The day I watched Diego Maradona - and the game kicked off when HE wanted it to
Maradona’s home stadium – La Bombonera (the Chocolate Box), nestling among the tango bars and brightly coloured houses by the river – was considered too dangerous a venue for the Boca Juniors match versus Racing (“Rassing”) that I was fortunate to attend. Football can be like war in the region, after all, a Colombian footballer, Andres Escobar, was shot dead following an own goal incident eliminating his team from the World Cup. So, a neutral ground was necessary and, for safety reasons, the instructions were to arrive early and leave well before the end.
At the ground our party was escorted to our seats, which were ceremoniously wiped down for us. There had been a dispute over the start time. The TV Channel wanted an earlier commencement than Maradona, who claimed it would be too hot to kick off at the broadcaster’s hour. Negotiations had ensued and a compromise agreement seemingly reached, but, at the appointed time, no Boca players were to be seen. Eventually they took the field, only for Maradona to run back into the stadium. And, after he had re-emerged and re-tied his bootlace, the clock had ticked round to the time he had nominated.
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