We all have moments that we cherish as Football fans, snapshots that stay with you.Falcao’s dummy against Italy in 1982 is a classic, or the George Best goal in America where he destroys anyone who comes near him, defenders thrown around like crash test dummies, Mickey T slotting away that free kick against Arsenal, and of course Stevie Watkins winner.
Diego Maradona in the 1986 World Cup was unplayable. I was aware of him and the Cymru connection with Y Wladfa (Patagonia), so naturally Argentina was my side in that tournament, and I was proud of the association with Y Wladfa.
Here in Wrecsam we idolised him, we sang his name on the kop alot in those years, and we sang ‘Argentina Argentina’! All because we loved Diego the man,his ability, his rebelliousness and his fire. Not to mention the single handed dismantling of England, which of course endeared him even more. This man was a God, he was an element, like lightning or thunder. It was like the ball was one with his body, he mastered it and then he mastered his surroundings. Poetry in motion.
Great players control time, but Maradona moved through time.He increased his tempo and intensity when he moved to Italy, revised his game and literally conquered the league. The manoeuvres he executed at speed were impossible at any pace for most, and if you watched him on the ball his rhythm was everything. Balance, finesse,chicanery, the whole deal.
The majority of Football that we encounter is dour, uninspiring and curmudgeonly. Expressions like ‘hoof it’ and ‘clean sheet’ have become cliches because that mentality is deeply embedded in the psyche, the very idea of ‘retaining possession’ sounds nice, but at most levels the reality of ‘get rid’ and ‘clear
your lines’ are the bog standard mantra throughout. Maybe these days you see more Football ie played on the grass, but certainly in the mid 80s, most Footy was dreadful, another reason why Maradona was like an alien from another planet, nevermind another continent. He was a working class boy who had the entire world at his feet.
If you ever get a chance to look at some of the games in Mexico, just watch how the Belgian players are mesmerised by him, the Italians are baffled and the English couldnt even foul him to stop him!, he was that good. It was truly one of those moments when all the stars aligned and a man at the peak of his powers took to the stage and had the opportunity to showcase his mercurial talents in front of the world. I sat through the entire tournament waiting for Argentina games, then anticipating him touching the ball, what will he do next? How did he do that? And what can’t this fella do? The answer was nothing, he had everything at his disposal. I would turn the telly off and daydream about Diego, revisiting moves and runs he’d made, trying to see what he was doing off the ball. The final of the Mexico 86 World Cup was forgettable, but the killer pass for the winning goal was delivered with the deftest most incisive of touches you can imagine, receiving the ball in a crowded midfield , he adjusted his body quickly and cushioned a pass directly into the path of Jorge Burruchaga to score the winner. Class, and clinical.
Some magic fairy dust has been sprinkled on Wrexham at the minute, and that’s what Diego Maradona sprinkled on my childhood, that bit of magic and a belief in the audacity of creativity amid the forces of boring.
An inspiration to be yourself no matter what.
Diolch Diego x
AntiFascist Football 