He was the representative of the people, the voice of the workers and the oppressed • Almost holy, with a swollen chest and a passion that always kisses the clouds • He was a player who will never be forgotten • The sports world will mourn for many days the death of Diego Armando Maradona • Farewell to the greatest footballer many
Maradona.
He was a king
Photography:
action images
The best thing that happened to Argentine football
Photography:
AFP
He was a footballer.
Argentine.
Short.
He was curly.
He was a poor boy from a rainbow family.
Cursed neighborhood.
He was football.
He would treat the ball with reverence.
He would do wonders for him.
He cradles it between his legs and goes to fulfill his destiny on this planet.
He was an alien.
He was unstoppable.
In speech as in dribbling.
He would finish a game with one kick.
He would lose control of a single word.
He conquered in a period of five minutes the filthy gate in history and the pure gate in the diaries.
He was a world in its entirety.
He was a world champion.
And Italian Champion.
Twice.
He was the representative of the people.
The voice of the workers and the oppressed.
He was a saint.
to.
king.
He was a communist.
He adopted the weak and the underprivileged.
Disgusted by the rich and powerful.
Such was he.
In swollen chest.
With tremendous passion.
He was the best thing that happened to Argentine football.
The best thing that happened to Naples.
He was too good.
He raised the head of the people of southern Italy.
He placed Argentina at the top and he did it all almost alone.
It was a dream come true.
He was also drugged.
junkie.
A drinker.
It had a mechanism of self-destruction.
He was like that to escape.
to disappear.
Not to win.
He was loved by his lovers and hated by his haters.
Some hugged him, some choked.
He touched everyone.
He loved football.
Until his last day.
He did not work at it.
He played with it.
He danced it.
Danced in the warm-up as he danced in the game.
He was a culture.
He was an inspiration.
For singers, directors and writers.
For children who dreamed of being like him before they dreamed of flying into space.
With his own feet he opened to people the head and the soul.
With his own feet he changed lives.
He was charismatic.
He was mesmerizing.
exciting.
He was special.
is very.
It cannot be compared to anyone else in the ordinary terms of life.
He was a cosmic kite.
He was a coach.
not the best.
Not the most important.
The main thing he was in football.
The main thing he was.
His presence was necessary.
Its existence was critical.
He was the hope.
The reminder.
The proof that miracles happen.
He was a sorcerer.
He never knew how to behave.
There was a rebellion.
Swim against the current.
bad boy.
He was like that until Wednesday of this week, 6pm, so for the only time in his life he finally acted like everyone else.
Like a human being.
Like a human being.
He did his thing, and left.
And for me?
Argentine son of Argentine parents, he was a lot.
He was an occupation, he was a hobby, he was an education, he was a job, he was a pleasure.
Confirmed.
joy.
He connected me to people.
He was the subject of conversation.
It was reading material.
It was the best viewing material in the world.
I remember how I liked to see his tapes.
Play.
Bouncing.
Speak.
lame.
Falls.
suffering.
Laughs.
I wanted him to represent me.
To connect me to Argentina.
To be part of my identity.
I wanted to be connected with the sense of victory he gave to anyone who dared to follow him in fire and water.
I wore his shirts.
I tattooed him.
I followed his deeds, I wanted his best.
I was for him.
As many in Argentina say these days, I never judged him by what he did for his life, I judged him only by what he did for my life.
And today, more than ever, I understand how much he did.
to me.
To my family.
for everyone.
So thanks Diego. For everything.
