Maradona is dead. But it almost doesn’t matter because Maradona had been gone many years ago. He had become a parody, a meme only waiting for the biological fact to free him from the heavy burden that had made him unhappy. And lonely, as much as he has always been surrounded by people, many people, who milked the person and the myth without having to endure the arcade for what they were doing. Some did, yes, but the “10” was also allowed to do.
Although it is clear that in his later years nothing worked in his head. He had become a wimp who was seated on a throne to pretend that he was a coach, who was allowed to stand in front of a microphone without being able to speak a word or who was cheered to continue drinking shots of vodka for the whole planet to enjoy from various angles of how life was gambled in a VIP box at the World Cup in Russia while on the verge of an alcoholic coma. That he ended up training El Dorados de Sinaloa given the Argentine’s tense relationship with cocaine and his past with the Neapolitan Camorra already gave a clue as to where everything was going.
You only have to watch the home videos that your friends filtered to realize that all the people who once loved the “Ten” for what he was and not for what he had and could give them had stepped aside leaving him alone before his destination. His death is supposed to end all this, but it will not. It touches the distribution of the inheritance and attend the spectacle of the exit of the sewers of all class of vermin attracted by the rot.
In spite of everything, Maradona’s death does close something: the last stage of classical football, in which the sport still had something to say about the business. And that the “Pelusa” does not stop being one of the architects of this modern football that we have had to live in which the tunnels that lead from the changing rooms to the grass smell more of makeup and hairdressing than sweat, let alone than blood. Diego Armando was together with Jorge Cyterszpiler, his first agent and who ended up jumping out of a window after another life of riot and coca, a pioneer in turning the player into a company and billing for advertising, events, private shows … The same as Messi, CR7, but with the newly carded perm and a disco revival as the soundtrack. Then Guillermo Cóppola would arrive, and in parallel his love-hate story with Claudia Villafañe, his illegitimate children … The truth is that everything that surrounded the star makes for a good series. The image of Maradona that will remain for the generations that did not see him play will be the last. Law of life. Those who enjoyed it in action will say it was the best of all time. An always subjective choice since one tends to think that there was nothing better and better than what one experienced in his youth. But the footballer Maradona cannot be denied that he did things that will never be seen again on the sidelines of the World Cup of his iconic goal against England and everything that he meant by his background: the Falklands, Margaret Thatcher, the wounds of the military dictatorship. ..
Nobody will be able to make a village team like Naples champion again. It was the revenge of southern Italy against the North. The victory of the lousy peasants over the industrial gigolos. Until Maradona arrived at Napoli fleeing from Barça, only Gigi Riva’s Cagliari had won a Scudetto for the depressed and humiliated South. Hence, it continues to be an icon in Naples. So much so, that in the World Cup in Italy many Neapolitans chose side and sided with Argentina before the Italian team in which the Sicilian Totò Schillaci shone. Maradona eliminated Italy and reached the final. And there began its decline: Rome does not pay traitors and no one covered its problems. The positive for coca arrived and the downhill to which his death has ended.
Life, like football, goes on, although in Argentina there are those who say that the ball game has died with “D10S”. Joining the cries and exuberance in adjectives of the porteños is up to the consumer’s taste. To think that the English defenders who suffered it keep waking up every night sweating and yelling “stop it, stop it”, too. But that door that separates that football from the current one, and of which Maradona was its main hinge, has been closed forever. Only memories remain like the foreboding story by Víctor Hugo Morales, which you can always go to when you forget what Diego was one day: “Thank you God for football, for Maradona, for these tears …”.