God is dead

I find the premise hard to accept, but to watch Argentina mourn the premature death of Diego Maradona it is the belief of a large part of the country.

I already find it hard to accept that God is somehow involved in politics, in an ethnic race or a certain political party let alone football.

Hard to believe the Queen is Head of the Church and that Pope Francis who I find to be a disagreeable and petty man has anything to do with Higher Representation. It would prove healthier to leave faith out of our temporal quests for power and fame and concentrate just on being kind and charitable with each other.

It would also mean less bloodshed

Getting back to the Golden Kid (“El Pibe de Oro”) in view of the aforementioned adoration things in his troubled life could not end well.

A small stocky boy with an extraordinary talent for owning the ball in the beautiful game does not a deity make but this should not come as a surprise in a country full of paradoxes where the late, very late, wife of also long ago-deceased President Perón is revered in many homes as Santa Evita next to the Heart of Jesus.

But back to Diego.

His passing in the foreign press has been full of praise but none have left out the infamous goal Diego handballed into to net which he quickly attributed to the hand of God, la Mano de Dios. (Calling him God does not come from this but from playing with the number 10: D10s=Dios). That the referee did not see it, that Maradona then quickly went to note a second extraordinary goal dribbling all the way from the midfield does not take away that he cheated.

So 34 years after Mexico 1986 there it is: the flawed triumph of an extraordinary player, a perfect mirror of his life.

The immediate elevation to fame laced with adoration and money was a game changer for the poor kid from the slums; he was doomed out of the gate. Money flowed, women flocked, the entourage grew larger, hungrier and they bought flattery and cocaine. Diego gobbled both.

For a few years he still played like, well, like a god but also started a lifetime slide into addiction leaving his family and old friends in his wake. Sycophants told him that God could do anything and he did. Went to Naples, became a local hero there, only to lose their love after pitching Southern Italians against the North in the 1990 World Cup so Argentina could get ahead. Both Italy and Argentina lost and Maradona was shown a huge sign that read “We love you but we are Italians first”.

He was devastated. After he tested positive for doping he hit back with more hard-partying, more coke and more women and less goals. In 1997 he was arrested in Buenos Aires for cocaine possession and his career was technically over.

He was still a much-beloved figure in his country and around the world. The politicians swept down like vultures to see what they could pick.Fidel offered Cuba as a sanctuary to cure his addiction.Diego stayed 5 years, fixed nothing, drank like a fish, became estranged from his wife and daughters fathered three more children and all round had a whale of a time.(The number of Maradona’s children is still to be determined which will make the fight over his inheritance look like the Games in Ancient Rome).

He left for Argentina with Fidel’s and Che’s tattoos on arms and legs only to fall into the clutches of Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner.

He became a propaganda prop; his presence assured that masses would attend her rallies.

Meanwhile back at the ranch the many women of his past and present life kept feuding and feeding the scandal mill on social media.

They enacted catfights with lots of hair pulling and dreadful name-calling on live TV bringing their offspring into the fray.

His life must’ve been hell.

His death looked like hell too.

President Fernandez (the other Fernandez) saw his opportunity to shine in the hero’s funeral. He declared 3 days of national mourning and a viewing of the casket at the Presidential Palace. Thousands came with no masks, no social distancing. When they closed the lines to people waiting in the streets mayhem ensued. The public tore down barriers, invaded the Palace and threw themselves on the coffin. The police responded with tear gas and rubber bullets, the government’s show aimed at political gain turning into a PR disaster.

Sic transit gloria.