Diego Maradona died on November 25. But the man we loved so deeply had died a long time ago, long before the heart attack finally put him at rest.
Sporting greatness for the committed fans is nothing but slivers of memories of their heroes overcoming all odds to win or at least go down after a good fight. That every memory of Maradona’s brilliance harks back to the time 34 years ago when he dazzled the world with his artistry, tells the story of a script that had long run its course. On June 29, 1986 at the Stadio Azteca in Mexico City with over 110,000 people watching, 11 disciplined Germans drilled to perfection by Franz Beckenbauer couldn't stop the explosion of sheer talent that Maradona had unleashed on the tournament leading to Argentina’s last World Cup victory.
But after that soul-uplifting show came the disappointment of 1994. By then Maradona had got more chances than most men. His handballs had been ignored, other little acts of cheating glossed over. At Napoli and later in Sevilla he had subjected his body to torturous substance abuse. Walking out of clubs, showing up unfit for games, and generally treating coaches and managers with contempt, he had been let off again and again by a supine footballing establishment. Maybe they were just too scared. How do you call out the god of football, tell him he has gone one foul too far.
So he was allowed one more shot at redemption on the biggest stage of them all, the 1994 World Cup in the United States. When he appeared noticeably fitter and then proceeded to put on another show of his sublime skills in the first two games, all was temporarily forgiven.
Then came the drug test that everyone in the Argentinian camp must have always dreaded. They knew that Maradona had never really cleaned up his act. The result was a formality and he was thrown out of the game, this time for keeps. There were to be no comebacks.
With that ended the collective dream we had all shared ever since that day in 1977 when the young boy from the shantytown on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, made his debut. The 1994 World Cup was a cruel swan song for Maradona, showing the seamier side of el pibe de oro (the golden boy). It was also a cross we would all have to bear. The 26 years since then did little to erase the pain of that great betrayal.
It is the nature of sporting geniuses that they frustrate and delight us in equal measure. Think Bobby Fischer and Mike Tyson, legends both, but also great disappointments. We loved them passionately and intensely and in turn they enriched our lives with their magic. Watching them display their divine skills was, for those moments, the closest many of us came to believing in god. The Maradona feint had that ethereal quality which so many prayers invoke. Miracles don't just involve loaves or slaying demons. On the field or in the boxing ring, they take on more real forms.
Yet the reality of Maradona's fall from grace can't be ignored amidst the clamour of obituaries praising his myriad skills.
Great athletes become even greater when they accept that they are not invincible and when they acknowledge their debt to their predecessors and when they know it is time to pass on the baton. By trashing Pele, a three time winner of the World Cup that he lifted only once, Maradona lowered himself in our eyes and showed us that he wasn’t above petty jealousy.
Yes, he was a gift to the game but football gave him what millions of little boys and girls in the bustees of Kolkata and the favelas of Rio can only dream of. Much like Tyson he just couldn’t handle the adulation and the enormous wealth that came his way. Which is why his legacy will be that of a flawed genius, a great who could have been even greater had he been able to curb the urge to be the greatest. For no man can lay claim to that.
Sundeep Khanna is a senior journalist. Views are personal.
Discover the latest Business News, Sensex, and Nifty updates. Obtain Personal Finance insights, tax queries, and expert opinions on Moneycontrol or download the Moneycontrol App to stay updated!
