When Zico met Maradona
A Friuli farewell & how Diego brought the show to the showdown
Before reaching the age of ten, my understanding of the male world went as follows: You and your mates wanted to be Diego Maradona, older brothers thought they were Zico, and dads loved Michel Platini.
Two items in our house suggested that Italy’s Serie A was like the Hollywood of Football. First, a match programme from 1984 for a UEFA Cup Winners Cup semi-final first leg. The tie was between Manchester United vs Juventus. The second item was the first football VHS tape I ever owned. HERO: The Official Film of the 1986 World Cup. Its narrator was Michael Caine.
The match programme I scanned as if it was scripture. “Welcome to our visitors”, it said; and on the next page the list of players: Cabrini, Scirea, Gentile, Rossi, Platini and Boniek. What great names! And that kit. Thin black and white stripes, white shorts, white socks. Straightforward and to the point, but elegant. Extremely elegant. You could tell just by their team photo that Juventus were going to the final.
I cannot even guess how many times I watched that VHS tape. Absorbing every frame and every Platini shrug. Studying every Maradona trick, flick and grimace. I listened to Michael Caine like I was listening to the voice of God. And those other names of Preben Elkjaer-Larsen, Michael Laudrup and Karl-Heinz Rummenigge; it was like they were superheroes or better yet, extra-terrestrials.
Maradona, Zico, Platini, Elkjaer, Laudrup, Rummenigge. They all played in Italy. What on earth was going on over there?
