The Forgotten Hand of God: Maradona’s Controversial Handball in Naples, 1990

Diego Maradona’s infamous “Hand of God” goal against England in the 1986 World Cup remains one of the most talked-about moments in football history. Yet, what often escapes the collective memory is that Maradona, the enigmatic Argentine maestro, repeated a similar act four years later during the 1990 World Cup in Italy. This time, the incident unfolded in Naples, in a crucial group-stage match against the Soviet Union. 

The Setting: Naples, the Home of a God 

On June 13, 1990, the Soviet Union faced Argentina in a do-or-die clash at the Stadio San Paolo in Naples. For Maradona, Naples was not just a venue—it was his sanctuary. Playing for Napoli, he had become a deity to the local fans, leading the club to unprecedented glory in Serie A. However, the Soviet team could hardly count on Neapolitan neutrality. 

The Soviets arrived in Italy as one of the tournament’s dark horses. While not quite as favoured as Brazil, Italy, or the Netherlands, they were still considered formidable contenders. However, their campaign had started poorly with a loss to Romania. Similarly, Argentina, the defending champions, had been stunned by Cameroon in their opener. The match against the Soviets was a must-win for both teams, and tensions were high. 

The Incident: A Second Hand of God 

The game remained goalless, with both teams fighting desperately for survival in the tournament. Then came the pivotal moment that would seal the Soviet Union’s fate. A corner kick swung into Argentina’s box, and as the ball seemed destined to find the net, Diego Maradona intervened—not with his head or feet, but with his hand. 

The handball was blatant. Maradona’s arm moved deliberately to block the ball, an action unmistakable to anyone watching. Igor Shalimov, a Soviet midfielder, later recalled the incident with disbelief: 

“The ball was heading into the goal, and the referee was six meters away. He saw everything clearly. It wasn’t just that the ball hit his hand—there was a movement of the hand. He hit the ball deliberately. It was outrageous—not from Maradona, but from the referee.” 

Swedish referee Erik Fredriksson, standing close to the action, inexplicably waved play on, ignoring the Soviets’ protests. A penalty for the Soviet Union at that juncture could have altered the game’s trajectory. Instead, Argentina capitalized on their reprieve, eventually winning the match 2-0 and keeping their hopes of advancing alive. 

The Fallout: Dreams Shattered 

The Soviet players and fans were left seething. The incident, they believed, epitomized the injustice that had plagued their World Cup journey. Shalimov lamented the referee’s decision: 

“If we’d scored that penalty, we’d have had a chance. The game was more or less equal, but we ended up losing 2-0. It was pitiful.” 

The defeat effectively eliminated the Soviet Union from the tournament. Although they thrashed Cameroon 4-0 in their final group match, it was a hollow victory. Romania and Argentina played out a draw, ensuring both teams advanced to the knockout stages while the Soviets were left to rue what might have been. 

Maradona: Genius or Villain? 

Maradona’s actions in Naples mirrored the duality of his footballing legacy—a blend of genius and controversy. Just as in 1986, his handball was not an act of brilliance but one of cunning survival. Shalimov, however, held no grudges against the Argentine legend, acknowledging that Maradona was merely doing whatever it took to keep his team alive: 

“Maradona was just defending his goal as best he could. The real outrage was the referee.” 

For Maradona, the incident in Naples was another chapter in his storied World Cup career, a testament to his ability to bend moments to his will, often skirting the boundaries of fair play. 

The Legacy of Naples 

The Soviet Union’s elimination in 1990 marked the end of an era. The nation would dissolve by the end of the following year, and its footballing identity would splinter into multiple successor states. For many Soviet players, the handball incident symbolized not just the loss of a match but the waning fortunes of a once-great footballing power. 

For Argentina, the victory in Naples propelled them into the knockout rounds, where they would embark on a gritty, controversial run to the final. Maradona’s “Hand of God II” became a footnote in a tournament remembered for its defensive tactics and dramatic upsets. 

A Tale of Two Hands 

While the 1986 handball is immortalized in football folklore, the 1990 incident remains overshadowed. Yet, in many ways, it is equally significant. It highlights the fragile line between heroism and infamy, the subjective nature of officiating, and the enduring mystique of Diego Maradona—a player who could captivate and confound in equal measure. 

In Naples, Maradona was a god among mortals. For the Soviets, however, he was a reminder of the capriciousness of fate and the cruel beauty of football. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Garrincha’s Three Minutes of Genius: How Brazil Dismantled the Soviet Union’s "Scientific Football"

 

The 1958 World Cup, hosted in Sweden, saw Group 4 hailed as one of the most fiercely contested pools. Brazil found themselves pitted against formidable opponents: the Soviet Union—reigning Olympic champions, Austria—bronze medalists of the 1954 World Cup, and England, who, despite being weakened by the tragedy of the Munich air disaster, remained a powerhouse. Yet, it wasn’t just the opposition that posed a challenge for Brazil; it was a moment of existential reckoning for a footballing nation still searching for its identity on the world stage.

Brazil began their campaign with a statement, demolishing Austria 3-0, but the momentum faltered in the second game. A cautious 0-0 draw against England became a historical footnote—the first scoreless match in World Cup history. The stalemate meant that their final group game against the Soviet Union would decide Brazil’s fate. Win, and they would advance directly to the quarterfinals. Lose, and they risked facing a perilous playoff. A draw would suffice for Brazil, but as history would soon demonstrate, their ambitions stretched far beyond mere survival.

The Tactical Gamble: Feola’s Vision  

Brazil’s coach, Vicente Feola, knew the Soviet Union’s playing style was unlike anything his team had faced. Their football, disciplined and physically demanding, mirrored the technological precision of the "Sputnik era." The Soviet players, it was said, could run relentlessly for 180 minutes, unfazed by exhaustion. To disrupt this machine-like rhythm, Feola needed to inject a different kind of energy—unpredictable, imaginative, and joyous. 

He made a bold decision: he introduced two untested players, Garrincha and Pelé, both of whom had spent the tournament so far on the bench. It was an audacious move, for unleashing raw talent is always a gamble. Would these players thrive under pressure, or would the occasion overwhelm them? Feola’s instructions to his players were simple but prophetic. To Didi, the maestro of the midfield, he gave a quiet command: “The first ball goes to Garrincha.”

What followed in the opening minutes would become the stuff of legend.

A Ballet of Madness: Garrincha’s Bewitching Performance  

The Soviet Union kicked off, but Brazil quickly won possession, and Didi fulfilled his promise. He pushed the ball out to the right, where Garrincha waited, crouching like a coiled spring. The clock ticked. It took only seconds for him to show the world that the laws of physics held no dominion over his movement. 

Garrincha faced his first victim: Kuznetsov, a defender renowned for his physical prowess. With a flick of his instep, Garrincha feinted left, only to glide right, leaving the Russian sprawling helplessly on the ground. The stadium gasped, but Garrincha wasn’t finished. With childlike mischief, he toyed with Kuznetsov, dribbling past him again and again, as if the defender’s bewilderment was a puzzle to solve for pure amusement. In just 30 seconds, Garrincha had reduced one of Europe’s best defenders to a spectator, tumbling across the pitch like a leaf in the wind.

The next assault was no less mesmerizing. Three Soviet defenders—Voinov, Krijveski, and Kuznetsov—closed in on him. But Garrincha danced around them, each twist and turn executed with an artistry that defied logic. At one point, Voinov found himself on the ground, awkwardly sprawled with his backside in the air, a moment of farce that sent ripples of laughter through the crowd. Garrincha’s shot from an impossible angle clattered off the post, but by then, it was clear: the Soviet Union’s “scientific football” had collapsed in the face of something irrepressible, something no system could prepare for—pure, unbridled joy.

The Game within the Game  

The match continued, but those opening moments had already broken the Soviet spirit. Nelson Rodrigues, the great Brazilian author, would later write that Garrincha’s first three minutes decided the game: “The disintegration of the Russian defence began exactly the first time Garrincha touched the ball. How do you mark the unmarkable? How do you grasp the impalpable?”

What made Garrincha’s performance so captivating was not merely his dribbling skill but the sense of freedom that infused his play. He didn’t just beat defenders; he seemed to mock the very idea of structure. His crooked legs, his cock-eyed gaze, and his ungainly gait were antithetical to everything the Soviet game represented. And yet, those imperfections were the source of his magic. As if in defiance of logic, Garrincha moved with a rhythm that no defender could predict and no strategist could counter.

At one point, after dribbling past another hapless defender, he paused, placed his foot on the ball, and offered his fallen opponent a hand to stand up—only to resume his dazzling run the moment the player regained his footing. It was as if Garrincha was saying: This is just a game. Let’s play.

Meanwhile, the Soviets, bewildered and battered, began to argue among themselves, still clinging to the belief that their problem lay in defensive marking. But how do you mark a man who doesn’t even seem to play by the same rules? In desperation, they resorted to fouling him, but even that proved futile. Garrincha would simply pop back up, grinning, and continue as if nothing had happened.

A New Era of Brazilian Football  

Three minutes into the match, Vavá, seizing on Garrincha’s chaos, scored the opening goal. The Soviet defence lay in ruins, their famed discipline shredded by a barefoot genius from Pau Grande. The second goal followed soon after, but by then, it was academic. Brazil won the match 2-0, but it wasn’t the scoreline that mattered—it was the manner of their victory. 

This wasn’t just a win; it was a revolution. Brazilian football, long trapped between European imitation and local tradition, had found its true expression: *jogo bonito*—the beautiful game. And at its heart was Garrincha, a player who embodied the spirit of play in its purest form, unconcerned with tactics, unfazed by structure. 

A Defining Moment in Football History  

The 1958 World Cup was a turning point not only for Brazil but for football as a whole. With that match, the world was introduced to a new kind of football—a game that celebrated artistry over efficiency, creativity over calculation. Garrincha’s three minutes weren’t just an assault on the Soviet Union’s defence; they were a rejection of everything their “scientific” approach represented. 

As journalist Gabrile Honnot famously declared, those three minutes were “the greatest in the history of world football.” And Nelson Rodrigues captured the essence of Garrincha’s impact with poetic flair: “In that moment, Russia, with all its science, Siberia, and everything else, fell to a boy with bandy legs and the soul of a dancer.”

From that day forward, Brazil’s football philosophy was transformed. They would go on to win their first World Cup in 1958, and Garrincha, along with the young Pelé, would become the architects of a new global football culture. But it all began with those three minutes—an eternity wrapped in a heartbeat when the world stood still to watch a bowlegged magician write the first chapter of Brazil’s footballing greatness. 

  

Thank You

Faisal Caesar