I was raised in football and that’s where I grew up. I always had a sense of team spirit, so many of my personal stories become soluble in a collective. Much more so in those days.
It was Mexico in 1986, a country I had never seen before and where I went as a member of the Argentine national football team. There was a World Cup. We were a team that was out of tune in terms of football and had a weak spirit. It looked bad. Plus, it was extremely hot, the altitude was too much for me to live, I was bored to death and the place where I lived was fifth-rate. That was how the best summer of my life began.
We arrived before anyone else, but as fugitives. We escaped the stifling atmosphere in Argentina and a government attempt to replace Bilardo, our coach. Putting distance between us was the way Bilardo chose to discourage the conspirators. But in addition, the group suffered from that kind of mental illness with a very weak profile, but if you don’t treat it, it fades away until you die of nothing. It happens a lot in football. Insecurity grew. Also because, according to Virgilio, “the result validates the facts,” and ours were disastrous.
There was only one consolation: we had time. A mature team took advantage of it to solve the problems with exemplary self-management. We looked like the Parliament of a devastated country. Dozens of meetings, often conflictive and sometimes even violent, were purifying the atmosphere. The coach made good decisions and contributed to emotional strengthening with singular attitudes. The first was helped by his obsession, which kept us in a state of permanent alert. The second was helped by his extravagance. He could break all the patterns by dancing a crazy rock to the thunderous applause of the team. Small, almost childish things that contributed to the good vibe. In addition, an unfortunate episode solved a social problem at its root. Daniel Passarella, captain of the 1978 World Cup, had broken off his relationship with Maradona, captain of the 1986 World Cup. A tension that contaminated coexistence. On the eve of the start of the championship, Passarella suffered from poisoning that forced him to a long hospital stay. Maradona no longer had any interference in acting as a great captain. There are times when the stars align with surprising formulas.
Our first game was against Korea and we went out scared. During the week we had played a game against the youth team of América from Mexico and we started losing. In the second half we could only tie when Bilardo took over as referee. But we beat Korea, we tied the second game against Italy, who were the last world champions and, from then on, we began to feel more secure, more confident, more united. Winning unites.
In the quarterfinals we faced England, in that match that served as revenge for the defeat in Malvinas and that turned Maradona into a new General San Martín. That transformation of Diego from citizen to hero gave the concentration an added sociological interest. His football was magical, but there was not only football in the Maradona phenomenon. We lived with God. The God with the most human weaknesses ever known. A fascinating mix.
Some time later, the English journalist Borney Ronay wrote an article about that legendary Argentina-England game and, about us, he said: “Those players lived in wooden cabins, shaved outdoors, prepared barbecues and jumped like crazy on the bus before the start of the games.” And he ended by asking himself: “How could we lose against those people?” I am going to clarify this for my admired Borney, who exaggerates a bit, something that is in the nature of all prejudices. Although it is true that we lived in a precarious way, glamour is not important to win. That day they were run over by an enlightened Diego, who sensed that that was the perfect moment to go down in history.
Against Germany, in the final, we were a tight-knit team that knew how to play with a genius who was inspired by the best moment of his career. 45 days cannot fit into 800 words. Much less the emotion and fear of the journey as representatives of a country with an exaggerated relationship with football. Looking at it from the current complacency, the questions still cannot be answered: How could it be that in just over a month that fragile group reached the solidity of steel? How did we end up being world champions without playing extra time or taking a penalty? That band of fragile morals that arrived in Mexico, almost 40 years later, is still a group of friends with our corresponding WhatsApp group. As for me, thanks to that experience I have been a little happier every day for the rest of my life. What more can you ask of a summer?