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Biography
My biography... When I was asked to write the story of my life for this website, I have enumerated in a few words the most important moments in my career as football player, the names of the trainers I had along the years, and some brief information about the schools I attended. I sent these pieces of information by email to my sister, Diana. I got back a sullen reply from her: ‘Is this you?… An inventory of years and teams where you played ?!? And by the way, you forgot to mention that the first team in which you played was mine. Write about yourself!’
Write about myself. This seems harder than a training session at AS Roma. There, at least, I know what I’m doing. I know my trade well. Writing about me isn’t exactly my hobby because I wouldn’t know where to begin and what to say. Now, while I am trying to put on paper my second biography, the one ‘about myself’, I am in Rome. My childhood seems so far away.
The childhood
Diana is right. The first team in which I played was hers. She says it was hers because she was a year older, I suppose, because on the ‘playfield’ we improvised on a duvet I was the boss, not her. I was about four years old when I used to make her lay the duvet on the floor, in our room from the apartment we had in Resita, and kick the ball to score a goal. My intention was to become goalkeeper, as I remember. And that one who called herself “my sis’ ” who was showing up in my apartment during holidays – because she was staying mostly at the country – was very welcomed to try to score and share the blame with me whenever we were wrecking the house. At first I used to bite her and asked her what was she doing in my house but in time I got used to her existence, and she even became useful. Yes, she was my first team mate. I was mad about football since I was little. My father was trainer at CSM Resita and I must have heard discussions at home on this topic, because at the age of three, from what my mother tells me, I announced them very seriously that I want to be a football player.
I didn’t become one right away because they first made me go to kindergarten and then to school.
I have postponed my football career until I was 9 years old but in the meantime I practiced my artistic skills reciting poems, playing fairytale characters in school dramas and confessing to everyone that the child-minder was my beloved. Ever since the first grade I had the key tied on a string around my neck, and I was free to do whatever crossed my mind while my parents were at work. And there were lots of ideas crossing my mind. I wasn’t the most virtuous kid in the world. I had important things to ‘solve’ around my block. I had to throw stones through the bath window of our design teacher – who lived behind our block – and break her window…; had to remove the cover of the car belonging to a guy who had upset me and leave some nasty scratches on it, just to give him something to remember; I injured the head of a child, and I severed my own head falling off the bike; I got home with holes in the soles and in the head from nails…these were the serious occupations that I practiced until I decided the time came to start a career as football player.
The beginning
When I was in the third grade of the General School no. 8 in Resita, my parents have registered me at the Sports School. The “transfer” from my apartment football team to the Sports School was my first step on the road that brought me now to Rome. I didn’t know then where I was going but I knew that I liked best to play football than to throw stones at my teacher’s window. I was attending classes in the morning then I was having training sessions, every day. After the training, as it was only lasting two hours and did not satisfy completely my need for football, I used to kick the ball until it was getting dark. At home I was starting all over again on the duvet, with a tennis ball, easier to catch than a normal one and less dangerous for the furniture around the room.
It was sheer luck that in 1989 the Revolution came and saved me from becoming a future juvenile delinquent, locked away in a correctional facility. I was 9 years old, it was a week before the revolution, when my sister and I decided to investigate the offices of the Romanian Communist Party – at the ground floor of our block. I was small and thin, the only one able to slip through the bars and tell about it, so I didn’t think twice. I broke into the offices of the Communist Party, marked my territory on the communists’ documents and stole a stamp. I thought I’d get something back to my sister instead of returning empty-handed, considering that she was washing my equipment and feeding me. So I gave her as present the stamp of the communists, to play with. We stamped each other for about three days until the communists showed up at our door, determined to throw me in a correction house. The Revolution saved me and I could focus again on my career as football player.
In the sixth grade, my father finally gave his verdict. My mum told me that he announced her that I will become a great football player. I don’t know if my mother believed him completely but nevertheless, she eased up on me and stopped the nagging about high grades and doing my homework. In my opinion, the most important homework was playing football and that’s what I did.
Resita
I got to play at the club where my dad was trainer, CSM Resita, in a somewhat hostile atmosphere – something that I understood only later. My dad never wanted me to be taken into consideration just because I was his son. I used to judge him, to somehow accuse him for treating me so indifferently, for being colder towards me than with other players. He was asking a lot and I did everything I could to show him that I am good. I remember I asked my mum, years later, after my dad had passed away, why did he never tell me straight in the face that I was talented at football, why didn’t he encourage me more? I believe I answered to these questions myself, after some time. His coldness toughened me, made me want to show him what I can, and it made me work harder. I don’t know if this would have happened if he had pampered and favored me. I realize now that talent without work doesn’t get you anywhere. I may have always remained a “guy with potential” if I didn’t have a point to make, first to myself and then to my father, and if back than, when I was in Resita, my dad wouldn’t have sent me home by tram while he went by car - although we were leaving at the same time… I know and I feel that he always trusted me. He never got to see me further than Resita. I was 17 when he died.
Craiova
At that time there were discussions about my transfer to Steaua. We almost had a deal, we promised to Steaua that once I’ll be 18 I will be transferred to them. However, my destiny took another turn.
About two months after my father’s death, Ilie Balaci, from Universitatea Craiova, colleague and friend with my dad, came to Resita and announced that he wants Chivu junior in his team. Craiva was one of the most beautiful periods in my life. I was left quarterback in an A Division team, I was appreciated and I had the chance to show that I am not just Chivu junior but… Cristian Chivu, a player in the first division. I couldn’t know then that after one year I would go to Amsterdam, by what was called then the transfer of the year.
Amsterdam
A turmoil of events, situations, emotions... Here I was, quarterback at Ajax Amsterdam, alone in a foreign country, in a city where I didn’t know anybody, living in a hotel, away from my family and everything that was known to me. In the first half year in Amsterdam I felt lonely. It was quite difficult to make friends as I didn’t speak Dutch and we could only communicate in English so most of the times I was ending up in the hotel room, killing time by playing cards on my own or surfing the Internet. Gradually, I started to adapt myself, I learned Dutch at the weekly courses where the team was sending us, I moved into a house of my own, I became the team’s captain – center quarterback…there were four beautiful years, along which I fell in love with Amsterdam and its inhabitants, with their lifestyle.
Rome
For four years I have been in Rome and I am proud that I have learned Italian. It was easier this time to move to AS Roma because I was already experienced in living abroad and I had friends who helped me from the beginning. Yes, loneliness is a feeling that occurs quite often, especially when you are far away from the family, when you cannot go to your country but for a few weeks a year, for the summer and winter holidays. Tonight, when I am writing my biography for the website I don’t feel lonely anymore. I have the feeling that I have shared a lot of myself, maybe too much. Those who read these lines and only saw me kicking the ball on the playfield got closer to me - maybe even closer than if I had been standing next to them.
