Dr. Maradona, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Take It Up the Arse

Instead of transcribing things, I will just link to this brilliant piece in the Guardian.

Maradona: He's the poster boy for not putting the GDP of Guatemala up your nose.  As my friend said, and I think he was being kind, it takes the skill of a dumbshit to fuck up that badly with that team.  To really grasp Maradona's accomplishments, one has to consider that this is a team that football pundits almost unanimously agree has to be in the World Cup, to make it a good one, because of their glut of talent (they are certainly more than just Messi), and yet it is not hyperbole to say that it took a miracle to beat the worst team in South America, and, AND! that that miracle hung by the tiniest threads up to the last second, as Peru got off a shot as time expired that hit the woodwork. 

How surreal must it be to play on that team?  Agüero knocking up Maradona's daughter in some quasi-incestuous pairing, the coach getting up at 3pm, sliding around the pitch on his belly after wins...  his thoughtful and nuanced post-match interviews (you have to be able to understand German to get anything out of this, but he tells his non-supporters, quite literally, to suck dicks)...  to say nothing of his absolutely astounding roster moves, in which he seems to ascend to a new level of crazy with each passing match.  Riquelme, the  Argentine with one of the most stunning World Cup goals I have ever seen, isn't even on the roster.  Neither is defender Walter Samuel, whose nickname is "The Wall."  I'm pretty sure if one of your defender's nickname is "The Wall," you want him on your team, even if it's only for the tangential Pink Floyd reference. 


Some fairness is in order, though.  The Sports Optimator has an official pro-post-match-penguin-slide stance.  As my friend said, "Look me in the eye and say it wouldn't bring a smile to your face to see Arséne Wenger do that.  I dare you."  I couldn't do it.  Although, if I ever did see it, after enjoying the moment, I would know that the Arsenal as I know it had just ceased to exist, because Wenger was clearly losing his mind.  

And, as long as I'm mocking his ineptitude and off-field shenanigans, and I am, I have to give him credit for not employing tarot cards when assembling his team, although, given that his choices have been even more astounding than Domenech's, he might want to get him on the phone.