EULOGY FOR A CLAY GOD
Why Maradona is more than a soccer legend
“Se murió Maradona, che!” said César, a Nicaraguan carpenter working at my home in Houston the Wednesday of Thanksgiving week.
That day our morning talk over coffee got a bit more sentimental for me, as I struggled to describe what this soccer legend meant for us, Argentinians, and — carried away by the moment — for the rest of the world. He was far more than a sports figure. He was a symbol for those snubbed by society and among the first real global celebrities. I questioned so much about his behavior, but I can’t help but feel awe by the global outpouring of love for him and a sort of sinking feeling by the relative silence locally.
First, let’s acknowledge that Diego Maradona was indeed one of the greatest players of the history of the game, with a career that included championships in Europe, unanimous peer recognition and the dream of any soccer player: a FIFA World Cup in Mexico in 1986 (and almost a second one in Italy four years later). His talent with the ball, often compared to ballet, was otherworldly, a constant display of ingenuity and passion. His attitude in the field was always defiant and brave, bringing the feeling of a hero’s journey to the drama of the match.
Yet, the world didn’t just mourn a sportsman. How can the death of a 60-year-old former soccer player, who peaked more than three decades ago, provoke the reactions we saw around the globe?
From Argentina to as far as East Timor, clubs remembered the idol in different ways: Champions League clubs observed a minute’s silence before kick-off, Ecuadorian teams did so at minute 10 (Maradon’s number) and SSC Napoli — where Maradona became an international star — renamed its San Paolo stadium to Diego Armando Maradona, just to name a few examples. The current elite of soccer either tweeted their respects — Cristiano Ronaldo, Didier Drogba, Gary Lineker — or showed them in the field as did Lionel Messi and Neymar. Major newspapers and magazines put the news on their cover, with some notable exceptions including this paper, which I will come back to. The Guardian even devoted half of it, right above the second most important news of that day, “Biggest UK slump in 300 years.” The economy might recover, but Diego won’t come back.
Presidents and prime ministers sent their condolences. One could expect that from politicians from small countries always eager to profit from someone else’s popularity, but the 600word letter in which French President Emmanuel Macron praises Maradona’s figure came as a surprise.
The most touching homages, however, were spontaneous. Yes, hundreds of thousands gathered at his funeral in Buenos Aires despite the COVID-19 context. Of course, millions used social media to express their pain for the loss and obsessively describe what Maradona meant for them. I read this girl complaining how her dad would talk non-stop about Maradona and she would escape to the bathroom to avoid it, only to find him waiting at the door when she was out, ready to resume the stories about his idol.
But there are two pictures that really caught my attention. A couple of Argentinians hugging each other, crying disconsolately.
One is wearing a River Plate shirt, the other a Boca Juniors’ shirt. For those who don’t follow the significance of this act, ask yourself, did the Montagues and Capulets comfort each other after the death of their kids? The second picture shows Syrian artist Aziz Asmar standing by his mural of Maradona on the wall of a destroyed home. There’s a Che Guevara revolutionary air in the scene, much more political than sportive: this side of Maradona — generally rejected by the upper and middle classes — struck a chord with people all over the word.
Born in Villa Fiorito, a slum outside Buenos Aires, Maradona would remember how his mother would fake a stomach ache at some meals so there could be enough food for her eight kids. A precocious player, he was facing cameras and signing contracts at an early age. His story is one of overcoming adversities, touching the sun and then succumbing to personal and imposed demons. A Greek tragedy and a biblical passage too, because he also was, throughout his career, a David fighting Goliaths.
In Naples he turned the tables in the Italian League beating the powerful Northern teams and obtaining several championships after a long history of defeats. “I dedicated this triumph to the rich Italy, who thinks Naples is the North of Africa,” he claimed. Neapolitans, already passionate about soccer, went crazy over their new player and saw him as a patron saint of the city. After winning their first scudetto, fans crowded the streets to celebrate. Someone wrote at the entrance of the cemetery: “You don’t know what you missed.”
In the midst of the reconstruction of a post-dictatorship democracy in Argentina, he was specially loved for the joy he brought to millions by defeating the English team in 1986, two years after the country lost the irrational Malvinas/Falklands War against Margaret Thatcher’s Britain. “The most geopolitical match in football history,” according to France’s Macron. In that game Maradona scored an illegal goal with his hand — later he dubbed it “the hand of God” — and also what is considered the goal of the century. Google it, it’s worth your time even if you are not a soccer aficionado.
It must be said the he was hated by many, because no one is a prophet in his own land, and because his rather long list of faux pas — drug abuse, domestic violence, mafia connections, among others — were considered damaging to the reputation of Argentina. “Let me live my life, I never wanted to be an example for anyone” was his defense.
Maradona’s active approach to politics was messy but goodhearted, rooting always for the underdog. Friend of Fidel Castro and close to Hugo Chavez, a self-proclaimed Peronist and adopted Palestinian, he was not shy to express his radical political views. One could say that in this particular sense he was like Muhammad Ali: defiant, outspoken and humorous. But where Ali kept a tight agenda, Maradona’s political interventions spread too thin and failed due to their superficiality, with maybe the exception of his efforts to empower soccer player unions around the world.
He thrived in a more mediadriven era than fellow legend Pelé’s and one less politically correct than what Messi faces today. Maradona was rapidly thrown to the center of the world’s attention and got away with comments like: “When I went to the Vatican and I saw all the gold there I thought ‘these sons of b------ live here and then go about kissing poor kids,’ so I stopped believing,” or “I was banned (from Japan’s hosted 2002 World Cup) even though Americans who dropped the atomic bomb on Japan and (former President of Peru Alberto) Fujimori, who hurt countless Peruvians, are allowed to freely walk the streets of Tokyo.” As the soccer magic faded away, the controversial and sarcastic comments against certain people and institutions started to take over, with consequences for his persona and his career.
Some complex political figures tend to flatten into fashionable heroes, like Che Guevara or Bob Marley, whose ideologies were reduced to empty slogans and their role in history to cool Tshirts. Maradona, however, went from apolitical soccer star to global everyman symbol.
Analyzing the Maradona phenomenon, one feels compelled to ask: Can we separate the work from the artist? Not in this case. Does that mean he’s good or bad? Neither. Maradona was human. Divinely, tragically human, hence the appeal.
While the world was mourning his departure, I noticed the relative indifference in the United States. Don’t get me wrong, it was in the news, but it just wasn’t as mainstream as it was elsewhere. I know the White House is currently busy with some issues, so no surprise there. Both the Houston Dynamo FC and Megan Rapinoe, for example, tweeted about Diego, but rather coldly, if I may. I understand this is not a soccer country, despite many efforts and having the best women’s team in the world. I see how Maradona’s persona, with his excesses and contradictions, is a hard pill to swallow for the average American. My wife confessed to me that when she arrived at Buenos Aires in 2001 to start her study-abroad-year she didn’t know who Maradona was, and I consider her one the most informed and educated people I ever met. I wonder if this country is missing out by not being culturally in sync with the rest of the world, and I’m not only talking about Maradona or even soccer here.
At the same time, there are a lot of people like César the carpenter and myself living in Houston and millions more in the whole United States who were moved by the presence — and now the absence — of the Argentinean soccer legend. A cultural undercurrent that finds its voice not on the cover of newspapers, nor in cold tweets, but in a shared coffee pause.
Maradona was a clay idol with feet of gold. All the damage he caused to himself did not stain what he did to elevate soccer to another level nor diminished the love he earned from millions of people. As he famously put it: “I made mistakes, but the ball remains clean.”