Faith in Maradona is growing in Argentina. You can almost hear it, in the plazas, in the streets, the rustle as its roots work their way down into people’s hearts.
The conversations on the buses and the subway have changed in timbre. Momentum is shifting. Before the World Cup all was reservation and pessimism. The easiest way to get an Argentine talking is to bring up football, and taxi drivers, waiters, hairdressers, were all saying the same thing. “I hope we go well, but… I’m just not sure about Maradona.”
Don’t get the wrong idea. People still adore him. In a contest with Peron and Che Guevara as to who is the biggest national hero, you would back the little master to round his opponents with twinkling feet and beat them to the goal-line. And there’s certainly no disillusionment with football. Argentines live and breathe the sport, and truly it seems the only thing of genuine national importance. But don’t confuse this fixation with blind love or blind faith. They’re no mindless cheer squad. They’re realists, and fear their vulnerability, knowing as they do that their hope and happiness is pinned on whether or not this team, this time, will achieve the dream.
So while the adoration for Maradona the player and Cup-winning captain will never dim, the assessment of Maradona the coach had no rose-tint about it whatsoever. Perhaps with good reason, it seemed. Great players often prove not to be great strategists, and Maradona’s rich history of personal problems – obesity, drug addiction, illegitimate children, increasingly erratic public behaviour – hardly instilled faith in him as a stable leader.
When he took over halfway through last year’s faltering World Cup qualifying campaign, a string of losses including an astonishing 6-1 to lowly Bolivia saw them on the brink of missing the World Cup for only the second time in eighty years. Media and public opinion were overwhelmingly negative. Maradona was a loose cannon, untested, inexperienced. Veron was past it. Palermo was a hack. Tevez was undisciplined and overrated. Riquelme was missing and Maradona was to blame. Messi was selfish, unreliable, performed for his club but didn’t care about his country.
Argentina eventually scraped through, with redemption for another black sheep, the aforementioned Martín Palermo. After a decade of exile from the national squad for famously missing three penalties in a Copa America game, Palermo was controversially brought back by Maradona, and found himself in the right place at the right time to squelch in a 93rd minute winner against Peru in a match so rain-soaked it was nearly reclassified as water polo.
Yet despite their struggles to reach the tournament, there is something about Maradona’s team now they’re here. They’re happy. They’re functional. Their play seems smooth, natural, with rhythm and flow. They look like they belong together. In comparison, each of the other major teams has been stiff and awkward, yet to hit their stride. France and Italy were positively arthritic on their way to early exits. A star-studded but sputtering England was lucky to progress and was swiftly shown up. Favourites Spain scraped through, shown up by a vibrant Chilean outfit. Germany has been clinical against mistakes, but laboured against Serbia and Ghana. Portugal enjoyed a romp against North Korea but failed to score in three other games. Even Brazil just scraped by Kim Jong-Il’s finest, and while they’ve done enough to progress, haven’t looked like the team of legend.
Argentina, on the other hand, haven’t missed a beat. It must be said that Maradona’s changes are working. Higuain netted a hat-trick against South Korea. Palermo made his World Cup debut as a 36-year-old substitute, and within eight minutes had scored the match-sealing goal against Greece. Tevez was omitted for that game but promptly came back with two goals against Mexico. Instead of treating Messi like an erratic genius, Maradona has placed faith in him, demanding the players give Messi the ball, and making him Argentina’s youngest-ever captain when Mascherano missed the Greece game. Messi has responded with determination, maturity, and player-of-the-tournament form.
Public confidence has taken a while to match the team’s achievements. The group games, against comparatively modest opposition, were treated with caution and then relief. And despite three wins, the atmosphere before the Mexico game was rich with anxiety. All around town, confronted with my cheery optimism, people shook their heads grimly. “No, careful of Mexico. Ojala. Remember the last World Cup.” For a while I said nothing, before finally pointing out to a guy at a burger stand that Argentina had in fact won that game. “Yes,” he said, fingernails pressing white against the counter, “but only 2-1. It was a close-run thing.”
The 2010 edition proves to be anything but. Argentina plays with the same confidence and verve as the group stage, against a genuine quality side. Messi prowls around the D like a diminutive alpha predator. Tevez fiercely devours the scraps. A late consolation to the Mexicans only disguises how fully they were dominated. And almost immediately, you can feel the change in mood. Three wins could have been luck. After four, everyone is finally onside.
The conversations are tinged with jubilation, not relief, because watching this team play is joyous. The beautiful football that Maradona demanded has arrived, and it’s working. On my way home I pass the burger guy. Germany up next, I say. Could be interesting? “Oh, I’m not worried about Germany,” he grins at me. “We’ll take care of them.” There is something about Diego Maradona’s Argentina. And it seems that even Argentina is starting to believe it.
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