The name Erno Egri Erbstein means very little even to those of us who claim to know our football history, but the Hungarian who built the Grande Torino was a key influence on the modern game.
After surviving the Budapest Holocaust he returned to Turin from his homeland to take charge of the team who would win five Scudetti before they perished tragically in the Superga air disaster of 1949.
In a new biography, Dominic Bliss unearths the story of one of football’s great forgotten pioneers and architect of Italian football’s greatest legend. The following is an extract from Bliss’ book, Erbstein: The triumph and tragedy of football’s forgotten pioneer, which is available now, published by Blizzard Books.
Bandages, clothes and mud were strewn across the floor and the smell of liniment and sweat filled the air. There was nobody in the dressing room now – they were all out on the pitch – but the windows rattled with the roars of the crowd above, and the sound of a bugle call that cut through everything. Bolmida!
In the stands of the Stadio Filadelfia, Oreste Bolmida was an icon — the local stationmaster who carried his bugle to every Torino game and, at those moments when the supporters demanded more from their team, raised it to the sky and gave a full blast.
When this legendary horn-blower sounded the cry, the whole stadium erupted into full voice and Valentino Mazzola — captain and talisman of the Grande Torino — responded by literally rolling up his sleeves and steaming into action.
For the next quarter of an hour, the inside-left and arch-creator of that team demanded the ball from his teammates, urging the granata players forward and generally playing like a man possessed. When Bolmida gave the signal and Mazzola rallied the troops, there was no better time to be a Torino supporter.
‘They ran around like they had heard an air raid siren,’ recalled Tommaso Maestrelli, who played against that Torino side several times for Bari and Roma. ‘Their opponents were dazed, stunned – they no longer saw the ball.’
The reason for Bolmida’s intervention that afternoon in May 1948, had been boredom as much as anything, but the response was devastating for the visitors, Alessandria. Toro, who had led 4-0 at half-time, had taken their foot off the pedal after the break and the scoreline, frustratingly for the supporters, remained unchanged half an hour into the second half.
The crowd packed into the Filadelfia wanted more, so Bolmida blew his horn and Mazzola responded, sparking a fifteen-minute spell in which Torino scored six times to end the game with their biggest-ever victory – 10-0.
Erbstein sat outside the plane with Rigamonti left and Bacigalupo on the way back from a friendly in Barcelona
Beside the pitch, perched on a wooden bench just beyond the halfway line, the manager of that team observed his great footballing masterpiece, his silver hair slicked back from his temples and a thoughtful expression occupying his face, which bore the experiences of a life that had brought him triumph and trauma in equal measures.
Ernesto Egri Erbstein’s influence was not directly felt in those moments after Bolmida blew his horn and Mazzola rolled up his sleeves. He was not the protagonist that the eyes of those enthralled spectators inside the Stadio Filadelfia were drawn towards. His is unlikely to be the first name uttered by the elderly Toro supporters who remember that indomitable team.
But make no mistake: that genial middle-aged Hungarian, decked out in a grey suit on the sidelines, was the brains behind the operation, and as the tenth goal of a sensational rout made the net ripple that spring afternoon, he sat back and admired the view.
This was the Grande Torino at the height of their success and their celebrity travelled way beyond the city limits. They were regularly mobbed by autograph hunters on distant away trips, not to mention the invitations to grace foreign fields with their presence in those pre-European Cup days.
Indeed, Torino’s reputation as Europe’s greatest was the very reason why Francisco Ferreira, ahead of his retirement from the game, invited them to provide the opposition for his testimonial at Benfica on 3 May 1949.
The Portuguese captain enjoyed a dream send-off at a sold-out stadium in Lisbon, and at the official dinner that followed, the Torino players and representatives showered him with praise as well as a generous purse for his retirement.
The next morning, they began the journey home in high spirits, but as their flight approached rain-soaked Turin, where darkness had fallen early that evening, the pilot’s view was obscured by heavy cloud cover and he decided to drop below the misty veil to improve his vision from the cockpit.
He was now flying at sight, and at an unusually low altitude, for the final leg of his journey. This way he could judge the proximity of the hilltop at Superga, from where the Royal Basilica of the Savoy overlooks the city on the other side of the River Po.
Erbstein with Valentino-Mazzola captain of Il Grande Torino
With the situation seemingly in hand, Pierluigi Meroni radioed the airfield to let them know he was making his way in to land, but shortly after he did so, the heavy fog that envelops Turin at that time of year obscured his view of the basilica. At the same moment, it seems the plane was buffeted by a heavy gust of wind and rain, causing Meroni briefly to lose control amid the turbulence.
Travelling at around 270 kilometres per hour, he fought to steer the FIAT G-212 aircraft around the basilica as it was carried uncontrollably towards the hillside, but he clipped his left wing on the embankment and the plane was thrown immediately out of control, spinning 180 degrees and crumpling head first into the wall surrounding the church.
The group of monks who emerged from the crypt, wide-eyed in shock, discovered the scattered bodies of victims who were beyond all help and their suitcases, still miraculously intact. They opened one to discover a bundle of granata jerseys, decorated with the Italian tricolour shield – the scudetto stitched on to the chests of the champions.
It is impossible to say if there was a moment for the passengers to contemplate their fate or if they saw their lives flash before their eyes, but if they did, it is comforting to imagine that they heard the voice of their coach, ever composed, reciting his favourite pre-match mantra:
“Courage gives us the quiet conviction that there are no dangers, and that it is foolish to be afraid. We must have the courage not to be afraid.”
