Virus Diary Week 38

WHEN Diego Maradona died this week it felt like a little bit of us died with him. For though we loved Bestie and were mesmerised by the old clips of him turning defenders inside out, they were just that – old clips. Maradona was in his prime when we were in primary school and the chaotic swirl that surrounded him, on and off the pitch, made an indelible impression. So much so, in fact, that a friend of ours took Diego as his confirmation name, almost causing the bishop to trip on his crozier. In 1986, when he guided Argentina to World Cup glory it was an almost perfect moment in football. He’d showed off his incredible skill thoughout the tournament but when he scored that goal with his hand against England it made us understand why football is the best sport of all. It’s the i njustice. The wrong decisions, the “we was robbed!”, the offsides and goals that never were or should have been. The corruption and cheating and bribery. It all adds up to something more than just sport, a metaphor for life itself. Plus we got to laugh our holes off at England. We knew anyway, that had it come to it, Maradona would have scored another like the ‘other’ goal he scored against England in that semi final - the one where he twisted like “a little eel” before ghosting past Terry Fennick and Terry Butcher and skipping round Peter Shilton to slide the ball home. Speed, strength, guile and agility, the greatest goal of all time from arguably the greatest player of all time.

GENIUS Maradona