I wasn’t supposed to be there.
I was 17 years old, had never been to a football game and had no interest in the sport.
But that afternoon, as I entered the Azteca Stadium in Mexico City, I would watch Argentina face England in the quarter-finals of the 1986 FIFA Men’s Football World Cup. And I would witness something that I would only fully understand many years later.
We had no plans for that day until the phone rang in the morning.
A friend of my dad had two tickets to the game that he couldn’t use. Would my mother and I like to go?
My dad wasn’t sure if his “princesses” should go to the game. After all, only five years had passed after the Falklands/Falklands war and he feared that possible tensions between Argentine and English fans could spill over into the stadium.
The 1982 conflict lasted 74 days. In it, 649 Argentine soldiers, 255 British soldiers and three civilians, residents of the archipelago, died.
Therefore, on and off the field, that game between Argentina and England was more than just a football match.
But I was still far from being a journalist. And I didn’t fully understand the football discussions and the geopolitical background of the match.
My mother didn’t think twice. After all, it was the World Cup and she wasn’t going to let her daughter miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The 1986 World Cup was played in my country, Mexico. It seemed like everyone was celebrating because our team, led by Mexican superstar Hugo Sánchez, hadn’t done as bad as expected.
Mexico fell in the quarterfinals to powerful West Germany on penalties. It was our best result in a World Cup, alongside the 1970 tournament, also played in the country.
I experienced it more like a party than a game.
I got all dressed up and wore a lot of makeup. I imagined the stadium would be full of good-looking foreign fans, not legendary players.
My mother thought that was an exaggeration, but she let it go.
Maradona, from villain to hero
The excitement started on the way, as we needed to cross the city to go to the stadium.
Flags in car windows, strangers singing through the traffic. Even on the way along the capital’s huge ring road, the Periférico, it was possible to feel the enthusiasm growing.
Of course, I joined the party, shouting to everyone “Viva México!”, even though our team was already out of the World Cup.
Football wasn’t very important to me. The essential thing was to participate in the moment.
Inside Azteca, the party was irresistible. The noise, the colors, the feeling that the whole world was gathered in one place.
Around us, there were fans from all sides, singing, laughing, wearing traditional clothes, their faces painted with bright colors.
There were girls painting flags on their faces and I asked them to paint one on me. I have no photos and, of course, there were no cell phones yet.
I remember thinking less about the game itself and more about the emotion of being there in the crowd.
I was too busy getting into the ola, the well-known Mexican wave, totally involved in the rhythm of the crowd. Football seemed distant, it was almost secondary.
The first half ended 0-0. But, six minutes into the second half, everything changed.
Suddenly everyone stood up. For a second, the stadium was pure celebration. Then there was confusion, arguments, and a lot of noise coming from all directions.
Diego Maradona launched himself into the air at the same time as England goalkeeper Peter Shilton fought for the ball. The Argentine scored the first goal of the game.
That’s where everything changed for me. Suddenly, football was what mattered.
People around me asked if the goal was valid or not. After all, he headed the ball into the net… or was his hand responsible?
Vehement protests could be heard from the English fans.
There was a man next to me in very formal clothes, wearing a suit and tie. He had probably come straight from the office.
He discussed the game intensely and seemed to know a lot about football. I was confused and decided to turn to him.
Why so much fuss? I asked. Why so much fuss?
He explained that Maradona had put the ball in the net with his hand, but the referee didn’t see it and awarded the goal.
That left me perplexed.
At that moment, I certainly did not imagine having witnessed what would become one of the most talked about goals in the history of the sport. To me, it was just a play that had happened on the field and the fans around me seemed to be arguing.
Over time, the goal became known throughout the world as the “Hand of God”, the famous expression created by Maradona himself: He scored the goal “a little with his head and a little, with the hand of God”.
The debate over Maradona’s first goal continued intensely in the stands. So much so that, four minutes later, we almost lost the second!
And here we come to the point. When I remember the moments I spent among the thousands of fans in the stadium that day, my first memory is not of the “Hand of God”, but of the second goal.
Unlike Maradona’s first great effort, the entire stadium was silent as he carried the ball forward.
Maradona advanced with almost impossible precision, dribbling past four English players. Even goalkeeper Shilton received a feint and ended up sitting on the floor.
You could see it move along the field, weaving this way and that, until… boom! Ball in the back of the net. The stadium exploded!
I looked around and was amazed to see that, unlike the first goal, everyone was celebrating this second. Even some English fans who were nearby.
“This is why people love football”, I thought. “Now it all makes sense.”
Years later, Maradona would create the famous phrase: “The ball doesn’t get dirty.” This is the best way to explain the apparent contradiction between the two goals, just a few minutes apart.
Gary Lineker scored for the English and the famous match ended with Argentina winning 2-1.
The funny thing is that, at the end of the game, when my mother and I left the stadium towards the car, we had already forgotten the football we had just watched. I was more interested in the festive air around us.
At that moment, my head wasn’t in the game itself. I had the overwhelming feeling of having been inside the Azteca, that immense, iconic place that holds important parts of Mexico’s recent history within its walls.
That’s not just a football stadium. It is part of our collective memory.
The historic Aztec
The Azteca Stadium had already hosted the 1970 World Cup, when Pelé’s Brazil left its mark on Mexican fans forever. It was there that Brazil beat Italy in the final, 4-1, winning their third world championship.
Mexicans’ admiration for the Brazilian team remained for many years.
I was only a year old when Brazil became three-time champions, but Mexico remembered its football and the spirit of Brazilians until much later. Many Mexicans have developed a deep affection for the Canarian team.
There was always the feeling that, when Mexico left the competitions, many fans sort of adopted Brazil, admiring their style and talent.
In 1986, Brazil played well and won Mexican hearts. The elimination on penalties against France in the quarter-finals seemed like a real tragedy to many of us.
Of course, as Latin Americans, we were happy to see Argentina’s triumph, even more so with Maradona’s brilliance.
But, if you ask many Mexicans, they will answer that they silently dreamed of seeing Brazil champion in Mexico once again.
But the stadium’s history doesn’t just include good memories. The 1985 earthquake still resonates in my memory, which reduced entire sectors of Mexico City to rubble.
We spent weeks with the air smelling of dust and loss. The city seemed to be holding its breath.
The Azteca Stadium was one of the main places of refuge on that occasion. It was there that families who had lost everything found shelter and hope.
Entering the stadium was deeply moving, almost solemn. And yet, it has become a place of life and joy.
As my mother and I walked around, talking and eating tacos and fruits with chili and lime from the street vendors, we were immensely proud to be Mexican.
We laughed at how we adopted all kinds of stereotypes, like the sombreros and brightly colored clothes. We used it all with good humor and rebellion.
And, by hosting the World Cup, we, Mexicans, offered human warmth, joy and generosity to the entire world.
The 1986 World Cup mascot itself, a pepper in a sombrero, seemed to capture that Mexican spirit — totally bold, playful and, unmistakably, ours.
Years passed before I could understand that I had witnessed a truly magical moment.
As strange as it may seem, football itself never really moved me, even after the game. But that specific moment remained in my memory.
Yes, the first goal was controversial and angered many people. Not just around me that day, but around the world, for many years.
Some time later, I lived in Argentina, working as a BBC correspondent. People often mentioned the Hand of God. My Argentine friends never missed the opportunity to mention the episode to my English colleagues.
But, as a result, the second goal ended up being forgotten. And it was simply spectacular, almost unbelievable, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
Personally, I prefer to brag about having seen this second goal at the stadium — the “Goal of the Century”!
