Dusan Vlahovic scores 5 goals in 4 matches at Besiktas: Vincenzo Italiano's free-transfer gamble

In the press room in Istanbul, Vincenzo Italiano sat down, placed both hands on the table, and the first question from the Corriere dello Sport journalist was not about his team. It was about a name that is not Turkish: Dusan Vlahovic. The Italian coach did not dodge it. He spoke of his former Fiorentina pupil as if recounting a book he had begun writing, abandoned midway, and now has the chance to write again from the start. "He has scored 5 goals in 4 matches," Italiano said, firmly. "You cannot say Vlahovic has played badly." I listened to that recording again on a weekend evening, amid the noise of a Saigon cafe, and I recognised something in his voice beyond a defence of his player. It was the voice of a man rebuilding a footballer, piece by piece, in a city he has never belonged to.

Besiktas, before Italiano arrived, was a club carrying the memory of one of Turkey's "Big 3" — alongside Galatasaray and Fenerbahce, forming the power trio of Turkish football. But memory does not pay the bills. The Super Lig has endured more than a decade of financial earthquakes: unpaid wages, UEFA sanctions, expensive signings collapsing mid-season. When Vincenzo Italiano left Italy to take the hot seat in Istanbul, he was not arriving at a club at its peak. He was arriving at a construction site. That is the difference many Vietnamese fans overlook when they read only the headlines about a Serie A coach moving to Turkey.

What is interesting is what Italiano turned down to come here. In his conversation with Corriere dello Sport, he admitted he had held talks with at least one Italian club, and also Benfica — the meeting in Lisbon had "broadened his horizon". But in the end, it was the Besiktas project that made him nod. That detail matters. A coach at the mature stage of his career, having just made his name in Serie A, chose a Turkish club for the promise of autonomy in his work rather than for the money. Modern football rarely gives us decisions like that. And how did Besiktas answer him? With Dusan Vlahovic.

Let us speak of the number first, because it is the root of the whole story. Vlahovic, 26, has scored 5 goals in 4 Super Lig matches since joining Besiktas. At Fiorentina, under Italiano himself, he once scored 20 in 20 — an output any No. 9 in Europe would envy. But this is the key point I want readers to pause on: the number 5 from 4 does not speak to Vlahovic's essence, it only speaks to his presence. What Italiano is trying to sow again is not goals. It is belief. And belief, in football, is harder to measure than xG.

The Serbian forward arrived at Besiktas after leaving Juventus. According to the Corriere dello Sport account, he had "many offers from important clubs" and took time to decide. That in itself says a great deal: a No. 9 aged 26, coming from one of Europe's biggest clubs, still held market value — yet he chose the place that gave him the feeling of being rebuilt rather than the place that paid the most. Football always loves to tell the story of money. Sometimes, we should look at the silent gap that money cannot cover.

Alongside Vlahovic is another name: Fabio Miretti. At Juventus, he was the man behind the spotlight — 100 Serie A appearances but rarely the centre of anything. At Besiktas, Miretti is used by Italiano as a versatile midfield card, one who can play "many different positions" in midfield. In one recent match, he came off the bench in the second half and swung the contest. That is not a miracle. It is how a coach turns squad depth into a tactical weapon after the interval — a skill I have watched across many seasons and rarely seen practised so deliberately.

One detail Italian media rarely emphasise is the backbone of the entire squad structure: the Super Lig requires every club to keep four players under 23. Miretti came not only for his sporting value. He came for the regulation. This is the point Vietnamese fans rarely notice: in Turkey, part of your squad is shaped by law, not by the tactician. Italiano, whether he likes it or not, must accept that his team sheet is split between the men he chooses and the men the system forces on him. This creates a tactical paradox I have never seen in the major leagues: the coach does not fully control his own squad.

And there is one more deal — the deal that did not happen. Lucumi, the Colombian centre-back, did not come because "Jhon had very good offers". This is a small detail with weight: Besiktas actively walked away when it could not compete. That is the maturity of a club that has learned to stand outside fights it cannot win. In the football industry, knowing you cannot sign an important player is worth as much as signing him. Many clubs have collapsed for failing to learn this lesson.

Put the three deals together: Vlahovic (free), Miretti (under-23 quota), Lucumi (abandoned). A model emerges clearly. Besiktas no longer competes with money. They compete with a project. They collect players forgotten at big clubs, revive them, and turn that revival into value — both on the pitch and in the transfer market. Analysts call it value arbitrage. For me, it is simpler: it is how a mid-tier Mediterranean club learns to survive among giants.

So what does Italiano actually do with Vlahovic? He does not force him into a system. In the interview, he speaks of "trying to bring Vlahovic back to full capacity" — the word "trying" is the key. He builds a team around a No. 9 capable of holding up play, attacking the box, and finishing with both feet. But he also recognises that injuries and "some situations within the team" held Vlahovic back. This is a coach who looks at the player first, then at the diagram. Thirty years of watching football have taught me that this type of coach lasts longer than those who know only tactical textbooks.

There is a basis for this. Italiano has managed various forwards — Castro, Jovic, Cabral, Piatek, Dallinga — and in his eyes, none equals Vlahovic. When a coach with such a list still says the best player is Dusan, it is no longer social courtesy. It is a strategic declaration. And it is also a warning: if Vlahovic falls, this team falls with him.

I still remember one night in the stands at Thong Nhat stadium, watching a team bet everything on a single player. That night it rained. That man was injured in the 30th minute. The team fell apart within twenty minutes. It is a memory I always carry with me whenever I read a revival story. My memory is stained the colour of grass, and that colour does not fade with time.

And this is where I want to go against the crowd, as I always do when a revival story grows too beautiful. Everyone is telling the Vlahovic story as a happy ending. A lost No. 9 at Juventus, finding himself in Istanbul, scoring again under his old mentor. Fine. But 5 in 4 is a number far smaller than its appearance suggests. No one has given us xG — expected goals. No one has given us box touches, chance-conversion rate, or actual minutes played. We are looking at a peak of raw output, and — like every other peak in football — it tends to descend.

But what worries me more is the structure behind the number. Besiktas is now dependent on a single player for its entire goal supply. A 26-year-old with an injury history that Italiano mentions discreetly in the interview. It is a ticking bomb that makes no sound. If Vlahovic is absent for two matches or more, the revival story becomes a crisis story within weeks. No other forward in the squad can replace him in sporting terms. That is the price of the bargain-hunting model: you get the jewel cheaply, but you have no spare.

And there is another truth storytellers often skip. Vlahovic's free transfer is almost certainly not free. A player who was once Juventus's No. 9, arriving as a free agent, brings a signing-on package and a salary at the top of the wage table. In other words, Besiktas saved on the transfer fee but bet on the wage structure. If Vlahovic shines, it is a smart investment. If he is injured, it is a financial obligation hanging over the club. Football has no free lunch — only bills sent later.

The third risk, and perhaps the subtlest, is not on the pitch. It is in Italiano himself. He admitted he had negotiated with Benfica and at least one Italian club before coming to Istanbul. That means if the Besiktas project slides — and projects always slide at some point — there will be calls from home. A big Italian club needs only one vacant seat. And we all know what happens to a project when its architect leaves midway. I have seen this in many leagues, in many decades, and the ending is almost always the same.

I say these things not to dampen the joy. I say them as a man who has followed football for more than fifty years and has witnessed too many revivals that did not survive the winter. The beauty of a beginning is always the beauty of the unknown. But the beauty of an ending is the beauty of the known — and Besiktas knows nothing yet.

Yet looking again, one other point makes me pause. The consistency in how Italiano speaks of his squad. He stresses relationships with captains — Biraghi, Terzi, De Silvestri at former clubs. He is a coach who builds internally through personal relationships, not rigid systems. With Vlahovic, he uses the language of a brother: the best thing is to be alongside him. It is old-style man-management practised in a new league. And in my experience, this style succeeds or fails not on tactics. It depends on whether those lieutenants stay.

There is another angle I want to put on the table before closing. Miretti — a 22-year-old with 100 Serie A appearances — embodies a larger trend. Turkish clubs are no longer buying washed-up players. They are buying young players who were never given a chance. Serie A experience has become a recruitment benchmark in the Super Lig. And if Vlahovic succeeds in Istanbul, it will open a new route for the flow of players from Italy to Turkey — a route that previously only ran the other way. Besiktas is not merely buying players. They are opening a new commercial channel.

So what does this story leave us when the shouting in Istanbul dies down? I sit with an image I cannot shake: an Italian coach, at an age when people usually seek safety, choosing to go far away to rebuild a player all of Europe had turned its back on. Besiktas has won a short-term gamble. But the right question is not how many goals Vlahovic scores. The right question is: what remains when he no longer scores?

If Vlahovic returns to his Fiorentina peak — 20 goals a season — he will not stay in Istanbul long. A big European club will call. And Besiktas will remain with its model, finding another forgotten man, giving him a second chance, and selling that story to the world once more. That is the fate of a club that lives on others' memories. I do not criticise it. I only wonder: how long before belief becomes merchandise, and how long before the merchandise loses value?

Fans change shirts across the eras, but the chant stays the same tune.

The stands are empty, but I still hear the terraces weeping through memory. And in that weeping, there is a question football has never fully answered: is a player saved by a project, or a project saved by a player? Besiktas will answer that question with this very season. I will sit back, listen, and take notes. Because that is my job — and perhaps, also my fate.

Football gives us a moment, then takes a lifetime to regret.