Five years ago, Argentina faced the moment its newsrooms long used as the ultimate hypothetical: “What do we do the day Diego Maradona dies?”
When November 25, 2020 arrived, the world discovered no one was ready.
Diego Armando Maradona — the man who defied death, rewrote football history, mesmerised millions, and lived at a velocity few humans could withstand — died almost alone, under medical care still suspected of being gravely inadequate. The grief that followed was instant, uncontrollable, and all-consuming.
A Nation in Tears
In Argentina, heartbreak poured into the streets. Hundreds of thousands braved a pandemic to bid farewell at the Casa Rosada. Fear of Covid-19 meant nothing — pain eclipsed everything. His funeral was chaos, mirroring the life he lived: tears and riots, chants and clashes, overwhelming love and raw disorder. Many who queued for hours never made it inside.
Years later, the devotion hasn’t faded. Kids who never saw him play idolise him. Murals rise constantly. His goals go viral daily. Naples still treats him like a saint. His “church” in Argentina celebrates “Christmas” on his birthday, October 30. To many, he remains the greatest footballer ever — trophies be damned.
What explains the phenomenon? Four truths help decode the myth.
1. A Career That Bent Reality
Maradona’s supernatural talent was evident from childhood. With Argentinos Juniors’ youth team, Los Cebollitas, he became a halftime attraction — fans came for his ball-juggling wizardry as much as the match.
He arrived at Boca Juniors as a sensation, moved to Barcelona for a world-record fee, and then found footballing immortality at Napoli, transforming a struggling club into champions.
But his legend crystallised in Mexico, 1986.
Five goals, five assists, and 53 fouls survived — the most in a World Cup. He carried an ordinary Argentina to glory through sheer force of will.
The quarterfinal against England remains the most symbolic match in football history. Still grieving from the Falklands/Malvinas War, Argentina found catharsis in two moments etched into global memory:
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“The Hand of God” — mischievous brilliance.
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“The Goal of the Century” — a run that defied physics, language and description.
Victor Hugo Morales’ tearful commentary — “Cosmic kite… what planet did you come from?” — became part of national folklore.
From that moment on, Maradona was no longer just a footballer. He was destiny incarnate.
2. The Hero of the Poor
Maradona’s power went far beyond sport. Born into deep poverty in Villa Fiorito, he never forgot where he came from. His mother often went hungry so her children could eat — a memory that shaped his worldview.
This is why millions saw themselves in him.
He wasn’t a polished megastar; he was one of them: rebellious, furious at injustice, unafraid of the powerful.
Boca Juniors, the club of the working class, and Napoli, the pride of Italy’s impoverished south, embraced him as their savior. With Maradona, the humble could topple the elite — even just for 90 minutes.
3. A Life More Dramatic Than Fiction
No superstar ever lived with greater extremes.
Drugs, mafia ties, explosive controversies, miraculous comebacks — Maradona experienced every shade of human vulnerability. He fought addiction for decades. He feuded with press, clubs, and institutions. He was suspended twice. He nearly died at 39. He fled to Cuba for treatment with help from Fidel Castro.
He was chaotic, contradictory, and intensely human.
Writer Eduardo Galeano captured him perfectly:
“The most human of gods… a dirty God who resembles us.”
And people loved him for exactly that.
4. Charisma That Filled Every Room
Maradona’s presence was electric. He had unmatched charm, sharp wit, and street-smart cunning. When he entered a room, energy shifted. His quotes became cultural jewels:
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“I made mistakes and I paid. But the ball doesn’t get dirty.”
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“They cut off my legs.”
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“The turtle got away from them.”
For many, his charisma mattered as much as his football.
The Question Has an Answer Now
For decades, Argentines wondered: “What do we do when Maradona dies?”
Five years later, the reply is simple:
We remember the genius.
We forgive the flaws.
We laugh at his wit.
We teach new generations who he was — entirely, truthfully, fiercely.
Because there will never be another Diego Armando Maradona.
Not in football. Not in life. Not ever.



















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