My first memory of the great game I grew up affectionately knowing as football was the Mexico 86 World Cup finals. As an air of nostalgia comes pouring over me I fondly remember watching that tournament in the less-than-glamorous surroundings of Pontin’s Holiday Camp in Camber Sands on the southern coast of England. My family wasn’t the richest, but we made the most of our holidays away. As a young and impressionable 9-year old, I spent the whole trip either transfixed to the small 20” TV or was outside pretending to play like the Superstar players on the tele, beating my then 6-year old brother.
Being a proud Englishman, I supported the Three Lions with all my heart, but to be honest they were an average side at best. They struggled to deal with the searing Mexican heat, eventually losing to Argentina (I will come back to that later). But the ’86 World Cup was all about one player to be honest, and turned out to be the first real emergence of quite simply the best player I have ever seen play – a gifted 25-year old Argentine Superstar, Diego Maradona.
I watched every game that summer – I didn’t miss a kick. I was truly amazed by the incredible skills and sheer entertainment the Cup brought me. The tournament will always be remembered as “Maradona’s World Cup”, as he basically won it single-handedly with some of the greatest personal performances I have seen at any level of football, let alone at the very highest grade of the game, to this day. Maradona was awesome to watch – he could turn, twist, dance around defenders like a ballerina. He would use his pace to glide past opponents as if they were statues, by-standers to his show. And what was amazing was how effortless he made everything look. I was truly mesmerized by him, as you likely were too.
Maradona shaped my fledging football career as a kid. I would watch him over and over again, rewinding and rewinding the vhs video tapes to learn as much as I could. I played in midfield, just like him. I loved taking on defenders like he did, being diminutive just like the great man himself. I would love making fools of bigger and more clumsy players. I just dreamt of one day being like my footballing hero, but sadly for me it never happened.
As the tournament progressed, the quarter finals came around with Argentina set to battle England. My hero playing against my home country. It was a tough choice for such a young lad, with England eventually winning that battle. The game itself will always be remembered for the “Hand of God” goal scored by Maradona, that to this day is hard to fathom how the ref couldn’t see a 5 foot nothing beating a 6 foot plus keeper in the air. As much as the first goal was controversial one, the second was just a breathtaking piece of individual brilliance. After Maradona received the ball inside his own half, he glided past the shell-shocked English defenders one by one before calmly dribbling around a hapless Peter Shilton, rolling the ball into the empty net. This was rightly called ”The goal of the century” as it had everything. I remember vividly my heart beating like a drum with excitement after watching a pure footballing genius performing magic tricks right in front of my very eyes. It was immediately engrained into my psyche, never to be forgotten.
After scoring twice more in the Semi-final vs Belgium, and yet another quite brilliant performance, his legacy in World Cup history was made for years to come. The last day of my holiday was the day of the final. While normally I would be sad to be going home again, but how could I be this time when Diego Maradona, my first real idol, was going to be playing on Football’s greatest stage?
West Germany were the opponents in the final in what was a tightly contested affair, with Maradona being very much manhandled. Very tough German tackling kept him a little quiet, but after the boys from South America took a 2-nil lead I thought it was over. What did I know though? The European team hit back, 2-2 – I was in disbelief. Would my hero be beaten on the greatest stage of all? Surely not. This wasn’t in the script, not my script! In the 84th, Maradona produced a superb defence-splitting pass, putting Burruchaga through on goal. He coolly slotted into the net making Argentina the Champions of the World.
To this day I still remember Mexico ’86 as being very special, and in spite of the passing years I still have such happy memories from this great tournament, which began forging my love for this beautiful game that has never dwindled in over 30 years. So for that, I thank you Diego Maradona, my first hero. You truly are a football God.
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