at night and watch 22 fools run after a ball across a 100 yard green field, just for the sake of a trophy. thats what i had thought when papa asked me whether i wanted to watch the final of italia '90. anyways i sat along-with him in our house on salwa road, qatar, to watch the finale being held at stadio olimpico in rome between west germany and argentina. over the years, i had become a soccer fanatic who liked pace in the game, so it was ironical that i started off by watching the final of the 1990 world cup, a tournament which had produced the least number of goals in history. the tournament generated a record low goals-per-game average and a then-record of 16 red cards. most teams relied on defensive play and hard tackling and aggressive intimidation of the referee.
i saw players running all across the field. papa explained to me the rules of the game and how one has to get past the guardian of the fort and score a point. i was waiting and waiting.....
papa also pointed at a stocky player in blue and told me it was maradona and told me he was the greatest. i tried rubbing my eyes and other perky things not to fall asleep. towards the end rudi voller was felled down by the argentinian defender, the mexican referee awarded a penalty and my papa was like, 'how can he do that for a final, that too, with just 5 minutes remaining?' andreas brehme didnt miss it. the following celebration was the only bright spot in the whole game for me.
but, what touched my football-immature, pair of seven year old eyes were the tears of the stocky man in blue with a 10 on his back. that was how i got hooked to soccer, hooked to maradona, hooked to argentina, hooked to the albicelestes.....
