Maradona’s goal washes away game’s many sins
When you despair at modern football just think back to a magical moment in 1986.
The Beautiful Game? Anyone following football lately might not agree.
As the riches on offer have gone into the stratosphere, so the behaviour of those making the big bucks has plummeted in inverse proportion.
Fling yourself to the ground to win a free kick. Clutch your face to get an opponent booked. Intimidate the ref. Throw your toys.
When the cry babies and cheats start doing their thing, it’s more like a bad day in the sand put than an adult sports event.
It’s the same on the sideline. A coach, grazed by a paper dart, goes down ‘‘injured’’. Ballboys play silly buggers when their team is winning to frustrate opponents.
Managers go mental every time a decision goes against them. Crowds hurl abuse, coins and bottles (and darts) at any opponent in range.
These things are not the exception. They happen in great or greater amounts at every game.
In the corridors of power, the men in suits specialise in bungs, bribes and brown envelopes. They rip off the fans and treat the workers like slaves.
Thankfully, we will always have this.
‘‘[Translated from Spanish] Maradona has the ball. He has two behind him. Maradona controls the ball. Goes to the right, the world football genius. He dribbles the third one, and he is going to pass it to Burruchaga. Always Maradona. Genius! Genius! Genius! Ta ta ta ta ta ta. Gooooaaal. Goooooaaaal! I want to cry. Holy God… Love live football! Goalaaaazo! Diego! Maradona! Sorry, I’m going to cry!
‘‘Maradona, in a memorable run, in the best play of all time. What planet did you come from? To leave on the way so many Britains? Argentina 2 England 0. Diego. Diego. Diego Armando Maradona. Thank you God. Thank you for football, for Maradona, for these tears, for this – Argentina 2 England 0.’’
The goal itself, scored in the 1986 World Cup quarter final, is spectacular enough, but commentator Victor Hugo Morales does the impossible – he takes the beautiful and makes it better.
There’s always a danger that an artist or song writer, in adding another brushstroke or note to a masterpiece, succeeds only in diminishing it.
Indeed, in the world of commentary, there’s a school of thought that you should let the pictures do the talking, as Keith Quinn did when All Black John Kirwan scored rugby’s equivalent of Maradona’s goal: ‘‘John Kirwan… (nine seconds pass as Kirwan beats Italy’s whole team)… and what a way to bring up 50 points.’’
Thankfully, Morales missed commentary school the day they gave the ‘‘Less is More’’ lecture, because his words, with Maradona’s pictures, give us a contender for the greatest piece of sports theatre of all time.
Let the pictures do the talking? The words fly from Morales’ mouth as quickly as Maradona shreds England’s defence. Even when he loses his way, as he admits, he improvises as well as Maradona himself.
And Morales’ passion. What would his commentary be without it?
Is the goal any less because it’s scored by one of the great cheats of the sport, a man who only minutes earlier had scored a goal almost as famous with the Hand of God? The player perhaps, but not the goal.
If you were on a desert island and you could have a recording of just one goal to keep you company, then for its brilliance, for the occasion, for the stage, and, crucially, for the commentary, this is that goal.
The goal that represents the beautiful game.