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Every football-loving child has a World Cup which they remember much more than any other. Usually, it's the one they see between the ages of about 11 and 14. In my case, that means Italia 90: which more or less defined everything I still think and feel about football.
Football purists disdain Italia 90, with good reason. It was astonishingly defensive and tedious: so much so that FIFA changed the laws afterwards, bringing in the backpass law and outlawing the tackle from behind. And changing offside so level now meant onside, not offside.
But that's to ignore that World Cups matter so much because they're not, and have never been, only about football. They're about drama, controversy... and yes, politics. Lots of it. Italia 90 had an absolute bucketful of all that.
This isn't a thread about the tournament itself though. It's about a match I've been remembering again this week, for obvious reasons. The dark heart of the 1990 World Cup; and to my mind, far and away the most significant match of the whole event. Italy v Argentina in Naples.
We English tend to look back and focus on the following night's semi-final in Turin, probably the most beautiful match of the tournament. "If only...", we'll think for the rest of our days, given Argentina had half a team out from the final. And we owed them one, big time.
But we only have that feeling because the hosts didn't go through the previous night. Italy were better than us; Italy would've won a final against a Gazza-less England with plenty to spare. They were one of the best two teams in the world, with a gorgeous, luxurious midfield.
Giannini. Donadoni. Berti. And the almost incomparable Roberto Baggio, whose goal against Czechoslovakia lit up the whole tournament.
But as beautifully as Italy played, there was an obvious Achilles heel throughout their World Cup - which you kind of knew was going to trip them up and send them crashing. They just could not finish their chances.
Against Austria in their opening game, they should've won by at least five - but Vialli and Carnevale fired blanks, and only Toto Schillaci - with Roger Milla, the star of the whole tournament - saved them.
Then they dawdled to an embarrassingly nervy win over a poor US.
Then they dawdled to an embarrassingly nervy win over a poor US.
And even against the Czechs, the opponents had a fine equaliser absurdly disallowed in a game the Azzurri had to win. Had it been a draw, the whole competition would've been thrown into chaos - Italy v West Germany would've loomed as early as the last 8.
Then Uruguay set up a picket fence in the last 16 which had Italian brows increasingly furrowed - until that man Toto smashed it down with... well, how in the world did he do THIS?!
And then Jack Charlton's Ireland gave Italy an astonishingly hard time in the quarter-finals. Nothing ever became Ireland 1990 like the manner of how they exited the World Cup: with immense honour. I'd never seen Franco Baresi look more harried, more alarmed.
To this point, all Italy's games had been played in Rome. Where the atmosphere was just... staggering. Not hostile, you understand; just overwhelmingly loud and full of energy.
"EE-TAL-YAH! EE-TAL-YAH! EE-TAL-YAH!"
It seemed like a stadium from a new, futuristic world.
"EE-TAL-YAH! EE-TAL-YAH! EE-TAL-YAH!"
It seemed like a stadium from a new, futuristic world.
But ever since the controversy involving England in 1966, no host nation has been allowed to play all their matches in their preferred venue. Whoever plotted the 1990 draw could never have thought that the semi-final opponents would be, of all teams, Argentina in Naples.
And why? Because Argentina were expected to win their group... and with one more goal v Romania, they would've done. That would've meant England v Argentina for a second consecutive quarter-final, in Naples too. You don't need to tell this Englishman what would've happened.
Instead, the World Champions - who'd begun the tournament by sensationally losing to 9-man Cameroon, then only survived when Maradona added 'goalkeeper' to his list of celestial-sponsored activities - only got through as a 3rd-placed qualifier.
Argentina were an absolute parody of what they'd been four years earlier. They'd hardly won a game in a whole year; in Buenos Aires, Pagina 12 declared they were like a "fat woman whose lovers will now abandon her".
I really defy anyone to have seen what'd come next. Granted, Brazil had their issues, significant ones, in their group; like Italy, they weren't scoring goals either. But in Turin, they slaughtered their eternal rivals for about an hour, missing chance after chance after chance.
Including - what black voodoo magic was this? - Brazil hitting the same part of the woodwork twice within a few seconds of each other. Maradona was right. God was an Argentinian.
(The video above opens at that incident).
When it happened, I remember thinking to myself "this is one of those days, isn't it? That one game in 100 when Argentina somehow get away with it".
They were helped by - get this - drugging what Branco thought was a Gatorade bottle.
When it happened, I remember thinking to myself "this is one of those days, isn't it? That one game in 100 when Argentina somehow get away with it".
They were helped by - get this - drugging what Branco thought was a Gatorade bottle.
They drugged him with a powerful tranquiliser. Look at the still images in this Spanish article.
https://www.clarin.com/deportes/bidon-branco-segundo-segundo-reconstruccion-escena-polemica-mundial-italia-90_0_HybuSUGS-.html
This was Carlos Bilardo's concept of 'football as war' taken to entirely new lengths.
https://www.clarin.com/deportes/bidon-branco-segundo-segundo-reconstruccion-escena-polemica-mundial-italia-90_0_HybuSUGS-.html
This was Carlos Bilardo's concept of 'football as war' taken to entirely new lengths.
Then, with Brazil beginning to despair of somehow not having put their rivals away, Maradona got the ball in his own half, right in the centre of the pitch.
He dribbled past one. Tore away from another. Moved past another. And four panicking defenders forgot all about Caniggia.
He dribbled past one. Tore away from another. Moved past another. And four panicking defenders forgot all about Caniggia.
Even then, the through ball he played was absurd. He was literally being flattened to the ground as he played it.
Argentina 1 Brazil 0. The cameras focused close up on a beautiful Brazilian woman who'd been full of joy earlier on, but was now in floods of tears.
Then came Yugoslavia - and an appalling performance, bereft of... well, anything really.
Then came Yugoslavia - and an appalling performance, bereft of... well, anything really.
That Yugoslav team remain one of the biggest 'what if's of footballing history. "What if the Balkan war hadn't happened, and Yugoslavia had been allowed to play at Euro 92?"
But on a sweltering day, they were reduced to 10 men. Argentina did... nothing. Nothing at all!
But on a sweltering day, they were reduced to 10 men. Argentina did... nothing. Nothing at all!
It went to penalties. Maradona MISSED. And still, somehow, his country got through regardless.
So the stage was set. Nobody could quite work out how the holders had reached the last four. But they had - and on the eve of the game, Maradona did something he'd never done before. He played with something much, much bigger than himself: which would engulf him.
The North-South divide in Italy has gone on as long as the whole country has existed. Neapolitans, in particular, aren't just the butt of jokes. They've been victims of never-ending discrimination, even hatred. Of racism, quite frankly.
"Welcome to Italy" banners would greet Napoli fans when they ventured north to Milan, Turin or Verona. Maradona is idolised by Neapolitans because he stood up for them, he represented them, he made all of Italy bow before him and his team.
But nemesis was lurking.
But nemesis was lurking.
The day before the game, he appealed to Neapolitans by telling the inconvenient truth.
"For 364 days, you are treated like shit - and now you're expected to support Italy?"
In the peerless All Played Out, @PeteDavies7 described these as "neither wise nor careful words at all".
"For 364 days, you are treated like shit - and now you're expected to support Italy?"
In the peerless All Played Out, @PeteDavies7 described these as "neither wise nor careful words at all".
In that, Davies was both right and wrong. Right, because of what would follow after the semi-final. Wrong, because of its obvious impact on the semi-final.
The atmosphere on the evening of Tuesday July 3 1990 was WEIRD. Dark. Sinister almost.
The atmosphere on the evening of Tuesday July 3 1990 was WEIRD. Dark. Sinister almost.
The home fans just did not know what to do; who to support. Their country, which despised them? Or their idol, who'd lifted them up so often?
The tension in the stadium was like nothing else... and 100% different from the euphoria and joy of Rome. Argentina fed off it.
The tension in the stadium was like nothing else... and 100% different from the euphoria and joy of Rome. Argentina fed off it.
Italy went ahead through a clearly offside goal (it's just that no commentator even noticed it was offside). Then, the eternal Italian (but really, footballing) dilemma. Stick or twist? Defend or go for the throat?
They stuck. They defended. And they paid a very heavy price.
They stuck. They defended. And they paid a very heavy price.
Bizarrely, Azeglio Vicini, their kindly but fallible coach, had left Baggio on the bench, continued to start with Vialli despite him having a stinker of a tournament, and gutted their midfield by not picking Italy's hard man, Carlo Ancelotti.
This played straight into the World Champions' hands. Argentina began to dominate midfield. When they equalised via a terrible blunder from Walter Zenga, it had been coming.
Mentally, psychologically, amid a bizarre atmosphere, Bilardo's men now completely held the initiative. Even belatedly bringing Baggio on could not change that; nor could an Argentinian sending off and all sorts of playacting and nonsense in extra time.
Penalties, again.
Penalties, again.
This was one of the watching world's most vivid, close-up experiences of the immense melodrama of a World Cup penalty shootout. There'd been several of those before... but there was something unique about Italy v Argentina. Something extraordinarily engrossing about it all.
Remember, World Cups aren't about entertainment half as much as they are about DRAMA. That night, we got it, with bells on.
The cameramen panned to locals barely able to watch. Exhaling whenever Italy scored; panicking when Argentina matched them spot kick for spot kick.
The cameramen panned to locals barely able to watch. Exhaling whenever Italy scored; panicking when Argentina matched them spot kick for spot kick.
Just like the following night, it reached 3-3. Just like the following night, the seventh penalty proved decisive.
For Stuart Pearce, read Donadoni. For Bodo Illgner, read Sergio Goycochea... who'd only got into the side when Nery Pumpido broke his leg v the USSR.
For Stuart Pearce, read Donadoni. For Bodo Illgner, read Sergio Goycochea... who'd only got into the side when Nery Pumpido broke his leg v the USSR.
Then, who should step forward but Maradona himself. Who despite his embarrassing failure just 3 days earlier, plunged a stake into the host nation's heart with... given the circumstances, maybe the most brilliantly cocksure penalty I've ever seen.
All that remained was for Aldo Serena to trot at the ball and hit it tamely at Goycoechea... and the unthinkable had happened. To quote Davies: "A beauty of a team had failed. An ugly dog of a team had gone through".
The Argentina players were delirious. How had this happened?!
The Argentina players were delirious. How had this happened?!
Ditto, the Argentinian public. For them, this was the impossible story of a team of streetfighters who just never gave up, never stopped fighting (very often, literally) for their jersey and their country.
Football is all about different perspectives. It's the world's universal language: spoken in many different accents.
Much of the rest of the world was disgusted, appalled.
Much of the rest of the world was disgusted, appalled.
Just as neutrals had piled in behind Italy in 1982 after Schumacher's assault on Battiston, they now did the same behind West Germany.
Before the final, in a stadium packed with dignatories, the great and the good... the Argentina national anthem was whistled heartily.
Before the final, in a stadium packed with dignatories, the great and the good... the Argentina national anthem was whistled heartily.
Maradona's take on all this? "Hijos de puta! Hijos de puta!" ("Sons of bitches"). Spoken on camera in front of billions watching on. His spectacular fall from grace had now begun.
And his team - to my mind, probably the most streetwise, cussed, grizzled, gnarled football team the modern World Cup has ever known - had nothing if not a persecution complex the size of a whole continent.
Their behaviour throughout the final was disgusting. Monstrous.
Their behaviour throughout the final was disgusting. Monstrous.
They offered nothing except kicks, fouls and dives. Their opponents - another cause for "if only" for this Englishman -frankly weren't much better, and the game descended into farce.
It was decided by a ridiculous penalty that wasn't by an inept, out of his depth referee.
It was decided by a ridiculous penalty that wasn't by an inept, out of his depth referee.
But said referee, who'd only been awarded the biggest showpiece in the whole sport because his father-in-law was on the FIFA Referees Committee (!), had already turned down a stonewall German penalty early in the second half.
The right team won the final for sure.
The right team won the final for sure.
Argentinians have claimed the game was 'fixed' ever since. Frankly, the consequences for the whole sport had that side made off with the spoils would've been dire.
FIFA warned Argentina "smarten your act up, or we'll kick you out" - and ever since then, they have.
FIFA warned Argentina "smarten your act up, or we'll kick you out" - and ever since then, they have.
But Diego? He exited the 1990 mundial in tears, sobbing at his 2nd-place medal. And worse: he'd now given the authorities the perfect excuse to move in on him and act against his increasingly bizarre extra-curricular behaviour.
Of course people knew about his cocaine use, his links with the Camorra and so on... Napoli's fixer at the time was none other than the most notorious fixer in Italian football history, Luciano Moggi himself.
And Italy is a profoundly corrupt place where all sorts are allowed until it's no longer convenient to someone powerful. Even Napoli were probably getting seriously fed up with all the baggage Maradona brought with him everywhere: controversy, his entourage, his hangers-on.
So in September 1991, he was banned from the game he loved for 15 months... and when he returned, was so out of shape that he needed to take performance enhancing drugs to get himself in shape for USA 94. We all know what happened next.
Italy v Argentina wasn't just the very heart of the 1990 World Cup. It was the beginning of the end for that night's triumphant captain. His collapse started right there; even, the day before with his comments, however accurate they undoubtedly were.
As a final aside: my parents chose the night of the game to go to an Italian restaurant in London. I warned them beforehand of what could happen - Argentina were like a cat with nine lives - but they'd never seen so many people crying as they did that night.
Italy saw Naples... and died. But so, in the end, did Diego Maradona himself.
cc @AdamBrandon84 @DanEdwardsGoal @JuanG_Arango @HEGS_com @Tim_Vickery @marc_cart @JessieLosch @RobertoRojas97
cc - how could I forget?! - @Vincera90 @nessundormapod
