I did not want to go there. I was 17 years old and had never been to a football match. But that afternoon, I found myself at the Azteca Stadium in Mexico City, watching the World Cup quarterfinal between Argentina and England. That day, I witnessed a scene I only fully understood years later.
We had no plans that morning. Then a call came. Some friends of my father had two tickets they couldn’t use and asked if my mother and I were interested. My father was hesitant about sending his ‘princess.’ The Falklands War had ended less than five years prior, and tensions between Argentine and English supporters threatened clashes, which worried him. But my mother didn’t hesitate. This was the World Cup — a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — and she didn’t want me to miss it.
Everything at the Azteca was extraordinary. The noise, colors, and the whole world gathered in one place: fans singing songs from different regions, laughing, wearing colorful outfits, and painting their faces. Once the match started, I didn’t pay much attention to what was happening on the field. I was swaying with the crowd doing the ‘Mexican wave.’ Then Maradona leapt into the air to challenge Shilton for the ball and scored his first goal. That moment felt life-changing.
The people around me began wondering aloud — was it really a goal? Did he score with his head, or was it actually his hand? The English supporters’ loud dissatisfaction was clearly audible. Maradona stated, “It was a little with my head and a little with the hand of God.” Just four minutes later, Maradona’s second goal caused a frenzy and much debate in the stadium. I remember thinking, “This is why people love football.”
