The year 1960 was one that would become almost a landmark in world history. Fifteen years after the end of the Second World War in Europe, nearly the entire globe was entering a period of rapid development. The capitalist and socialist blocs—centered around the USA and the USSR—were locked in a competition over which could offer its citizens a better standard of living. The conquest of space had begun with the launch of Sputnik, and the moment when humanity would break through the barrier of its planetary confinement was fast approaching. Even though the world seemed to be in a state of fragile equilibrium, with the ever-expanding development of nuclear weapons, the growing movement against armament helped maintain global peace.
This sense of optimism, however, was not universal. In Argentina—where the “golden 30” years had essentially come earlier, back when the rest of the world was engulfed in war—a long period of political and economic crisis had already begun, and its end perhaps remains elusive even to this day. The years of rapid improvement in living standards came to an end with the ousting of Juan Domingo Perón in 1955 and the concurrent banning of so-called Peronism by a U.S.-backed coup that was also supported by the Catholic Church and installed a junta under Eduardo Lonardi.
Argentinian football was also going through a very difficult period. After nearly two decades of self-imposed absence from the global stage—nurturing an internal illusion of absolute superiority based on its unique temperament and playing style, known historically as la nuestra and responsible for many South American successes—the return to the World Cup, and specifically the match against Czechoslovakia in 1958 in Helsingborg, dramatically changed perceptions about the path the sport should take. Under the influence of figures who promoted “functional football,” or as it became known, anti-fútbol—most notably Victorio Spinetto—the national footballing philosophy shifted. It definitively left behind its pride in beautiful play, which had once held ideological significance as the response of former colonies to the power-based football of the sport’s birthplace.
Along with the values of la nuestra, its mythical embodiment also seemed to be disappearing: the figure of el pibe—that legendary footballing creature. In 1928, a proposal had even been made to build a statue in his honor, by the legendary editor-in-chief of El Gráfico, Ricardo Lorenzo Rodríguez, known by the pseudonym Borocotó. According to Borocotó, el pibe was “a child with a dirty face, a mop of hair in rebellion against the comb. With clever, roving, mischievous, and persuasive eyes, and a sparkling gaze that seems to hint at a roguish grin that never quite forms on his mouth, full of small teeth possibly worn down by yesterday’s bread. His trousers are patched up haphazardly, his striped Argentinean jersey hangs low at the neck, full of holes chewed away by the invisible mice of time. A strip of cloth tied around his waist and crossing his chest like a sash serves as suspenders. His knees are covered in scabs healed by fate, as he walks barefoot or in shoes whose toes are worn through from too many kicks. His stance must be distinctive—he should appear to be dribbling a tattered ball. That’s important: the ball must be no other. A tattered ball, preferably tied up with an old sock.” Borocotó wrote: “If that monument is ever built, many of us will take off our hats to it, as we do in church.”
In the Argentina of 1960, however—though children in tattered clothing still existed—no one was seeking that embodiment of national football identity anymore. The national team’s performances in the 1962 World Cup in Chile are telling—some of the ugliest football matches ever played in the history of the tournament. And although this anti-football approach was used by several European teams at the time—most notably England—the true paradox was that this was precisely what Argentine football had never stood for.
1960
Within this political and footballing landscape, many Argentinians chose the path of internal migration in order to secure their survival—contributing to the rapid growth of the capital, Buenos Aires, from the 1950s onward. Among them were two young people from the town of Esquina, located about 600 kilometers north of the capital. One was descended from the indigenous Guaraní peoples, with additional ancestry from Galicia, while his partner came from a family of Italian and Croatian immigrants. Their reason for relocating was his employment in the chemical industry. But what is more widely known today are their names: Don Diego Maradona “Chitoro” and Dalma Salvadora Franco, also known as Doña Tota.
The couple settled in the shantytown of Villa Fiorito, in the southern suburbs of Buenos Aires. There, they began their life together and had four daughters: Ana María, Rita “Kitty,” Elsa “Lili,” María Rosa “Mary,” and Claudia “Cali.” On October 30, 1960, Doña Tota would walk through the doors of the Hospital Interzonal de Agudos Evita, located in Lanús, another suburb of the capital. The name of the family’s first son, as is customary in Argentina, echoed that of his father, accompanied by a middle name and the mother’s surname. Thus, he was registered as a citizen of the world we all live in: Diego Armando Maradona Franco.
Growing up in a house where, as Maradona himself wrote in his autobiography, “when it rained, it rained more inside than outside,” pleasures and luxuries were scarce—if not nonexistent. But Don Diego gave his son the greatest gift of all, the object that would accompany him and become an extension of his very self for the rest of his life: a ball, when Diego was just three years old. With that ball in hand, little Diego began sketching the life he wanted to live—through years of economic crisis and extreme poverty.
Playing on the dirt pitches of Villa Fiorito, known locally as Las Siete Canchitas (“The Seven Little Fields”), he quickly drew the attention of talent scouts. And so, at the age of nine, he underwent trials and joined the youth academy of Argentinos Juniors—the club from La Paternal, founded in the early 20th century by a group of anarchist footballers under the name El Sol de la Victoria y los Mártires de Chicago, a direct reference to the bloodstained May Day strike of 1886.
Diego began playing for the “Class of 1960” team of Argentinos Juniors, nicknamed Los Cebollitas (“The Little Onions”). With this team, created by Francisco Cornejo, Maradona was first introduced to the national stage through the Evita National Games—a legacy of the Peronist era that continued to thrive, as it had widespread public support. It was the first nationwide athletic institution for children and teenagers, and it played a major role in distributing sporting equipment to countless kids so they could play football. It also offered medical services—such as X-rays and dental checkups—to participants who, under different circumstances, would never have had access to them.
Beyond the Evita tournament, which he first played in during 1973–1974, Diego was turning heads from a very early age—whether by showcasing his skills during halftime at the Semillero del Mundo (“nursery of the world”), the nickname of Argentinos Juniors’ stadium, which today bears his name, or even through prophetic appearances on Argentine television, where he boldly declared that his dream was “to play in and win the World Cup.”
Notably, the first appearance of Maradona’s name in the sports newspaper Clarín dates back to September 28, 1971—before he had even turned twelve. The article stated: “There’s a boy with flair and skill who might shock the world—someone named Caradona [sic].”
The Cebollitas team, however, left a lasting legacy. After winning the Evita tournament, they earned the right to compete in Argentina’s 8th division. There, their performance was nothing short of remarkable: they went undefeated for 136 consecutive matches, even playing games beyond Argentina’s borders—in Peru and Uruguay.
Argentinos Juniors
In 1976, Argentinos Juniors decided to offer Maradona a professional contract and brought him into their first team—before he had even turned 16. His reputation had already spread across Argentina, and the public eagerly awaited the moment when the “wonder boy” would enter real competitive football. At a time when anti-fútbol, once championed by Spinetto, had passed into the hands of Zubeldía, football in Argentina was tough, physical, and unforgiving. For a 16-year-old to even participate in that environment was immensely difficult—let alone establish himself. Deploying someone so young on the pitch seemed like a huge risk. But perhaps such a risk would have discouraged clubs in another era; in that moment, however, no one could keep a player of such immense talent on the sidelines—especially one who, at that tender age, was already astonishing an entire nation.
As is often the case in Argentine football history, in 1976 there were two top-division championships. At that time, however, the existence of these two leagues had to do with the pressure exerted by dictator Juan Carlos Onganía in 1967 to find a way to include provincial teams—crippled economically by his reforms—at the highest national level. Thus, the Metropolitano was created, in which city-based teams played two matches against each other in a group stage, while the Nacional also included teams from the provinces. The 1976 Metropolitano began on February 15 and ended on August 8. It was the 57th championship of the 46th season (!) of the First Division. Boca Juniors won the title, and the top scorer was Argentina’s number 10 of the 1970s, Mario Kempes, who played for Rosario Central in what would be his final season before crossing the Atlantic to make history with Valencia. It was perhaps prophetic that one legendary number 10 was vacating the stage, leaving space for another to emerge.
Argentinos Juniors finished the season with just 14 points (under the 2-1-0 point system), earning 5 wins, 4 draws, and 13 losses in 22 games. They scored 27 goals—second-worst attack—and conceded 43—tied for worst defense with Chacarita Juniors, in Group B of the championship. However, in the relegation round, they drew 8 matches and lost just 1 out of 9 games, narrowly avoiding relegation by 2 points. Clearly, the Paternal club was not living through its glory days.
The Nacional tournament was set to begin on September 12, and by then, it was already known that the underage Maradona had been officially registered as part of the squad. Still, Argentinians—and, symbolically, the entire world, in an era without satellite television or international broadcasts—would have to wait just a bit longer. In his final match in the 7th division with the Cebollitas, Diego lost his temper and lashed out at the referee in a match against Vélez, earning a five-match suspension from domestic competitions. That meant a wait of one month and one week before he could make his historic debut.
On October 20, 1976—ten days before Maradona turned 16—Argentinos Juniors hosted Talleres for the 8th round of the Nacional championship, competing in Zone 4. Talleres were one of the best teams in the group—they would eventually finish first and qualify for the final stage. They featured three future World Cup champions: Luis Galván, Miguel Oviedo, and Daniel “la Rana” Valencia. Still, heading into the match, Argentinos Juniors were 2 points ahead and sitting in second place on the table. A total of 7,737 tickets were sold for the match—a number that seems shockingly low, given how history would unfold, especially from the privileged vantage point of hindsight.
The manager of the home side was Juan Carlos Montes, who, at 34 years old, already had two seasons of experience with Newell’s Old Boys—whom he led to the Metropolitano title in 1974. The Argentinos Juniors starting lineup included goalkeeper Carlos Munutti; defenders Ricardo Pellerano, Humberto Minutti, Dante Roma, and Miguel Ángel Gette; midfielders Sebastián Ovelar, Rubén Giacobetti, Jorge Orlando López, Carlos Guillermo Fren, and Mateo Di Donato; with Carlos Alberto Álvarez as the central striker.
Montes had prepared Maradona in the starting eleven during training sessions for that match, wanting to see how he would fit into the system. What he saw was more than encouraging—Diego was constantly scoring. But that day, he left him on the bench at kickoff. Talleres led 0–1 at halftime, and during the break, Montes made the historic decision: he would bring on Maradona in place of Giacobetti.
Rubén Giacobetti, 22 years old at the time, was also in his first season with Argentinos Juniors. Yet what he would be remembered for most in his career was being substituted by Diego. Just ten days ago, on the 48th anniversary of that legendary debut, Giacobetti returned to La Paternal to honor the occasion. In that match between Argentinos Juniors and Talleres—just like on that historic day—the outcome was different, with the home team winning 3–0. The match was marked by a round of applause in the 10th minute, in tribute to the greatest legend the game has ever known.
The first goal for Argentinos Juniors that day was scored by Francisco Álvarez—who, coincidentally, wore the number 16 on his back.
In that 1976 match, the second half began with the young Maradona, wearing the number 16 on his back, stepping onto the pitch to make his professional debut. The half kicked off at his feet—the opening touch marking his very first contact with the ball, the first of countless touches to come, each one a brushstroke on one of the most precious canvases in the museum of global football history.
“That day, I touched the sky with my hands,” Diego would later write in his autobiography.
The boy from Villa Fiorito was playing in the Primera, just as Rodrigo would sing many years later in the most legendary song ever written about Maradona.
Montes had asked little Dieguito to step onto the pitch with boldness—and for that reason, he specifically instructed him to pull off a nutmeg (caño) on one of his opponents. The “unfortunate” player who became the first to experience the shock of Maradona’s talent was Talleres’ center-forward, Juan “Chacho” Cabrera. That move sent waves of excitement through the crowd at La Paternal and sparked a flurry of commentary in the press, which welcomed Maradona into professional football with a triumphal tone.
Maradona returned to the field two matchdays later—this time starting as the center-forward—in a match against Ferro Carril Oeste, before being substituted at halftime by Carlos Alberto Álvarez. Together with Álvarez, Maradona formed a unique attacking duo (though Diego played further back, as an attacking midfielder). The first historic result of their partnership came on November 14, when—with a hat-trick from Álvarez and two goals from Maradona, his first ever, scored in the 87th and 90th minute—Argentinos Juniors defeated one of the “Big Five,” San Lorenzo, with a resounding 2–5 away win.
Those would be Diego’s only goals in his first season, during which he made 11 appearances.
Selección
Maradona’s performances in those 11 matches didn’t take long to catch the attention of national team coach César Luis Menotti. El Flaco (The Thin One), as he was known, was a tall, lanky figure—but one who represented a break from the established norms of Argentine football at the time. In 1971, he took his first managerial job at Huracán, hired by club president Luis Seijo to replace the recently dismissed Osvaldo Zubeldía and Carlos Bilardo. Zubeldía, a disciple of Spinetto and patriarch of anti-fútbol, was also the mentor of Bilardo. As for Bilardo, he would go on to become Menotti’s great rival throughout the rest of Argentina’s footballing history—two men whose opposition grew into an ideological divide, where the real debate was not personal, but between two distinct footballing schools: Menottismo and Bilardismo.
Menotti stood apart because, inspired in part by the success of totaalvoetbal from Rinus Michels’ Ajax, he sought to combine elements of modern football with the tradition of Argentina’s beautiful game. He became a kind of revivalist of la nuestra, but with contemporary characteristics. He often took a firm ideological stance on the importance of aesthetics in football. After winning the 1973 Metropolitano, he took charge of the Argentine national team in 1974, replacing Vladislao Cap after the World Cup in West Germany, where Dutch total football had triumphed—even if it didn’t win the title.
In early 1977, Argentina was scheduled to play a friendly against Hungary at the Monumental. Menotti, who was also coaching the youth national team, had been experimenting in training by having the senior and youth squads play against each other—using this setup to test Maradona at the highest international level. On February 22, during the match, Menotti included Maradona in the official squad. In front of 70,000 spectators, Argentina put on a show, scoring five goals in the first half—two by center-forward Leopoldo Luque and three by right winger Daniel Bertoni. In the second half, Hungary pulled one back through Sándor Zombori, making it 5–1.
That’s when Menotti made two substitutions, sending on Maradona and Felman to reinforce the attack. Maradona nearly scored in his international debut, but as he later recalled, his legs were trembling the entire time.
In 1977, out of a total of 58 matches played by Argentinos Juniors, Maradona featured in 49 and scored 19 goals. He had already begun to showcase his special skill in scoring from free kicks with his magical left foot, as well as his extraordinary physical ability—his low center of gravity allowed him to withstand challenges from multiple defenders. That long-haired boy was already stirring the stands and had earned his own nickname: El Pelusa (the fuzzball), which would forever accompany the era of his juvenile footballing innocence.
In 1978, he played 35 matches and scored 26 goals, but that wasn’t enough to secure his place in the World Cup squad that would represent Argentina on home soil. Menotti needed an experienced team to win the World Cup, and the inclusion of a 17-year-old Maradona was seen as too great a risk—especially since the role he would occupy on the field was already filled by the great stars of the time, most notably Mario Kempes, who ended up becoming the leading figure in the tournament that brought Argentina its first biancoceleste World Cup.
It is said that the night Maradona found out he was left out of the squad, he cried inconsolably outside the training complex. “Do you know how many World Cups you’re going to play in?” Carlos Ares asked him prophetically. “How am I going to tell my father this? I’ll never forgive Menotti,” the young Diego replied.
Despite being underage, Maradona continued to improve his statistics with Argentinos Juniors in 1978, scoring 26 goals in 35 appearances. In 1979, he netted 26 goals again, this time in 26 appearances. The drop in appearances wasn’t due to injury or exclusion, but rather the mandatory military service imposed that year by Videla’s dictatorship. Still, 1979 would be a milestone year for Diego and his early footballing legend.
Maradona returned to the national team squad for the 1979 Copa América. He made his tournament debut against Brazil at the Maracanã on August 2, playing in front of 130,000 spectators. Argentina lost 2–1, but Maradona played his first full 90 minutes for the senior national team, operating as a right-sided forward. In the next and final group match against Bolivia, he started again, this time in a central role, and in the 65th minute he scored his first goal in the albiceleste shirt, sealing a 3–0 victory. However, in the final group match against Brazil at the Monumental, Maradona did not feature. Argentina couldn’t secure a win, and Brazil, with two goals from Sócrates, earned a 2–2 draw that saw them advance to the semifinals.
But Diego’s national team duties for 1979 were far from over.
From August 25 to September 7, the 2nd FIFA World Youth Championship was held in Japan, featuring 16 national teams. Argentina, led by 1978 World Cup winner César Luis Menotti, had as its undisputed star Diego Maradona. The group stage proved a mere formality, as Argentina triumphed over Poland, Yugoslavia, and Indonesia, winning all three matches, scoring 10 goals and conceding just one. Maradona netted 3 of those goals, with Ramón Ángel Díaz—today the coach of Corinthians—leading the scoring.
In the quarterfinals, Algeria proved equally powerless against Argentina’s youth powerhouse, losing 5–0. Maradona opened the scoring in the 25th minute, and Díaz recorded yet another hat-trick. In the semifinal against Uruguay, Maradona and Díaz once again combined to score both goals in the second half to make it 2–0.
In the final, before 52,000 spectators at Tokyo’s National Stadium, the Soviet Union became the first team to truly test the albiceleste. Ponomaryov opened the scoring in the 52nd minute, but goals from Alves, Díaz, and Maradona secured a 3–1 victory and the Youth World Cup for Argentina—by the same scoreline as the senior team’s extra-time win over the Netherlands in the 1978 final.
Maradona was named the tournament’s Most Valuable Player and brought home his first international title, having scored six goals—second only to Díaz’s eight.
Upon the team’s return to Buenos Aires, however, Videla made sure to leave his dark imprint once again, participating in the celebrations with the young footballers. The ruthless murderer exploited the triumph at a moment when a delegation from the International Court of Human Rights was visiting the country to investigate serious allegations of unprecedented crimes—allegations that would later be historically confirmed.
At the same time, he sent five of the conscripted footballers back into military service, using them as role models for the youth as envisioned by the dictatorship. One of them was Maradona. El Pelusa was even forced to cut his hair to embody the ideals that the regime sought to instill in the next generation. Many years later, Diego himself would recount these events in his autobiography with full awareness of their meaning—an awareness, however, that had come only with experience. At 19, Maradona had become a tool of the regime, without resistance.
In 1980, Maradona returned to the pitch, delivering an extraordinary season with Argentinos Juniors. He scored 25 goals in the Metropolitano and 18 in the Nacional, finishing as the top scorer in both tournaments. In total, he netted 43 goals in 45 appearances, leading Argentinos Juniors to a second-place finish in the Metropolitano behind River Plate, and to the quarter-finals of the Nacional, where they were eliminated by defending champions Racing Avellaneda after topping Group 2.
The time had come for the big leap. Maradona was the best Argentine footballer at just 20 years old—and undoubtedly one of the finest in the world. The next step was waiting…
Boca
The end of 1980 had naturally sparked discussions about Diego’s future. At that time—as in many others—the most powerful club in Argentina was River Plate. Having undergone a geographic and class transformation, River Plate had become the team of the middle and perhaps even upper-middle classes of the capital, despite its working-class roots. Thus, it seemed perfectly logical that the most powerful club among Argentina’s “Big Five” would covet the new star of world football. Obviously, River’s interest was neither unique nor the first when it came to Maradona. But Diego didn’t determine his future solely based on financial gain—he viewed his professional path through a broader lens, something that contributed to the enormous impact he would ultimately make on the sport’s history. A few years earlier, for example, he had turned down an offer from Sheffield United and thus never played for any English club.
However, his rejection of River was a matter of the heart. The way he declined the club is now legendary. When asked by journalists about a potential move to River, Maradona claimed that he had already accepted an offer from Boca. Yet the remarkable part of the story is that Boca had never made him an offer—nor did it seem likely they ever would. The club was going through a tough financial period and couldn’t have imagined competing with River for the signature of the best player in the country. Diego knew this—and was trying to find ways to make a move happen to the club of his dreams. With that public statement, he created interest out of nothing, making it easier for Boca to enter negotiations with a player who had already made his preference clear. In essence, Maradona engineered his own first transfer—something incredibly rare in football history, especially at this level.
Maradona’s move to Boca Juniors was sealed on February 20, 1981. Diego would now play for the team his family supported, the team of the poor, the team his father used to watch crammed into the stands. He would play for him as long as he wore Boca’s colors—he would mention him often when speaking about that brief, but immensely important chapter that helped shape the legend of Diego Armando Maradona.
At that time, Boca Juniors was turning a new page, as Martín Noel had succeeded Alberto J. Armando as club president. Armando had led the club for 20 years but resigned after failing to deliver the construction of a new stadium—an ambition that had begun back in 1965. That failure was a major reason behind the club’s deteriorating financial situation. Alongside the change in leadership, there was also a change in the technical direction: Silvio Marzolini replaced the club’s historic captain and Argentina’s former national team leader of the 1960s, Antonio Rattín.
Marzolini was arguably the first true star in the history of Argentine football, with a reputation that extended beyond the pitch. With the appearance of a movie heartthrob and his signature blonde part, which featured in countless sponsor-endorsed photographs, he became one of the most recognizable faces in the country. But beyond his looks, Marzolini was a pivotal player for both Boca and the national team, playing alongside Rattín and revolutionizing the role of the full-back—pushing higher up the pitch and developing offensive skills uncommon for the position at the time.
Maradona’s debut with Boca came just two days after signing his contract, on February 22. In the opening match of the Metropolitano tournament, Boca hosted Talleres—coincidentally, the same opponent in both of Maradona’s historic debut games in Argentina. Diego opened the scoring with a penalty in the 19th minute, then assisted Miguel Ángel Brindisi twice, in the 33rd and 37th minutes, before scoring another penalty in the 88th minute to complete a commanding 4–0 victory. It was a resounding start for Boca in this new era, and with Maradona on board, there was renewed hope that the club’s mediocre recent performances—finishing mid-table in both domestic tournaments—would finally be behind them.
The big moment, however, came in the match against River Plate. Diego had already made his allegiance clear, even clashing with Argentinos Juniors management to push for a transfer to Boca rather than River—despite River’s more lucrative offer, which equaled what they were paying their star goalkeeper, Ubaldo Fillol, then the highest-paid Argentine footballer. This move turned Maradona into a lightning rod for the Millonarios’ fanbase.
The first Superclásico of the Metropolitano season was scheduled for April 10 at La Bombonera, during matchday 10. There was something symbolically poetic about the number 10s involved—perhaps a touch of metaphysical magic surrounding what would unfold that night. Boca were leading the standings, with 7 wins and 2 draws, while River were in third place, with 5 wins, 3 draws, and 1 loss.
The first half ended goalless, but in the second, Brindisi scored in the 55th and 60th minutes to give Boca a solid lead. Then came Maradona’s moment in the 67th minute—a goal he would never forget and would often recall in later years. Diego picked up the ball at midfield, and with two brilliant moves, he left goalkeeper Pato Fillol and defender Alberto Tarantini sprawled on the grass at La Bombonera before calmly slotting the ball into the net.
Maradona dedicated that goal to his father, who had once watched a Superclásico live—only to see Boca get crushed in a torrential downpour.
Boca Juniors won the Metropolitano Championship of 1981, securing the title with a draw against River Plate at the Monumental. In that match, the two great number 10s scored for their respective teams: Kempes for River—one of his final appearances in Argentine football before returning to Valencia—and Maradona for Boca.
In the Nacional tournament, Boca once again faced River, first at La Bombonera on September 27. In that match, Maradona scored another incredible goal. After taking a throw-in on the left flank, he received the ball back from a header by Hugo Perotti and struck a low thunderbolt of a shot—nearly hugging the sideline—that beat Fillol and found the back of the net.
Ultimately, Boca lost that game 2–3, as River came from behind with goals from Kempes, Passarella, and Jorge Alberto Garcia, before Gareca pulled one back.
However, in the return match at the Monumental on November 1st, Boca secured a draw that was once again sealed by Maradona’s genius. He scored two goals—one at the end of each half—first from a free kick, then from a penalty, helping Boca clinch first place in their group. Unfortunately, they were eliminated in the quarterfinals by Vélez, while River would go on to win the championship. This elimination was largely due to fatigue brought on by the numerous friendly matches that Boca played during the season, in an effort to improve the club’s struggling finances.
In total, Maradona scored 28 goals in 40 matches in 1981, celebrating the only domestic title of his career in Argentine football.
In 1982, prior to the World Cup, Maradona only appeared in unofficial competitions such as the Torneo de Verano(“Spring Tournament”), which also served to raise funds for Boca. After a global tour, the final match of this campaign was held on February 6th, once again against River Plate. Following that game, Maradona withdrew from all football activities to focus exclusively on his preparation for the 1982 World Cup in Spain.
El Mundial
The Argentine national team went to the 1982 World Cup in Spain with enormous expectations—expectations that extended far beyond the football pitches of the host nation. On the one hand, strictly in footballing terms, the defending world champions fielded a squad that combined the veterans of the 1978 World Cup victory with the youthful brilliance of the 1979 U-20 World Champions. Coach César Luis Menotti hoped this blend would form a superteam, an embodiment of his modern vision of la nuestra, one capable of conquering the world once again.
But football was not the only matter of national interest for Argentinians during this tournament. In April 1982, in an act of grandiose nationalism—and attempting to distract from their own political crimes—the country’s military juntainitiated an armed conflict with Great Britain, seeking sovereignty over the Malvinas Islands (Falklands). This campaign turned into a humiliating debacle that exposed the junta’s deep structural weaknesses. What had once seemed an unshakable regime began to unravel, and this war marked the beginning of its end. Maradona himself had begun to express political stances, albeit indirectly—voicing his desire to leave a country plagued by such oppressive conditions.
Argentina settled in Barcelona for the World Cup campaign and, as defending champions, opened the tournament one day before the official end of the Falklands War. On June 13, at the Camp Nou, the opponent wasn’t an army but the Belgian national team, runners-up in Euro 1980. The Belgians tightly marked Maradona, denying him the space to implement Menotti’s tactical vision. One now-iconic photograph from the match shows six Belgian players seemingly surrounding Diego—though the camera angle may have created an illusion. What’s historically certain is the shocking outcome: Belgium won 1–0, with a goal from Erwin Vandenbergh.
In the group’s remaining matches, Argentina bounced back with relative ease. Against Hungary and El Salvador, the team showed its quality, with Maradona scoring twice in the match against Hungary, held in Alicante.
Argentina advanced to the next round, which at the time featured groups of three teams, with only the group winner moving on to the semifinals. There, their opponents were two teams that, up until that point, had won a combined five World Cups: Italy and Brazil. All matches in this group took place at the Estadi de Sarrià, then the home ground of Espanyol.
In the first match, Italy defeated Argentina 2–1. In the second, Brazil won 3–1, and Maradona was sent off in the 85th minute when the score was already 3–0. Argentina was out, and their elimination paved the way for one of the most legendary matches in World Cup history between Brazil and Italy, the two remaining contenders in the group.
The outcome brought widespread disappointment for both the team and Maradona himself, who had traveled to Spain with the ambition of maintaining Argentina’s global football supremacy.
Yet, as mentioned earlier, this sporting defeat may have had an unexpected silver lining: it prevented another victory from becoming a tool of nationalist euphoria and propaganda—as had been the case with the 1978 triumph—which could have served to mask the crimes of Argentina’s ruling military junta.
Maradona, reflecting on the 1982 World Cup, has said that he had essentially lost himself during that time. Appearing in a style rarely seen before or since—resembling football’s revolutionary figures like Sócrates or Paul Breitner, with his characteristic beard and long hair—he seemed to be trying to imitate others, to fit into molds that belonged to different personalities.
But Maradona, throughout his life, showed that he could only triumph when his own unique traits and identity shaped the spirit of the teams he played for. The year 1982 may have served as a valuable lesson—a signal that he needed to find the ideal environment in which he could truly shine.
Perhaps, that lesson became the foundation for all the paradoxical yet deeply authentic choices that followed—choices that led to the making of a football career unrepeatable and unmatched.
Barcelona
During Argentina’s stay in Barcelona for the World Cup, Maradona’s transfer to FC Barcelona was officially confirmed—a deal that had in fact already been finalized earlier, when Maradona ceased playing for Boca. Barcelona paid 1.2 billion pesetas, with 80% of that amount going to Argentinos Juniors, since it represented Boca’s debt to Diego’s first club.
At that time, Barcelona was in its post-Cruyff era (as a player), and the coach was German Udo Lattek, who had led the team to victory in the 1982 Cup Winners’ Cup, beating Standard Liège in the final at the Camp Nou. However, Maradona was not a great admirer of Lattek’s methods, especially his heavy focus on physical conditioning, subjecting players to extremely demanding training sessions.
Despite that, Maradona developed a strong friendship with another German, Bernd Schuster, who went on to have a remarkable career in La Liga—not only with Barcelona but also with both of Madrid’s major clubs.
Maradona’s first appearance with the blaugrana took place on August 3rd at the Hindenburg, in a friendly match against SV Meppen. His official debut came on the first matchday of the Primera División, at Mestalla, against Valencia and Mario Kempes. Maradona opened the score in that game with a shot in the 20th minute, but the Bats overturned the score in the second half and claimed victory with goals from Solsona and Idígoras. Barcelona earned their first win at Camp Nou against Valladolid, in a game where Maradona once again scored one of the three goals, but the season was far from ideal. In December, the home defeat to Athletic Bilbao and the away loss to Las Palmas had dropped Barcelona to 4th place. Maradona could not fit into Lattek’s system and mentality, and this was clearly a problem mainly for the latter. The next home defeat, which came on February 26th, 1983, with a 0–2 score against Racing Santander, along with the goalless away draw against Austria Vienna — which, combined with the 1–1 draw at Camp Nou, led to elimination from the Cup Winners’ Cup — marked the end of Lattek on the blaugrana bench. He was replaced by Menotti, Maradona’s coach with Argentina up to 1982, who had since been replaced by his ideological rival, Carlos Bilardo, on the national team’s bench.
The first season in Barcelona ended on a low note, with Barcelona finishing 4th in the league, losing the European Super Cup to Aston Villa, but winning the Cup in the final in Zaragoza against Real with a 2–1 score, and also the Copa de la Liga, once again prevailing against Real in a two-legged encounter, with Maradona scoring one goal in each match. But another low flight of Diego’s had begun…
That first season, a bout of hepatitis kept Maradona away from training for three months. During that time, he spent most of his days at his luxurious home, surrounded by various people who took advantage of his fame and wealth. Being a child who had left Villa Fiorito and now had everything in terms of material possessions one could imagine, with no one to guide his life and his steps through this massive change, he was essentially a victim to anyone who could offer even the illusion of personal connection. His closest person was his then agent, Jorge Cysterpiller, who according to historical accounts is said to have accepted and even co-created this environment. It was under these conditions that the use of cocaine began, which became Maradona’s great torment and essentially his ruin. In his autobiography, he even mentions how the very management of Barcelona endorsed and encouraged this lifestyle, as it made him more vulnerable and easier to manage — not only by the club’s leadership but also by a range of people who dictated and wished to control his golden future.
In total, during the 1982/83 season, Maradona played in 35 matches, scoring 23 goals and winning two domestic titles of lesser importance. His own expectation, as well as that of Barcelona fans, Argentinians, and perhaps everyone involved with football, was to witness his great resurrection in the following season. The campaign in the Primera División started off poorly once again, with a loss for Barcelona at Sánchez Pizjuán against Sevilla, but Maradona and Barcelona returned to winning ways against Osasuna and Mallorca, where Maradona also scored his first goal. But on September 24th, 1983, in the match for the 4th round against Athletic Bilbao at Camp Nou, the Basque defender Andoni Goikoetxea attempted, in the 58th minute, a brutal tackle that shattered Diego’s left ankle joint. Maradona, who was trying to find his footing in Europe, would now have to undergo surgery and ultimately stay away from action for 3.5 months — even though the initial prognosis predicted a six-month absence. His return to the pitch came on January 8th, 1984, in the game against Sevilla at Camp Nou for the 18th matchday. In the 68 minutes he played, Maradona scored two goals, opening and closing the score for the final 3–1 result of the encounter. Barcelona were more competitive, but they lost the title and finished 3rd, just 1 point behind the joint leaders Athletic Bilbao and Real.
In the Cup, Barcelona reached the final, but in the second leg of the semifinal against Las Palmas — a match that was ultimately decided on penalties — Maradona was sent off with a red card. The Spanish Federation later reduced his suspension and allowed him to take part in the final against Athletic Bilbao. In front of 100,000 spectators who filled the Santiago Bernabéu on May 5th, Maradona, playing against the team that had become his nemesis that season, appeared for the last time wearing the colors of Barcelona, in a match where the blaugrana were defeated 1–0, losing yet another title that season. Maradona, in the 23 matches he played, scored 15 goals, but he felt far from well in Barcelona and was already looking for the next stop in his career and in his life. His turbulent off-field life offered no ground for his development, while also leading him to financial ruin. A twist of fate or not, that inglorious ending was, in fact, the beginning of the most glorious story!
Napoli
Napoli did not approach Maradona directly for his signature. Being a small club from the poor Italian South, without any major titles to its name, it could not possibly compete head-on with the great European clubs. But in Napoli, a president — connected (perhaps predictably) with the local mafia, the Camorra — made a masterstroke move to take advantage of the circumstances and secure Maradona’s signature. Corrado Ferlaino asked Barcelona to organize a friendly match so that the Italian public could have the chance to see Maradona up close. The Barcelona board accepted the invitation but noted that Maradona would not be able to play because he was “ill.” From this response, Ferlaino understood the rift between Barcelona’s management and Maradona and proceeded to make his offer. On June 29th, 1984, the transfer was made official, and Maradona signed a four-year contract with his new club. In the film È Stato La Mano di Dio, Neapolitan director Paolo Sorrentino offers a rather romantic depiction — through the eyes of the Neapolitans — of that historic arrival.
On July 5th, 1984, the Stadio San Paolo (which today is also named Stadio Diego Maradona) was filled with 75,000 Napoli supporters who rushed to see the best footballer in the world dressed in the colors of their team. Until that day, Napoli had won two cups — in 1962 and 1976 — as well as one Anglo-Italian Cup and one Cup of the Alps. The previous season, they had finished 11th in Serie A out of 16 teams, just one point above the relegation zone. Any comparison with the major clubs of the Italian North — who had dominated since the early years of the European competitions and were constantly winning domestic titles — was unthinkable. This team now had in its ranks a footballer who could offer a thirsty people something much more than footballing moments and titles — he could become their voice on the pitch and represent their struggle for recognition and dignity in a country that made them feel like strangers. A true stranger — an Argentinian — was the one who could more easily carry this burden on his shoulders, or rather, on his feet.
This frenzy was further fueled by the comments of the club’s leadership, who acted more like populist politicians than serious football officials (nothing unusual), stating that the team’s goal was to win the championship. Even with Maradona in the lineup, however, miracles don’t happen so easily, and although there was progress, it still required further building of a team around Maradona for that wild dream to become reality.
Maradona’s official debut in the Italian championship came on matchday one, September 16th, against Verona. Napoli were defeated 3–1, showing that the road to improvement would be difficult and would require patience. One week later, at San Paolo, against Sampdoria, Maradona scored his first goal — from the penalty spot in the 62nd minute — as Napoli earned a 1–1 draw. This was followed by an away defeat to Torino and then, on October 7th, the first victory came, with goals from Bertoni, Maradona, and Penzo, against Como. Napoli wouldn’t find another win until matchday 10, when they beat Cremonese 1–0 at home, but results started to come after the turn of the year. Napoli had a remarkable second half of the season, achieving in 1985 (including two games from the first half) 8 wins, 8 draws, and only one away loss — 2–1 to Milan — with Maradona scoring 14 goals in 30 appearances, earning him third place in the top scorer standings, behind Platini and Altobelli. Napoli may have finished in 8th place, but the clear upward trajectory kept high expectations alive.
Yet in that first season, Maradona also left another mark — one that revealed the traits of a truly great footballer, who understands his role in society as a representative of a collective and not as an individual who merely provides spectacle. A father was trying to find a way to fund his child’s treatment, and in his desperation, he asked a Napoli player if the professional team — with Maradona — could play a friendly to raise money for his son. Maradona took charge of the campaign and, as captain, led the entire Napoli team into the muddy backstreets of the family’s neighborhood to play that small match on a local pitch. The funds raised covered the necessary expenses for the treatment, and with that gesture — against the wishes of Ferlaino — Maradona proved that there is a series of qualities one must possess in order to be declared “the greatest of all time.”
The following season was the first that truly resembled a title-contending campaign. Napoli began with a win against Como, and by matchday 7 had collected a total of 3 wins and 4 draws. On October 27th came the first away defeat, to Torino, but once again the team bounced back toward the end of the season. After a dip in form in January, Napoli from February onwards had results that win championships, managing to win 5 of their final 6 matches. This run brought them to 3rd place in the final standings, behind Juventus and Roma, securing a ticket to the UEFA Cup for the following season. By now, the words of the club’s management were no longer just populist rhetoric, but a very realistic prospect.
Maradona had found his footballing self, but at the same time could not find personal peace. From the environment in Barcelona, where he had fallen victim to a whirlwind of parasites, in Naples he became a puppet of the Camorra, which naturally wanted even more control over him. This meant that the troubled lifestyle continued, along with the addictions — which were actively encouraged by the very criminal organization that also controlled the drug trade. Additionally, with Maradona acquiring the status of a popular hero within the erratic Neapolitan society, he also had to face constant pressure from the media, which went so far as to completely strip him of his private life.
To find Pelusa again, Maradona had to cross an ocean. He did so in the summer of 1986, when he left the port of Parthenope to ascend to the highlands of Mexico!
La Mano de Dios
On June 9th, 1974, during the FIFA World Cup in West Germany, it was decided at the FIFA Congress that the 1986 tournament would be awarded to Colombia. This was one of the last actions taken by Stanley Rous as FIFA president, before he was replaced and the notorious and lengthy tenure of Joao Havelange began. Meanwhile, Havelange, also serving his own political aims, succeeded in expanding the number of World Cup teams from 16 to 24 — a change implemented for the first time at the 1982 World Cup in Spain. Beyond Havelange’s political objectives, this was also a change that came almost naturally, given that more matches meant more revenue from global sponsors. In 1974, this economy still seemed experimental for global football, which had only just staged a World Cup with satellite television coverage in 1970, but by 1980 it had become a necessity. This change was the reason why Colombia eventually declared itself unable to host such a larger tournament, and FIFA, on May 20th, 1983, made an emergency decision to assign the tournament to Mexico, which had already passed the test in 1970.
With television now reigning supreme, the needs of the players were pushed aside, with many matches scheduled at midday under the scorching Mexican sun so that European audiences — the sport’s most stable and, in financial terms, largest and most traditional market — could watch during prime time. Even though the games couldn’t take place under the stars, FIFA hoped the stars of the national teams would light up billions of television screens. One of those stars, of course, was Maradona, who had already found superb form playing for Napoli.
In Argentina, the political situation had changed. The military junta had been overthrown by the end of 1983, and Raúl Alfonsín, a historic figure of the anti-Peronist social democratic party UCR, had been elected president. Alfonsín would be the first in a series of presidents alternating between social democratic and liberal governments — a sequence that continues to this day. However, the country’s economy continued to resemble an endless cardiogram, as it had since the 1960s: brief periods of growth and modest relief followed by harsh austerity and mass impoverishment, especially in remote provinces, sustaining the pattern of internal migration. Still, the restoration of civil democracy was in itself a reason for hope, while participation in yet another World Cup amounted to the nation’s second chance at regaining a sliver of pride — the pride that had been shattered in the Malvinas, four years earlier.
At the helm of Argentina was Carlos Bilardo, student of Osvaldo Zubeldía and a central figure of anti-fútbol. He perhaps aspired to become the coach who would prove that one could win the World Cup by playing bad football, with the sole purpose of achieving results. At the time, he even enjoyed a major ideological advantage, thanks to Italy’s 1982 triumph — especially its victory over Brazil — which was hailed as one of the most significant matches in football history, marking the shift from the football of spectacle to the football of purpose. But Bilardo’s plans were thrown off by the presence of Maradona, who couldn’t help but create spectacle even if he decided to simply stroll across the pitch. Thus, the Argentine coach made peace with the idea of building a team around the diamond of the albiceleste.
Tactically, how his experiment with that peculiar 3-5-2 system — with Maradona playing deeper as a second striker — actually worked out is a mystery. The truth is that Maradona appeared in far more than just one role, essentially performing as a one-man orchestra in a unique variation of total football — the football of Maradona. Among the many legacies Maradona left on football culture, this might be one of the most important: there are virtually no other examples of players who, while operating in the attacking line, also functioned as playmakers and covered spaces entirely alien to their nominal position. The fact that this contribution is discussed far less than the social impact of his presence on the pitch has more to do with the need for specialized knowledge and observation to appreciate it — and with the reality that his overall brilliance was powerful enough to eclipse the unique intricacies of his talent.
Argentina breezed through the qualifiers with 4 wins, 1 draw, and 1 defeat against Peru, Colombia, and Venezuela, making it to a fourth consecutive World Cup for the first time. The generation of champions had passed, and no one from the 1978 winning team traveled to Mexico — with the exception of that squad’s captain, Daniel Passarella, who had clashed with Bilardo and ultimately did not play in any matches in 1986. It was now a new team centered around Maradona. No one doubted his role — everyone knew that if they supported Diego’s game, their chances of leaving Central America as World Champions would increase.
Although history holds that Maradona’s teammates lacked the class of a squad capable of reaching the top, this contrast in quality is sometimes overstated, creating the impression that they were bad or average players. On the contrary, that squad featured several good footballers, though they lacked significant European experience, especially given the more limited mobility and restrictions on the number of foreigners in leagues at the time. Perhaps the exceptions were Jorge Valdano, then playing for Real Madrid, and Jorge Burruchaga, who had long been part of Nantes. The club names may not inspire awe — but let’s not forget even Maradona played for Napoli.
Argentina were drawn in Group A and began their campaign on June 2nd at the Estadio Olímpico Universitario against South Korea, which was returning to the World Cup after 32 years, for only its second appearance. With two goals from Valdano and one from Ruggeri — all assisted by Maradona — they secured an easy 3–1 win. Next came the reigning World Champions Italy, in a match where Maradona experienced firsthand the harsh reality he lived with Napoli. The Italians kicked the opposing captain relentlessly in a game played at Estadio Cuauhtémoc in Puebla on June 5th, which ended 1–1. Altobelli opened the scoring with a penalty in the 6th minute, and Maradona equalized in the 34th. In the final group game, Argentina beat Bulgaria 2–0, with Valdano’s second goal again coming from a Maradona assist, securing first place in the group and qualification to the Round of 16.
In the Round of 16, on June 16th, Argentina faced its eternal rival, Uruguay, a team it had not encountered in a World Cup since the final of 1930. It was the opportunity for an “unofficial” rematch, 56 years later, which could also pave the way for Argentina to equal its rival’s number of World Cup titles. But the Uruguay of 1986 was certainly not a side that could intimidate Maradona’s Argentina. They had made it through Group E in 3rd place, managing two draws against West Germany and Scotland and suffering a crushing defeat to Denmark, with a score of 6–1.
Among their ranks was, of course, River Plate’s star, Enzo Francescoli, who that summer would make the move to Europe. The match in Puebla is surely not one of those remembered in history and was decided by a single goal from Pasculli in the 42nd minute. Yet the qualification brought the albiceleste face to face with perhaps the biggest match in its history.
On June 22nd, 1986, the sun was blazing over Mexico City, with the forecast predicting chances of afternoon rain. The temperature was 22 degrees Celsius, and the Azteca Stadium was packed with 114,580 spectators. Argentina was about to face England, for the first time since another World Cup quarter-final — that of 1966 — which had been tainted by a mysterious referee appointment, the unjustified sending-off of Rattín, the very rough play from both sides, and the aggressive behavior of the English fans and, more broadly, the European delegations toward that Argentine team. But it was also the first match between the two countries since the Falklands War, which had ended in a triumph for Margaret Thatcher’s government, while proving to be a fiasco for the Argentine military junta.
However, the footballing rivalry between the two nations didn’t start in 1966. It goes much further back and is a matter of national identity for Argentines. The English were, of course, the ones who introduced the game to Argentina. The British presence was responsible for developing the institutions of football, and a Scotsman, Alexander Watson Hutton, is considered the “father of football” in Argentina. Yet the criollización of football that took place during the 20th century was tied to a need to assert that in Argentina they knew how to play better football than the English — because, while the sport may have been codified in Britain, the people of the South American colony were the ones who, according to the ideological development of this belief, knew better than anyone how to evolve it. For this reason, even within narrowly footballing terms, this rivalry was always a unique one.
Of course, by the time of that match, the era of la nuestra and el pibe football had been turned on its head, with the Argentine national team now led by coach Carlos Bilardo — a continuation of the hard-nosed anti-fútbol of Spinetto and Zubeldía. But in the face of that match, the development of the sport in the country mattered little — England had to be beaten at all costs. On one hand, because it was an obvious obstacle on the path to the top, and on the other, because a moral revenge was needed — for the war, for Rattín, and for anything else one might imagine, as we all do when we watch football matches.
Because of their colors, the two teams always play with one of them wearing an alternate kit. In that match, Argentina was to play in blue shirts, which were made of cotton, and Bilardo believed that would be a major disadvantage under the scorching midday Mexican sun. For that reason, a request was made to Le Coq Sportif, then the national team’s kit sponsor, to produce new blue jerseys especially for that match. The company, given only three days to solve the issue, declined. So, Ruben Moschella, then a member of the technical staff, went out into the markets of Mexico City looking for blue shirts. Moschella found two different shirts, presented them to the team, and Maradona chose one of them saying, “With this, we’ll beat England.”
Moschella then bought 38 shirts, went to a tailor to create the federation’s crest using an older and more simplistic design to stick onto the shirts, while medium-quality iron-on decals were used for the numbers — which came from templates for American football (gridiron) teams. Who could have imagined that perhaps the most iconic jersey in the sport’s history was being designed and assembled at that very moment under those conditions?
England had a team with several stars, most notably Gary Lineker, who went on to become the tournament’s top scorer — but perhaps that match cost several of them a great deal in terms of their legacy. In goal was Peter Shilton, who also captained the team; in defense played Gary Stevens, Terry Fenwick, Terry Butcher, and Kenny Sansom; the midfield included Glenn Hoddle, Peter Reid, Trevor Steven, and Steve Hodge; second striker was Peter Beardsley, and leading the line was Lineker. Bobby Robson’s England essentially played a diamond-shaped 4-4-2, aiming with this setup to crowd the space around Maradona and limit his movements.
The first half was marked by Argentina’s dominance, forcing Shilton into several interventions. For England, Peter Beardsley had his moment in the 13th minute, when Nery Pumpido slipped, but he failed to open the score. Despite Argentina’s possession and initiative, the half ended 0–0. A few minutes later, history would be written.
In the 51st minute of the match, Maradona had the ball near the center and toward the left side, where Argentina was building its attacks. He played a poor pass toward Valdano, who was positioned at the right corner of the penalty area. The Argentine center forward couldn’t control the ball and instead flicked it behind his back toward the center of the English box. Maradona, continuing his run, was on a collision course with the ball, which was tracing a curve through Shilton’s area. But coming from the opposite side of the ball’s path was the English goalkeeper. At the intersection point — of the falling ball, of Shilton, and of Maradona rushing in — Maradona was the first to make contact with the ball! A split second later, it was in Shilton’s net!
Maradona had managed to beat the English goalkeeper, twenty centimeters taller, in the air. With the extension of his left fist, he struck the ball and sent it into the goal. The Tunisian referee Ali Bin Nasser pointed to the center spot, the linesman agreed, and Maradona ran toward the stands, raising the left fist that had just scored! It was the ultimate expression of purpose-driven football, of the ideology of Zubeldía, which had by then become the national school of Argentine football. Argentina had taken the lead and was holding on to it for a historic qualification.
The English players protested to the referee in vain; Maradona continued to raise his left fist. In his autobiography, he wrote that at that moment he felt like he was “reaching into England’s vault.” When asked after the match whether it had been a handball, he replied that it had been “the hand of God,” leaving behind a phrase that would forever follow him — La Mano de Dios — and a nickname that football believers everywhere bestowed upon him without hesitation. That day, Maradona entered the pitch as a mortal and left it as a god. And if the hand alone wasn’t enough to earn that right, his next feat would be the passport to the Elysian Fields.
Four minutes later, however, Maradona left another mark on History — one that gave no one the chance to question that victory or the superiority of both himself and Argentina in that match. The commentary by Uruguayan broadcaster Víctor Hugo Morales has become legendary, and that goal — “the goal of the century,” as it came to be known — cannot and perhaps should never be described in any other words.
Víctor Hugo Morales: “He’s going to pass it to Diego, there’s Maradona with the ball, two are marking him, Maradona keeps the ball, he starts from the right — the genius of world football — he’s leaving his markers behind and he could pass it to Burruchaga… Still Maradona! Genius! Genius! Genius! Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta… Goooooooooooooooooooal… Goooooooooooal… I want to cry! My God, long live football! What a goal! Diegóoooooool! Maradona! This is to cry for, forgive me… Maradona, in an unforgettable run, the play of all time… Celestial kite… From what planet did you come from to leave so many Englishmen behind, so that an entire country can scream with clenched fists for Argentina? Argentina 2 – England 0. Diegóoooool, Diegóooooool, Diego Armando Maradona… Thank you, God, for football, for Maradona, for these tears, for this Argentina 2 – England 0.”
Maradona had done the unbelievable! He had taken the ball from midfield and left behind every Englishman in his path, charging into the box, enduring an epic kick, and at the same time placing the ball past Shilton to make it 2–0. It was the Goal of the Century, as it would be voted many years later — without a shred of doubt. But it was also much more for Argentina. If the first goal was the ultimate celebration of anti-fútbol and purpose-driven football, that second goal was the pure embodiment of the beauty of la nuestra — of the skilled Argentine who glides past the English as if they were standing still, whose physical power is no match for this footballing genius.
It was the embodiment of that child — el pibe — who, exactly as Borocotó had described back in 1928, found himself 58 years later on the grass of the Azteca. How could the editor of El Gráfico have known that what he described then would turn out to be a faithful representation of a future moment? Maradona was not just a God — he was something much more for Argentina. He was el pibe de oro, the golden boy, the pibe made of gold. He was History’s reward to an entire footballing ideology. There could be no greater victory for Argentine football than that goal. The fact that it was scored against England was perhaps merely the final necessary detail that completed a perfect story.
In the 81st minute, England pulled one back through Lineker, but hardly anyone remembers that goal. By the end of the match, Maradona had changed the narrative of world football and had created the greatest moment in his country’s footballing history — very likely even greater than the World Cup win that had taken place eight years earlier. From that point on, the world saw an Argentine at the summit, not because of a title he had yet to win, but because of his achievements with the ball — achievements no one else had ever come close to.
In the semifinal, the opponent was Belgium — the team that had beaten Maradona and Argentina in the opening match of the World Cup four years earlier. For the Belgians to reach that stage, they had needed some luck. They advanced as third place in Group B, having lost their opening game to Mexico, then beating Iraq and drawing with Paraguay. In the Round of 16, aided by monumentally poor refereeing from Erik Fredriksson, they defeated the Soviet Union 4–3 in extra time. In the West, the fact that the Soviet players didn’t protest loudly was exploited as propaganda, suggesting they didn’t want to win due to political differences with their own government. In the quarterfinals, they managed to defeat Spain — Butragueño’s Spain — in a penalty shootout, and so they arrived at the June 25th semifinal at the Azteca, against Maradona.
In a match that felt like a carbon copy of the one against England, Maradona delivered a stunning performance, scoring twice in monumental solo fashion. If his feats against England hadn’t been so extraordinary, so steeped in symbolism, then those goals against Belgium might well be discussed every time someone speaks of World Cup history. But the stage was now set for Maradona. The boy from Villa Fiorito — El Pelusa, El Pibe de Oro, the God — had one more step ahead of him to reach the sky he had touched with his hands the moment he stepped onto the pitch of El Paternal to play for Argentinos Juniors at age sixteen. It wasn’t just Maradona waiting for that step — it was the entire planet.
On June 29th, Maradona had yet another appointment at the Azteca — with the crowd in the stands and with the entire world. In the same stadium where the myth of the incredible and flawless Brazil had been built 16 years earlier, Maradona returned to create different images for football’s Bible.
In the grand final, the opponent was West Germany — the team for which, in those decades, the saying had emerged: “Football is a game played by 22 men with a ball, and in the end, the Germans win.” The way West Germany had won the World Cups of 1954 and 1974 — both against the teams that had made a sensation and evolved football in their respective eras, Hungary and the Netherlands — showed that they were the ideal opponent to be considered the ultimate challenge for Maradona’s Argentina.
The Germans had qualified from second place in their group, drawing with Uruguay, beating Scotland 2–1, and losing 0–2 to the brilliant Denmark — perhaps the best team the country ever had, possibly even better than the one of 1992. In the Round of 16, they eliminated Morocco with a narrow 1–0 win, while in the quarterfinals they had to go to penalties after a goalless draw with the host nation, Mexico, in order to advance. In the classic Western European derby with Platini’s France in the semifinal, they won 2–0 to earn their place opposite Maradona.
Coach was Franz Beckenbauer, the Kaizer, who had won the World Cup as a player and had written his own chapter in the same Mexican stadiums back in 1970. He now aspired to become the first person to achieve football’s highest distinction also as a manager. In goal was Harald Schumacher, remembered more for the brutal hit on Batiston four years earlier than for his saves; at the back, Ditmar Jakobs played as a sweeper, with Karlheinz Förster and Hans-Peter Briegel as stoppers, while on the flanks were Thomas Berthold on the right and Andreas Brehme on the left. In midfield, Norbert Eder and Lothar Matthäus sat behind the more advanced Felix Magath, while the attacking duo consisted of Karl-Heinz Rummenigge (captain) and Klaus Allofs.
As one can observe, the German system — reminiscent of catenaccio, with a V-shaped defensive formation and a sweeper — seemed like a puzzle piece that fit snugly against Bilardo’s 3-5-2. The Germans aimed to neutralize Maradona with defensive depth and strike through Argentina’s vulnerable flanks, also attempting crosses to target their tall forwards.
However, the first goal of the match came from an Argentine header, as in the 23rd minute Brown capitalized on a mistake by Schumacher to give Argentina the lead going into halftime. Maradona made many attempts, but he often found himself up against an impenetrable wall — embodied by the five defenders and the German goalkeeper. In the 56th minute, though, Jorge Valdano found a way to slot the ball past Schumacher, making it 2–0. Maradona was the maestro of a team marching toward the summit, even if he hadn’t scored in that match. But the Germans lived up to their reputation. In the 74th minute, Rummenigge pulled one back, and in the 81st, Rudi Völler — who had replaced Allofs at halftime — equalized to bring the game into the full tension of its final ten minutes.
That’s when Maradona’s genius spoke once again. In the 84th minute, seeing enormous open space in the German half, he delivered a stunning through ball to Burruchaga — who had Valdano as a secondary option on his right — for Burruchaga to calmly slot past Schumacher and seal the victory!
The FIFA trophy — the statuette designed by Silvio Gazzaniga to replace the Jules Rimet Cup — had found its natural owner! In Maradona’s hands, it reached its ultimate glorification! Diego took it in his hands and never let it go. The photographs of him lifting it to the Mexican sky, kissing it, holding it aloft on the shoulders of the crowd that had lifted all the Argentine players onto their backs — these became symbols for the future. The power of those images was so great that, 36 years later, Messi recreated one such photograph to symbolize the value of his own monumental triumph!
Maradona, with the trophy in his hands, placed his signature in immortality — with the number on his shirt and his name in his native tongue: D10S!
Ho visto Maradona
Maradona returned to Napoli as the absolute star of football — and perhaps of the entire planet. The summer of 1986 belonged to him entirely, and Neapolitans were now expecting to taste for themselves that great and, of course, much more unspoken success that few could have imagined just a few years earlier. If Maradona’s passage from the world of mortals into glorification ever took physical form, it certainly happened in the city of the Italian South. Diego became an icon, a statue, a religion — even an actual church. From Villa Fiorito to the Quartieri Spagnoli, his faithful recognized him as their one and only messiah.
Napoli’s Serie A campaign began on September 14th, against the team from the hometown of coach Ottavio Bianchi — Brescia. The Neapolitans managed to start with an away win, thanks to a goal by Maradona in the 41st minute. In the following matchday, they drew with Udinese at the San Paolo, and one week later they failed to beat Avellino away from home. That was the last time during the season that Napoli was not at the top of the table.
Maradona continued his otherworldly feats. Against all the giants of the Italian North, he left his mark — scoring from everywhere, defying hard-nosed defenses, impressing with both his explosive physical condition and his skill. Napoli beat Roma 0–1 at the Olimpico, Juventus 1–3 at the Comunale in Turin, and lost only three matches during the season, while achieving a monumental 2–1 victory on April 26th over Berlusconi’s Milan. In the Coppa Italia, after passing through the group stage against SPAL, Lazio, Taranto, Vicenza, and Cesena, they knocked out Brescia, Bologna, and Cagliari, with 11 wins in 11 matches to reach the final. The only failure came in the UEFA Cup, where they were eliminated on penalties by Toulouse in the return leg in the French city on October 1st, 1986.
In Naples, the biggest celebration each year is the Feast of San Gennaro (Saint Januarius), which, despite the name, is celebrated on September 19th — the day of his beheading by the hordes of Diocletian. The feast is truly a trikouverto — a three-day blowout — featuring parades, religious ceremonies, and musical performances. The Feast of San Gennaro is of immense importance to Southern Italians everywhere, with major celebrations taking place in New York, as the Italian-American descendant Francis Ford Coppola famously portrayed in the second part of The Godfather trilogy. But in 1987, the biggest celebration in Napoli — and another date that would be glorified for all eternity in the city founded by the Cumaeans — came in May.
On the night of Saturday, May 9th, the entire city was ready to welcome its greatest moment. It’s hard to know how many people actually managed to sleep that night. The Sunday that was dawning would forever change the place of the city and its team in Italian football history — and its significance within the geography of the game. Until that day, the only team from the Italian South to have won a league title was Gigi Riva’s Cagliari, in 1970. Seventeen years later, that remained the sole example — the lone reference point for victory from an outsider. Even Cagliari, however, is a team from Sardinia, not from the deeply impoverished southern mainland of the Italian peninsula. Napoli was coming to claim something on behalf of a people who had never truly believed they had the right to win in the country they happened to be born in.
Sunday, May 10th, 1987, is a national holiday for Napoli! The sky-blue representative of the city would host Fiorentina for the 29th and penultimate round of the league. All roads led to the San Paolo, and just one point against Roberto Baggio’s Fiorentina was needed for the miracle to be completed. The celebrations, after all, had already been postponed by a week, as the midweek draw away to Como had left the big moment for Sunday — for a celebration that would take place with everyone present, at home.
Napoli lined up for that match with Claudio Garella, Moreno Ferrario, Alessandro Renica, Giuseppe Volpecina, Giuseppe Bruscolotti, Francesco Romano, Salvatore Bagni, Fernando De Napoli, Diego Armando Maradona, Andrea Carnevale, and Bruno Giordano, while two substitutes took to the field at the end of the match — 20-year-old Ciro Ferrara and Luigi Caffarelli.
Napoli took the lead with a goal from Carnevale in the 29th minute, while Baggio equalized in the 39th. The game ended in a draw, and that was enough for the celebrations of the century to erupt at the San Paolo!
The images from that day are part not only of football history but of cinematic history as well. Asif Kapadia begins his biography of Maradona with this very day, presenting it as the ultimate visual decoding of the myth. The images of people perched on Vespas and car rooftops, waving sky-blue and white flags through the streets of the city, are the very identity of a culture’s history.
Maradona had given the Neapolitans something no one had managed to give them in the 126 years of the Italian state — from the Risorgimento to 1987. For that reason, he became the city’s second patron saint, alongside San Gennaro. This legacy is something no other footballer has ever achieved in the history of the sport. And it is highly unlikely that anyone else ever will.
After the end of the Serie A season, Napoli faced Atalanta in a two-legged final for the Coppa Italia, winning 3–0 at home and 0–1 away, thus securing not only their first championship but also their first historic double! Maradona, the maestro of that season, played in 41 matches and scored 17 goals.
That season, Maradona experienced another important moment in his life. On April 2nd, his first daughter, Dalma Nerea, was born — the child of Diego’s partner, Claudia Villafañe, whom he had known since his teenage years in Villa Fiorito. Dalma was given her first name after her grandmother, Doña Tota. This change in Diego’s life seemed to indicate that perhaps the days of excess and chaotic living were behind him. Unfortunately, history would show that this was his intention — but not the reality he managed to create.
The 1987/88 season began with the same momentum for Maradona and Napoli, who opened the league with five straight wins, including a thunderous 6–0 victory over Pescara. The first draw came away to Roma on matchday 6, while the first defeat happened in Milan, on January 3rd, 1988, when Napoli suffered a heavy loss at the San Siro to Arrigo Sacchi’s Milan. In the European Cup, an away loss and a home draw against Real Madrid brought a premature end to dreams of greater recognition. But in the league, Napoli was performing brilliantly, remaining steadily at the top of the table up to matchday 27, when they drew away to Verona. Maradona recalls in his autobiography that he remembers that season perhaps as the best of his career.
On May Day 1988, a match was scheduled that would largely decide the title. At the San Paolo, if Napoli beat Milan, they would be clear favorites for a second consecutive title — a draw would be enough for the mathematical clinching of the title, which could come once again in the penultimate matchday, once again against Fiorentina. 82,000 spectators filled the San Paolo for that match. But things didn’t unfold like a fairytale — perhaps proving that the best fairytales are written within the realism of victory and defeat. Milan took the lead through Virdis, and at the end of the first half, Maradona equalized. Virdis put Milan back in front in the 68th minute, and in the 76th, van Basten extended the lead to two goals, making the task extremely difficult for the Neapolitans. Even a draw would have been enough to keep them at the top. But that Milan team was too strong, and all Napoli managed was a goal from Careca in the 78th minute. The scudetto was heading north once again. Napoli fell from the top and, under the psychological shock and in the absence of Maradona who was suffering from injuries, lost the final two matches of the season — against Fiorentina and Sampdoria — finishing the league in second place, three points behind Milan. Having been knocked out of the Coppa Italia by Torino in the quarterfinals, Napoli secured a European ticket for the UEFA Cup.
The following season, Napoli again had a very good run in Serie A, but from matchday 2 — after a 1–0 loss away to Lecce — they never regained the top spot. That season, they faced the incredible Inter of Giovanni Trapattoni, which, among other great players, featured Diego’s young compatriot, Ramón Díaz. Inter lost only once that entire season and drew six matches, beating Napoli in both of their encounters. The Neapolitans, however, reached the final of the Coppa Italia, winning the first leg against Sampdoria 1–0, only to lose the title with a 4–0 defeat in Genoa.
That season, though, was historic for Napoli in another way, as with Maradona continuing his spectacular performances, the club set its sights on European recognition. Participation in the UEFA Cup gave a team that had now been a Serie A contender for years the belief that the time had come for a title with even greater geographical significance.
Napoli’s UEFA Cup campaign began on September 7th, 1988, at the San Paolo against PAOK. Maradona scored the only goal of the match in the 55th minute, from the penalty spot, while in the return leg in Toumba, Careca opened the scoring in the 17th minute to give his team the cushion of an away goal. Skartados’ equalizer in the 61st minute didn’t change anything, and Napoli advanced. In the next round, they eliminated Lokomotive Leipzig with a 1–1 away draw and a 2–0 home win. In the Round of 16, they beat Bordeaux 0–1 away and advanced with a goalless draw at home, reaching the quarterfinals — where they faced the dynast of Italian football, Agnelli’s Juventus. In a pair of epic encounters, Napoli lost 2–0 in Turin, and the same scoreline in the return leg at the San Paolo sent the tie to extra time — with Maradona scoring a penalty in the 10th minute. The duel was finally decided in the 119th minute by a goal from Renica, sealing an unforgettable qualification for Napoli. In the semifinals, Careca and Carnevale shaped a 2–0 home win against Bayern Munich, and Careca scored twice in Munich to secure a 2–2 draw that sent Napoli through to the two-legged final against Stuttgart.
The first leg, at the San Paolo, was played in front of 81,093 spectators, with Greek referee Gerasimos Germanakos officiating. Gaudino opened the scoring for the German side in the 17th minute, a lead they held into halftime. In the second half, Maradona equalized with a penalty in the 68th minute, and Careca gave his team a crucial victory in the 87th, sending Napoli to the second leg at the Neckarstadion as favorites.
There, on May 17th, Maradona left behind a personal moment of his own in eternity. During the teams’ warm-up, the song “Live is Life” by Opus played through the stadium speakers. Maradona began performing his warm-up exercises to the rhythm of the music, in a completely natural way — letting out what football had always meant to him: beyond an expression of his emotional state, it was his own kind of dance, what made him feel good. That’s why Maradona became el pibe de oro — because, with or without the rhythm of music, he always wanted to dance with the ball and enjoy himself with it, before giving everything he had to win, even if it was just a game in a field in Villa Fiorito or Napoli.
The result of the match in Stuttgart was 3–3, with Napoli returning home carrying the first European title in its history.
But Maradona had many reasons to dance that day. On the previous night, May 16th, 1989, his second daughter, Giannina Dinora, was born. The pursuit of life continued, and a few months later he would marry his long-time partner, Claudia, taking yet another step in that direction.
The following season found Napoli and Maradona in a wild race against European champions Milan, led by Sacchi, for the Scudetto. The European campaign ended early — in the Round of 16 of the UEFA Cup — with two defeats, the second of which was a 5–1 loss to Werder Bremen. Domestically, however, Napoli had an outstanding run, going unbeaten until matchday 17, when they lost 3–0 to Lazio at the Flaminio. Up to that point, they had already met Milan once — beating them 3–0 at the San Paolo. Maintaining first place, they proceeded with five wins and one draw, until the crucial match at the San Siro against Milan on February 11th, 1990. In Milan, Napoli lost 3–0, and two weeks later suffered another defeat, 3–1, in the same stadium to Inter. First place had slipped away, and the title seemed once again to be slipping through their fingers.
However, Milan had a very tough spring, with obligations in the European Cup, the Coppa Italia, and the league. Two defeats — on March 11th and 18th to Juventus and Inter — brought Napoli closer, and in a difficult April, Milan drew 0–0 in Bologna. At the same time, they were facing Bayern Munich in the semifinals of the European Cup, whom they managed to eliminate in extra time on April 18th. So, by April 22nd — the penultimate matchday — Milan was not in its best form, suffering a defeat to Verona, while Napoli beat Bologna 2–4 at the Dall’Ara.
In a championship that was decided on the final matchday, Baroni’s goal in the 7th minute against Lazio brought the Scudetto once again to the Italian South — and Maradona was at the summit of Italian football, at a moment when both he and… Argentina needed it more than ever.
Notti magiche
Italy — the land of champion Napoli, the country Maradona had conquered — was hosting the 1990 World Cup that summer. Eight years after their triumph on Spanish soil, the Italians aspired to relive magical nights, as Gianna Nannini sang in the tournament’s anthem. But Maradona, who had triumphed in the four years since the previous World Cup, was now returning as the defending champion, the best footballer in the world, and thus the number one rival standing in the way of Italy’s path to glory. The tournament would soon reveal how this delicate balance would unfold.
Argentina had kept Bilardo on the bench, since he had led them to the previous World Cup title, despite having lost the 1987 Copa América at home, falling to Uruguay in the semifinals. A gifted striker had been added to the 1986 squad — Claudio Caniggia — who formed a natural and dynamic partnership with Maradona. Coming from River Plate, Caniggia had also arrived in Italy in 1988 to play for Verona, who were a considerable force at the time, even having won the scudetto in 1986.
Argentina began their campaign at San Siro, as defending champions, only to suffer a 0–1 defeat to Cameroon — the tournament’s major surprise. The ghosts of 1982 were resurfacing, and Maradona had to take charge, now with different experience, in order to keep his team and his country at the summit. The second match took place at his home ground, Napoli’s San Paolo, against the Soviet Union in their final ever World Cup appearance. With goals from Troglio and Burruchaga, Argentina secured a relieving victory before facing Romania, again at the same stadium. In the final group match, they failed to convince, the game ending 1–1 against a team composed largely of the core of the great 1980s Steaua side — but with third place in the group, Argentina advanced to the next round.
On June 24th at the Stadio Delle Alpi, the opponent was Brazil. Maradona had personal reasons to seek revenge for that fateful match in 1982 that had crushed his first great dream. This time, he succeeded — delivering a brilliant assist to Caniggia, who scored in the 81st minute to send la albiceleste through. In a tournament defined by the many penalty shootouts that decided matches and progression, Argentina entered that stage for the first time in the quarterfinals, against Yugoslavia. In the match played in Florence, goalkeeper Sergio Goycochea — who had replaced Nery Pumpido after his injury in the game against the USSR — followed a sort of metaphysical ritual and saved three penalties to send his team through. Maradona missed his shot in the shootout, but luckily it wasn’t fatal.
Fatal, however, was the matchup in the semifinals. On July 3rd, 1990, Argentina was to face Italy. As if that weren’t enough to make fate seem ironic, the venue made the occasion even more charged: the match would be played at the San Paolo in Naples — a city more Maradona’s than Italy’s. The context of the match sent passions into overdrive. The Italian media and the various actors of a new public discourse — dominated by the populism of private television and Berlusconi’s media garbage — elevated the question of squadra azzurra support from Neapolitans into a full-blown national issue. Maradona didn’t flinch. He demanded exactly the opposite. His words to his “fellow citizens” became legendary:
“Those who call you Africans and say you’re not Italian for 364 days now want you to support Italy for one. I’m with you all 365 days!”
In the end, on that night, the Neapolitans seemed to support Italy, but they could not turn against their Diego. The match was tight, with both of the tournament’s breakout scorers — the southern Italian Toto Schillaci and Claudio Caniggia — finding the net in the 17th and 67th minutes, sending the match into penalties. Goycochea now had to recreate the miracles of Florence — and to make sure of it, he relieved himself near the bench, just as he’d been forced to do before the “Russian roulette” of the previous round, for good luck!
Baresi scored Italy’s first penalty. Serrizuela equalized. Roberto Baggio — not yet the 1994 version — converted, as did Burruchaga. De Agostini scored, and so did Olarticoechea. Then Donadoni stepped up — and Goycochea saved. It was Maradona’s turn. If Diego scored, Argentina would have one foot in the final in Rome. He stepped up, shot, and scored. Silence swept through the San Paolo. He celebrated wildly, running toward the bench. The last Italian taker was Serena… and Goycochea saved that one too. Argentina was in the final!
Maradona had crushed the Italian dream in Naples — just as he had crushed the dreams of the northern dynasties of Milan and Turin with his feats in Napoli. And that was something the Italian football establishment could not forgive. The system descended into a state of madness.
In the final on July 8th at the Olimpico, the Italians — swept up in that madness — booed and whistled during the Argentine national anthem. Maradona looked around and shouted an insult at the camera, in Italian, aimed at their mothers’ profession. The match itself was poor, and the Mexican referee, Edgardo Codesal, even worse. In the 85th minute, he awarded an unbelievable penalty to West Germany. When Maradona protested, he showed him a yellow card, and sent off Dezotti with a red. Brehme took the shot and scored — West Germany were world champions, and the Italians celebrated Maradona’s defeat.
Diego felt betrayed. His relationship with that country would never be the same again. The beginning of the end of an epic era had come. The man who had given birth to so many dreams for millions of people saw his own dream being ripped away from him with fury.
That rupture was not only with the Italian establishment, but with the entire FIFA system. True lovers of the sport came to love Maradona even more, shifting the confrontation from the football pitch to culture and society. The new decade that was beginning would shape a different myth of Diego — that of the unconventional star. Having already reached the pinnacle of the footballing world, he now had to prove that he was no ordinary figure — only then could he attain immortality.
The Fall
The new season in Italy with Napoli showed from the start that something had “broken.” The team couldn’t find its rhythm and had a very poor start. From the previous season’s squad, goalkeeper Giuliani had departed, as had scorer Carnevale, and they were replaced by players of lesser quality. Even though they had won the Super Cup emphatically, 5–1 against Juventus, in the league they were constantly struggling near the bottom of the table. In the first half of the season, Napoli collected just 15 points, sitting in 11th place, while in the European Cup they were eliminated by Spartak Moscow on penalties — after two goalless draws — in the Round of 16.
But the worst blow for Napoli and Maradona came on March 17th, 1991. Napoli hosted Bari in the southern derby, which they won 1–0, with Gianfranco Zola scoring in the 55th minute. After the match, Maradona underwent an anti-doping test and was found positive for cocaine use. The Italian Federation handed down a 15-month suspension. In his appeal, Maradona claimed the decision was the Federation’s revenge for the past World Cup — but he left Napoli and never played in the country again. He departed for good on April 1st, heading for permanent “vacation” in Buenos Aires.
There, his proximity to people who once again flocked around him — attracted by his fame and the chance to live the good life at his expense — led to a further deterioration of his life. On April 26th, he was arrested by police in Caballito for drug use and sentenced to 14 months in prison, suspended. After that ruling, Maradona decided to attempt entering a rehabilitation program, but the troubles kept coming. Due to his suspension in Italy, FIFA wouldn’t even allow him to appear in charity matches. In fact, they sent a fax to Julio Grondona, president of the Argentine Football Association, stating that any appearance by Maradona on the pitch would carry consequences and sanctions for the national federation.
The period of suspension ended in the summer of 1992, and Maradona signed a contract with Sevilla. Napoli, however, did not consent to the transfer, and FIFA had to intervene in order for it to go through. Maradona played under coach Carlos Bilardo — once again working with a manager from his national team days. Another obstacle had to do with his right to leave Argentina, given his suspended sentence, but the matter was eventually resolved, and Maradona wore the Sevilla shirt for the first time on September 28th, 1992, in a friendly match against Bayern Munich. His official debut came on October 4th that same year, against Athletic Bilbao. But Maradona had once again fallen into a turbulent lifestyle in Spain — this time clashing with the leadership of the club and with Bilardo himself. Although he made 30 appearances and scored 7 goals over the course of the season, these disputes led to a break-up, and he left Spain in June 1993.
The Return
In the summer of 1993, Maradona returned to play professionally in Argentina. With the World Cup just a year away, he needed the right environment to prepare for one last major tournament. So, he signed with Newell’s Old Boys — a club that had made waves in the early 1990s under Marcelo Bielsa. At his first training session, on September 13th, 40,000 people packed the stadium just to watch him. His official debut came on October 10th, and by year’s end he had played in a total of 5 matches. On December 2nd, a muscle injury sidelined him — but he never again played for Newell’s except in a friendly match against Vasco da Gama.
The reason for this sudden break was his decision to fire an air rifle at journalists who had surrounded his house. As a result, he was sentenced to two years in prison, suspended, and ordered to pay compensation to the injured reporters.
The Last Dance
Argentina was preparing for the 1994 World Cup in the United States. The country was headed by President Carlos Menem, with whom Maradona had close personal ties. In his autobiography, Maradona describes their relationship — one that was more or less what you’d expect between the most popular citizen of a nation and its leader. The national team was now coached by Alfio “Coco” Basile, who, without Maradona, had led Argentina to victory in the 1991 Copa América in Chile. Basile had been part of the great Huracán side of Menotti, and thus replaced Bilardo as a representative of the “opposing party.” The changes in Argentina’s coaching staff have always resembled changes in political leadership — a kind of footballing two-party system. Basile had also been a member of that legendary Racing Club team that won the Intercontinental Cup in 1967 against Celtic — the first such victory for an Argentine club.
In 1993, Argentina won the Copa América again — this time in Ecuador — and played with Maradona in the Artemio Franchi Cup, a precursor to today’s Finalissima, where the South American champions faced off against the European champions. There, Argentina and Maradona beat Denmark on penalties, in a match played in Mar del Plata.
But Argentina hadn’t fared so well in World Cup qualifying. Finishing 5th in the CONMEBOL standings — and even losing 5–0 to Colombia — they were forced into a playoff against Australia. Maradona, who had not participated in the qualifiers, returned to help the team secure a draw away and a victory at the Monumental, thus booking their ticket to the upcoming World Cup.
Argentina’s campaign began on June 21st in Boston, against World Cup debutants Greece. Maradona seemed to be in incredible form. Videos circulating in the days before the opener showed him training intensely — at 34 years old, his physical condition looked better than ever. Against Greece, he was like a raging bull. Leading the attack, in place of Caniggia, was another striker just breaking onto the world stage — Gabriel Omar Batistuta, already playing for Fiorentina. Maradona orchestrated the play, Batistuta delivered — scoring in the 2nd and 44th minutes.
Then, in the second half, Maradona delivered yet another moment for the ages. In the 60th minute, the ball came to him just outside the box, near the edge of the arc and to the left. From there, with a thunderous strike, he sent it into the top corner past Minou — and celebrated wildly. Running toward the camera positioned at the left touchline, he smashed his face into it, spitting at the lens in what many (if not everyone) understood as a gesture toward FIFA — and the entire system that had been against him for so many years.
Argentina was preparing for the 1994 World Cup in the United States. The country was headed by President Carlos Menem, with whom Maradona had close personal ties. In his autobiography, Maradona describes their relationship — one that was more or less what you’d expect between the most popular citizen of a nation and its leader. The national team was now coached by Alfio “Coco” Basile, who, without Maradona, had led Argentina to victory in the 1991 Copa América in Chile. Basile had been part of the great Huracán side of Menotti, and thus replaced Bilardo as a representative of the “opposing party.” The changes in Argentina’s coaching staff have always resembled changes in political leadership — a kind of footballing two-party system. Basile had also been a member of that legendary Racing Club team that won the Intercontinental Cup in 1967 against Celtic — the first such victory for an Argentine club.
In 1993, Argentina won the Copa América again — this time in Ecuador — and played with Maradona in the Artemio Franchi Cup, a precursor to today’s Finalissima, where the South American champions faced off against the European champions. There, Argentina and Maradona beat Denmark on penalties, in a match played in Mar del Plata.
But Argentina hadn’t fared so well in World Cup qualifying. Finishing 5th in the CONMEBOL standings — and even losing 5–0 to Colombia — they were forced into a playoff against Australia. Maradona, who had not participated in the qualifiers, returned to help the team secure a draw away and a victory at the Monumental, thus booking their ticket to the upcoming World Cup.
Argentina’s campaign began on June 21st in Boston, against World Cup debutants Greece. Maradona seemed to be in incredible form. Videos circulating in the days before the opener showed him training intensely — at 34 years old, his physical condition looked better than ever. Against Greece, he was like a raging bull. Leading the attack, in place of Caniggia, was another striker just breaking onto the world stage — Gabriel Omar Batistuta, already playing for Fiorentina. Maradona orchestrated the play, Batistuta delivered — scoring in the 2nd and 44th minutes.
Then, in the second half, Maradona delivered yet another moment for the ages. In the 60th minute, the ball came to him just outside the box, near the edge of the arc and to the left. From there, with a thunderous strike, he sent it into the top corner past Minou — and celebrated wildly. Running toward the camera positioned at the left touchline, he smashed his face into it, spitting at the lens in what many (if not everyone) understood as a gesture toward FIFA — and the entire system that had been against him for so many years.
Maradona showed he had gone to the U.S. to win. In the second match, against Nigeria, Canniggia scored twice to secure a 2–1 victory. At the end of the match, a nurse came to escort Maradona off the pitch for anti-doping control. Perhaps happier than ever, Diego took the nurse by the hand and walked with her toward the exit, waving at the crowd with a smile. A few days later, it was announced that the test had come back positive for five banned substances based on ephedrine. Maradona was out of the World Cup — once again banned due to the use of banned substances, this time not for drugs but for doping.
Diego stated countless times in the years that followed that he had never taken any such substance, that the test was rigged, that it was just another chapter in the campaign waged against him by the very same establishment. Maradona may never have taken those substances — at least not knowingly — but what exactly happened might remain one of football’s great unsolved mysteries. If, however, historical vindication were ever to come with evidence on this issue, it would likely amount to the biggest scandal in the history of football worldwide. And in that category, the bar is set quite high.
Swan Song
After his second major suspension — this time from a World Cup anti-doping test — Maradona had to remain off the pitch for another year, at least as a player. This situation inspired the idea of taking on coaching duties at Boca Juniors. But Boca couldn’t afford the high cost of Maradona’s name, even just for a coaching role, and had no real reason to part ways with Marzolini, who was back at the helm. So Diego committed himself to regaining his physical form in order to return to the pitch a year later. Boca managed to pull together the resources needed to add him to the squad as a player, and it was known by mid-1995 that he would once again be playing in the club’s colours.
During that same period, Maradona also engaged in a number of other initiatives, including the founding of the World Footballers’ Union. His initiative was embraced by several international stars, who gathered in Paris on September 28, 1995, for the official founding of the organisation. Among the players who took part in this effort were Éric Cantona, George Weah, Gianluca Vialli, Gianfranco Zola, Laurent Blanc, Tomas Brolin, Raí, Ciro Ferrara, and Michel Preud’homme. The goal of the union was to become the voice of footballers in opposition to FIFA’s unilateral control over the sport, unlike the traditional association FIFPro, which in many cases had taken a more conciliatory stance with the national federations that controlled the player unions comprising it.
From the mid-’90s onward, the time Maradona spent off the field increasingly went toward his social activism rather than strictly football — building a clear ideological identity that would define his legacy as a man.
Two days later, on September 30th, he played for the first time — again — in Boca colours, in a friendly match organised in Seoul against the national team of South Korea. The elections that followed at Boca brought Mauricio Macri to the presidency of the club — a man who would later go on to become President of Argentina between 2015 and 2019. In early 1996, however, the club’s leadership decided to change coaches, removing Marzolini and bringing in Bilardo — with whom Maradona had a troubled relationship stemming from their chaotic time together at Sevilla. Maradona threatened to leave if that happened, but a compromise was eventually found to allow their coexistence.
Boca lost the championship to Vélez, with Maradona missing five consecutive penalties during the season. By the end of the campaign, he once again distanced himself from the pitch, this time to launch the “Sun Without Drugs” campaign under the auspices of the Argentine Government.
At that time, he entered a rehab clinic in Switzerland in order to fight his heroin addiction, but with no real results. On April 7, 1997, he had to be hospitalized for the first time due to arterial blood pressure issues. Maradona, who was still under contract with Boca — though not playing — began to experience frequent health problems from that point onward.
He eventually returned to the field on July 9, 1997, in a match against Newell’s Old Boys, but quickly found himself in trouble again. After the game against Argentinos Juniors on August 24, he once more tested positive in an anti-doping control. That test opened a long investigative process concerning the detection of various substances in his samples. These investigations proved inconclusive, resulting in doubts over whether he had indeed used any banned substances, and ultimately the suspension was lifted.
While trying to make his way back onto the pitch, Maradona also suffered an injury in a match against the Chilean side Colo-Colo, and he returned again on October 25 — just days before his 37th birthday — in a home defeat to River Plate by 2–1. In that final match of his career, he was substituted by the young Juan Román Riquelme, who today serves as the club’s president.
A few days later, on October 30, on the occasion of his 37th birthday, he announced his official retirement from football as a player.
Life After
After the end of his footballing career, Maradona began to take on various roles related to or beyond football: as an executive at clubs, a sports commentator, a television panelist, and a public figure involved in charitable work. His stature alone was enough to bring visibility to any activity he engaged in. However, he also had to address his personal health, marked by constant fluctuations in his physical condition and a body battered by years of abuse and addiction.
During that time, around the year 2000, he made attempts at recovery in clinics in Argentina and Cuba, further deepening his long-standing friendship with Fidel Castro. In September 2000, his autobiography Yo soy el Diego was published, which Maradona dedicated to a series of his companions in life’s journey — and on a separate page, “to Fidel Castro and, through him, to the people of Cuba.”
In December 2000, a major recognition arrived. FIFA, with the turn of the century and the millennium, decided to launch a major campaign to name the greatest footballer of the 20th century. The event, which culminated in a grand ceremony, included two distinct awards: one awarded by public vote, conducted online, and another awarded by a panel of experts and FIFA Magazine staff.
In the public vote — or, more lyrically put, in the hearts of the people — Maradona swept the field, gathering 53.6% of the votes, leaving Pelé in second place with 18.53%, and Eusébio third with 6.21%. In the expert panel vote, however, Maradona came third, behind Pelé, who was triumphantly selected, and Alfredo Di Stefano. The results of these two ballots reflected the general atmosphere of the time, which in turn mirrored the global perception of the footballing world and Maradona’s place within it.
Maradona began living permanently in Cuba, but on November 10, 2001, he returned to La Bombonera to play in the testimonial match held in his honor — a celebration of a career that was both tumultuous and dazzling.
In that match, the Argentina national team, managed by Marcelo Bielsa, featured the brightest stars of the new generation, such as Roberto Ayala, Juan Sebastián Verón, Javier Zanetti, and Pablo Aimar. They faced off against a World XI composed of legends from Maradona’s own era: Enzo Francescoli, Éric Cantona, Davor Šuker, Juan Román Riquelme, Carlos Valderrama, Hristo Stoichkov, Nolberto Solano, René Higuita, and others — under the guidance of Coco Basile.
Maradona, in that match, delivered one of the most iconic and unforgettable lines of his life: “I made mistakes and I paid for them — but the ball never got dirty.”
In 2004, Diego’s personal life took yet another blow, as Claudia Villafañe, perhaps reaching the limits of her patience with Maradona’s erratic life, finalized divorce proceedings that had begun back in 1998 — the process taking six years to complete. That same year, his health deteriorated, he gained a significant amount of weight, and was once again hospitalized in a Buenos Aires clinic. Crowds of supporters camped outside his window to give him strength and encouragement to stay alive. He later stated that his daughter Dalma, who asked him to survive for her sake, was a key motivation in his decision to fight, recover his health, and try to live better.
Indeed, following that ordeal, Diego took massive steps — he lost a considerable amount of weight, which had reached up to 150 kilos, and by 2006, he was fit enough to step on a football pitch again, showing an enviable form for a veteran player. Until 2008, he mainly appeared in various TV shows, sometimes as a guest, other times more regularly, before accepting what would become his final great footballing mission.
Entrenador
During his hiatus from football in the 1994–1995 season, Maradona had experimented with coaching, first taking charge of Textil Mandiyú and then Racing Club, managing 12 and 11 games respectively. The results were far from impressive, with a win percentage of 8.33% in the first and just 18.18% in the second — exceptionally low for a club considered one of Argentina’s “Big Five”. The experiment was deemed a failure and took place just before his return to the pitch as a player in November 1995.
But in 2008, he accepted a much larger challenge: he was appointed national team coach following the departure of Alfio Basile, who had succeeded a decade marked by the eras of Marcelo Bielsa and José Néstor Pékerman. Leading the team through the qualifiers, Maradona managed to secure Argentina’s ticket to the World Cup in dramatic fashion.
With two matches left in the qualification phase, Argentina sat in 5th place, which meant a playoff rather than automatic qualification. With 22 points, they trailed Ecuador (23), and had Uruguay (21) breathing down their necks. The final match against Uruguay in Montevideo meant there was a real risk that Argentina could miss out on the World Cup entirely.
The crucial penultimate match, against Peru, was played under torrential rain at El Monumental. In the 48th minute, Higuaín put the albiceleste ahead, but Rengifo equalized in the 89th, making things look grim. Simultaneously in Quito, Ecuador and Uruguay were tied 1-1. This meant Argentina would have to play for the 5th place, needing a win in Montevideo.
But in the 92nd minute, after a wild scramble inside the Peruvian box, the veteran Martín Palermo scored one of the most iconic goals of his storied career. The victory, earned under the epic backdrop of a downpour, created images worthy of a Renaissance painting, etching themselves into the folklore of Argentine football. Meanwhile, Forlán gave Uruguay victory with a penalty deep into stoppage time, which at least guaranteed Argentina a playoff.
A few days later, Maradona led Argentina to another victory, this time at the Centenario, finishing 4th in the South American table and qualifying directly for the World Cup.
The atmosphere in Argentina ahead of the World Cup was marked by a somewhat unusual sense of euphoria. The disappointment of the “golden generation” that played in 2002, and the bitter exit in 2006 against the host nation Germany, were now things of the past. The presence of Maradona, along with the dramatic way qualification had been secured, led many to believe that anything was possible.
Maradona wasn’t bad at managing the squad — but he clearly lacked the modern tactical ideas necessary to build a team truly capable of challenging for the title. More than anything, he carried the team forward on the strength of his aura and eccentricities (like the two wristwatches he wore for good luck).
In South Africa, Argentina was drawn into Group B, alongside Greece, Nigeria, and South Korea. Remarkably, Greece and Nigeria were the last two countries Maradona had faced as a player in a World Cup, back in 1994 — and once again, everything seemed like some mad twist of fate. Those inclined to believe in destiny saw signs everywhere, and in Argentina, there may have been plenty.
In the opener, Argentina defeated Nigeria rather sluggishly, with a goal from Heinze, reminiscent of the match between the two sides in 2002. But in the second game, Higuaín scored a hat-trick, and the final score of 4–1 over South Korea began to ignite hope. In the match against Greece, Argentina struggled to find the back of the net for over one and a half halves, but Demichelis finally broke the deadlock in the 77th minute, and in the 89th, the hero of the qualifiers, Palermo, scored a World Cup goal in the twilight of his career — celebrating ecstatically with his friend and coach, Diego.
In the round of 16, the opponent was Mexico, just like four years earlier. Argentina won the match relatively comfortably, with a score of 3–1, thanks to two goals from Tevez and one from Higuaín, with Hernández only managing to reduce the deficit for the Mexicans in the 71st minute. But in the quarterfinals, Argentina came up against the first truly well-organized team — Germany. In the Cape Town match, the gaping hole left on the left sideby Maradona’s choice to use Otamendi as a left back proved to be a fatal weakness against a serious opponent. Germany won 4–0, even more easily than the scoreline suggests, and with that, Argentina’s journey at the South African World Cup — and Maradona’s tenure as national coach — came to an end.
Later, Maradona took charge of Al-Wasl and Fujairah in the United Arab Emirates, Dorados in Mexico, and finally, up until the end of his life, Gimnasia de La Plata in Argentina. While he showed signs of improvement in his coaching abilities, he never achieved a truly remarkable result.
The Farewell
In the final years of his life, Maradona’s health deteriorated, mostly due to heart-related conditions, although he never truly abandoned his substance abuse, including drugs and alcohol. He was under constant medical supervision, especially after an incident on November 2nd, 2020. Finally, on November 25th, 2020, he was found dead at his home, due to heart failure that led to pulmonary edema.
The news of Maradona’s death sent shockwaves across the globe. Despite the global restrictions due to the Covid-19 pandemic, the outpouring of grief — and of love — for the great No. 10 who had graced the football pitches and the lives of billions of people, was immense. The largest tributes and public mourning took place in Argentina and Naples, with the Spanish Quarter of the Italian city becoming a permanent site of pilgrimage from that day forward. The San Paolo stadium was renamed Diego Armando Maradona, as was the stadium of Argentinos Juniors in El Paternal, along with many other venues — clubs with which Diego had connected in one way or another.
The President of Argentina, Alberto Fernández, declared three days of national mourning. The stadiums that hosted matches resembled funeral rites — not only because the stands were empty due to the pandemic, but because they were also “dressed in mourning” for the occasion. Among the many “small” tributes, one stood out for its emotional resonance: the gesture by Argentine Ajax player Nicolás Tagliafico, who performed his warm-up to the sound of “Live is Life”, dancing in the same way Diego had enjoyed the moment back in Stuttgart, 1989.
As for the recognition from officials and leaders, heads of state from countless countries sent their condolences to his family, while FIFA limited itself to suggesting a minute of silence in matches around the world.
Para el pueblo lo mejor
In looking back on the life of Maradona, trying to unravel the thread of footballing memories he left behind — memories that made him into a popular hero — it becomes quite difficult to fully emphasize the ideological mark he often left with his stance on social and political matters. His departure from dictatorial Argentina was perhaps only the first sign of this stance.
Maradona, a child of the people, and naturally without academic education, never forgot his roots. This awareness — the understanding of himself as a representative of the poor — coupled with the richness of his life experiences, which far exceeded what any one person might live through in a lifetime (or ten), meant that his actions had enormous impact, and that many of his statements hit the mark, especially when it came to highlighting the brutally unjust system in which the people of this world are forced to live.
One of his most consistent positions was his support for movements and governments in Latin America that were not guided by the United States. Regardless of the trajectory of each administration, liberation from American imperialism in South America was, for him, a defining criterion in distinguishing a true national leader from a common traitor.
Inspired by his fellow countryman Che Guevara, whom he referenced constantly and whose portrait he bore tattooedon his left arm, Maradona developed deep ties with Fidel Castro and socialist Cuba. He was furious about the way Che Guevara is represented in Argentina — something one can easily perceive when engaging with the Argentine people, a people who, in his eyes, have reason to self-reflect on the things they still do not fully understand, even in their recent history.
It is telling that, before the 1994 World Cup in the United States, he visited Castro in a symbolic act, during one of Cuba’s most difficult moments, following the fall of the Soviet Union and the intensification of American imperialist aggression. He spoke out against the embargo and praised the country’s healthcare system, which had welcomed him and offered its services when nowhere else could he find a solution to his struggles with addiction.
In the same spirit — supporting South American governments free from U.S. influence — he would later develop ties with Hugo Chávez and Evo Morales.
On the contrary, he never held his tongue when he met the powerful of this world. During a visit to the Vatican in 2000, he publicly turned and asked Pope John Paul why the Catholic Church had all that gold on the ceilings of the Vatican’s churches and didn’t sell it to feed the poor. The Catholic Church, deeply entangled in Argentina’s political history—supporting the military dictatorship and being one of the main opponents of Perón—was always a red rag to Maradona. Regardless of whether he believed in a metaphysical entity, as he often seemed to “speak to the heavens” during public appearances, either in the stands or on the pitch, he never became an ally of the Roman Catholic Church’s work in his country—a country that also happens to be the homeland of another Pope, a supporter of San Lorenzo, for what that’s worth.
His public statements and his rift with FIFA made his name part of a culture much broader than football. In Argentina, a number of bands—most notably Los Piojos and Ratones Paranoicos—wrote songs in his honor, reflecting not so much what he did, but how people felt because of what he did. Rodrigo wrote La Mano De Dios, which essentially tells the story of Diego’s life in just two verses—a song that Maradona himself would often sing through tears, and which became a unique football anthem in Argentina. Mano Negra wrote La Vida Tómbola, which captures exactly how every one of the world’s downtrodden would want to be Maradona, just to do the exact same things Diego did.
The Metaphysical
From the metaphysical dimension of Diego, one chapter couldn’t be missing—one that was written after his death. Since 1993—before Diego’s last appearance in national colors—Argentina had not won a single title, neither in the Copa América nor, of course, in the World Cup. The first major tournament after his passing was the 2021 Copa América, hosted in Brazil. There, Messi, as the earthly continuation of Diego’s mission, at the twilight of his career and after many heartbreaks with the national team, managed to win his first title with the Albiceleste, defeating in the final the most classic football derby on the international stage—at the Maracanã, against Brazil.
One year later, Argentina won the Finalissima, thrashing European champions Italy 3–0. A few months after that, at the autumn World Cup in Qatar, on Gonzalo Montiel’s final penalty, Messi whispered, “Diego, with you from here to the sky,” just before an entire nation erupted—a nation that was singing about Diego, who, together with his parents Don Diego and Doña Tota, was pushing the new generation toward redemption. In 2023, the Copa América triumph was repeated, with Argentina becoming once again the national team with the most titles in world football. The blend of Menottism and Bilardism has become a unified national culture, and Argentine football is once again recovering what it lost through a long and tumultuous 20th century—before and after Diego.
Beyond football, within human societies—from Buenos Aires to Villa Fiorito to Naples—Maradona emerged as a figure of metaphysical magnitude. El Pelusa became the very embodiment of football, which on a global scale is the violent eruption of the poor into the heavens of this world—the exclusive right of street urchins to transform into stars that illuminate the dreams and hopes of the world’s people. This fusion—of the popular, rogue figure with the traits of divinity—was necessary for Diego to fulfill—and to continue fulfilling, even after death, for all eternity—the prophecy of Borocotó: “If ever that monument is built, many of us will tip our hats before it, just as we do in church.”
Para el pueblo, lo mejor, Diego Armando Maradó.
