At the Giro d'Italia - early 2000s - press rooms were elementary and middle schools, town halls and mercy centers, sports halls evacuated from their usual activities and transformed into journalist camps and photographer bivouacs, equipped with printers and photocopiers, phones and faxes, TVs and WiFi, multiple sockets and kilometer-long power strips. Angelo Morlin, electricity manager, commanded operations as if he were Vulcan, the god of fire: to emphasize his magical and Olympic qualities, we called him Mago Morlin. Everyone else, directly or indirectly, was under his command. It was like a large ship that would dock in the morning and remain anchored at the stage headquarters until evening. Usually, we from "Gazzetta dello Sport" were the last to leave the ship and return to our lifeboats, while Beppe Conti, who finished his work well before us, would say goodbye and ironically remind us that we worked for a daily newspaper, not a semi-annual publication. In short, a three-week cruise, a journey destined to change our lives. No one ever returned from a Giro d'Italia the same as before. But different. And richer.

Antonio Albergoni was the prince of faxes. From Bergamo's Almè with Villa, with a Brembana accent and Orobic solidity, Antonio was one of our ever-present, efficient, quick guardian angels, ready to satisfy us not only by delivering faxes and communications but also special requests like a small coffee cup or a water bottle, even a board with zero-kilometer cheeses or a small plate with a slice of local cake, always extended with a complicit smile. As if that small help could be decisive in finding the brilliant insight, the right adjective, the suitable verb, or at least capable of creating an atmosphere of familiarity, a sense of affection, a team spirit. He always managed to do it. It was impossible not to love him.

Fifth grade, then a master of work, his specialty was steam boiler operator, with a presidential merit star received from the Lombardy Region, even four years as vice-mayor. Antonio was born with cycling in his blood: first the passion for Gino Bartali, then the enthusiasm for Felice Gimondi, even more ignited by matters of land and dialect, and always the pleasure of bike rides with friends. We from "Gazzetta dello Sport" seemed like his second family. We hadn't adopted him, but he had adopted us. Devotion to Candido Cannavò, respect for Angelo Zomegnan, familiarity with me and Claudio Gregori, jokes with Claudio Ghisalberti, respect for everyone else.

Today, December 6th, Antonio Albergoni turns a beautiful ninety years old. And faxes no longer exist.