Diego Maradona dies.

 Diego Maradona dies.

Diego Maradona defied categorisation or classification. Undoubtedly though Maradona was, by common consent, one of the greatest footballing talents the world has ever seen. Comparisons made with his peers are open to debate but Maradona, for all the troubles and excruciatingly painful traumas in his private life, was one of the game's pre-eminent entertainers, an often spectacularly talented player whose delightful ball control at close quarters, remarkable dribbling skills that took out entire defences within seconds and fleet of foot daintiness on the ball when in possession will never ever be forgotten. 

Yesterday Maradona tragically died at the age of 60, no age at all of course but sadly all of that showmanship and flamboyance disguised an inner torment, a chronic insecurity which manifested itself in outrageous displays of eccentricity. We may never know how much more he had to give the game he'd decorated so magically because, until quite recently, he was still wrestling with drug addiction, innumerable other vices, drink and the kind of irrational behaviour that somehow becomes a flawed genius. 

The trouble with Maradona perhaps was that he was indeed a free spirit, an independent thinker, totally nonconformist, a rebellious individualist who never did as he was told. From a very early age the young Maradona was the outstandingly gifted kid in the playground who just wanted to express himself at every opportunity. He would embark on one of those weaving, twisting, darting runs, dropping his shoulders deceptively, then running at defenders with that trademark low centre of gravity. 

It must have been readily apparent when, as a youngster at his first club Boca Juniors, one of the most esteemed giants at Argentinian club football level, that Maradona was destined for greatness. He would flick the ball onto his instep before juggling the ball on his back and shoulder and then indulge in a hypnotic session of keepie puppies at least a thousand times. A star was born. 

By the time he was 20 Maradona had become established himself as a world-class ball-player, a foraging schemer in the middle of the park capable of swaying and swerving past defenders as if the men in front of him were figments of our imagination. There was something of the bohemian spirit about Maradona, a young man who had become besotted with the ball, fascinated with its playfulness, its whimsicalities, its moods, its limitless potentialities. Besides, Maradona had been given the freedom to make a football do exactly as he pleased. He couldn't make it talk but he could influence a game when he had possession of it. 

Inevitably international football came calling and when Maradonna was called up by Argentina there could be no stopping this impish whirlwind, this force of nature, this intoxicating bundle of joy, a whirling dervish of a player, gliding gracefully across a pitch as if generated by some electrical mechanism. Of course Maradonna was selfish at times and the unpredictability was perhaps part of his charm. But he had innate style, an ingenious footballing brain, an intuition that other players must have envied, a knowledge of the game that was incomparable and a geographical picture of the game around him. 

Because the Argentinian had a theatricality and eloquence about his game that others must have longed to inherit. He could be here, there and everywhere, buzzing and scampering after the ball, ubiquitous, always available for the short pass and demanding the ball when there was a yawning gap in the opposing defence. He could create openings at the drop of a hat and then bounce off defenders as if they were just fragile obstacles in his way. He was unstoppable, incomparable, an astonishing technician, gambling, challenging, questioning, pestering, troublesome, damaging and quite the most thrilling sight, a bubbly boulevardier, a man about town, always fashionable but then crushed by sleazy temptations. 

In one of his first appearances in England, a young Maradona faced England at Wembley in 1980. The South American swaggerers lost on a sultry evening at the old Wembley but the proclamation had been made. Maradona had announced himself on the international stage and, from time to time, just perplexed and bamboozled the England defence with a wide variety of trickery, sorcery and chicanery. 

Eight years later in the Mexico World Cup Maradona would leave most of England boiling over with righteous indignation, blowing its top and ready to let loose their frustrations on him when next he trod on British soil. England met Argentina at the quarter-final stage in a precursor to many more confrontations against each other. It would prove the one pivotal moment in the 1986 World Cup, the moment England departed the competition because of underhand tactics, shameful cheating and almost criminal activity. 

A loose ball in the England penalty area bounced up awkwardly into the air and Maradona, with the most desperate lunge, threw out the palm of his hand and pawed the ball into the net quite openly. The England goalkeeper Peter Shilton, the first hand witness to this ludicrous violation, raced out to the referee accompanied by the whole of a fiercely protesting England team. Maradona had got away with it, pulling the wool over everybody's eyes, hoodwinking everybody with the look that suggested he was perfectly innocent and butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth. 

Thankfully it was the one incident that wouldn't overshadow the rest of the proceedings. Picking up the ball on the half way line, Maradona drove powerfully through a forest of English legs, beat at least five or six players in his wake, with Peter Reid and Terry Fenwick, being the most unfortunate victims. Maradona then picked off his last defender before drawing Shilton out of his goal and gently slipping the ball into the net. It was a solo goal of preposterous beauty. It was the winning, decisive goal despite a late English consolation goal. Argentina would go on to win the World Cup in quite the most triumphant fashion.

It had been 20 years before that Argentina had resorted to the brutal and barbaric tactics perpetrated in the World Cup held in England. The rough house approach and ferociously illicit tackling committed by the likes of Antonio Rattin resulted in Rattin being sent off, all hell breaking loose, Pele being kicked out of the tournament and Argentina going home from England in disgrace. 

But then there was Diego Maradona who made Argentian forget their tortured past, a player of breathtaking artistry, ground-breaking innovation and stunning pace. Maradona had taken football back to the street, a street poet, an art installation, the personification of footballing brilliance and sparkling virtuosity. He was the one man who lifted the mood of a nation that had suffered terrible military oppression during the 1978 World Cup in Argentina when the junta had almost broken the country. 

Towards the end of his career Maradona would enjoy further club success with a great Barcelona side and then travel to Italy with Serie A club Napoli where hero-worship would become almost fanatical. Then there would be the wilderness years when age withered him and the drugs he'd been taking quite brazenly, would take their toll. The now distressingly overweight Maradona would continue his eating binges and eventually the body could take no more. 

Yesterday, that other Argentinian magician Lionel Messi paid his respects to his celebrated predecessor, a far more sensible and respectable figure with none of the self-destructiveness of the man he must have idolised. Diego Maradona had lived his life to the full, burnt too many candles and metaphorically fallen off a cliff. Those mad, drug-addled staring eyes with which the man fixed  a TV camera against Greece will now haunt every football supporter who recognises genius when they see it. Of course Maradonna was an exceptionally gifted footballer. But we have to forget the darker side of his character because this is not the way he would have wanted to be remembered. Let's recall the good days Diego.