with me, not anybody else.

“Yes, I may be the best in Italy, but not here. That would make me angry.”

There’s not much left for him to accomplish in Italy. He and the Milano Rhinos have already won three championships.

He says he’s famous back home. But here, he admires Jack Lambert, the former Steeler linebacker, and the Raiders’ Howie Long.

“Very, very strong, these men,” Guizzetti says.

He first saw football in 1980 when the Raiders played the Philadelphia Eagles in the Super Bowl. “Soon, I was watching every game I can,” he says. “How you say? ‘Monday Night Football?’ ”

He hooked up with the Rhinos, but Charger Coach Al Saunders said the Rhinos are the equivalent of a good American junior college squad.

“We practiced twice a week,” Guizzetti says of the Rhinos. “And on a terrible field. And without a professional coach.”

So he’s lost here in training camp. He stands around a lot, hands on hips.

Cunningham, the line coach, shouts instructions to his players, but Guizzetti doesn’t catch every word.

“I don’t say, ‘Coach, repeat, please,’ ” he says. “A coach is a coach. He is not my teacher of English.”

Cunningham would love to teach him X’s and O’s, because Cunningham sort of knows how Guizzetti feels. Cunningham was born in Germany and moved with his family to the United States as a teen-ager. He could only play soccer. But, one day, he saw some kids playing football, and they needed a kicker. Cunningham ran up, kicked the ball, ran downfield and made the tackle. He was hooked.

But there’s more to pro football than tackling. Cunningham meets with his linemen for hours every day. Guizzetti sits in, but, again, can’t understand the simplest of terms. One day, Cunningham tried making small talk and said to Guizzetti: “I hear the weather’s pretty bad in Milan.”

Guizzetti scratched his head.

“I hear it’s raining a lot in Milan,” Cunningham said.

No response.

So Cunningham trickled his fingers, trying to imitate rain, and the rest of the Charger linemen broke up laughing.

By the way, he gets along great with his fellow quarterback sackers.

“I speak with them, sure,” Guizzetti says. “I say, ‘ Ciao’ (as in hello) “

Soon, the Chargers will be saying, “Ciao, “ as in goodby.