You were born in a marginalized neighborhood of Argentina’s capital and began performing miracles with a ball at the age of fifteen.
Imagine you are God, that people around you don’t dare to speak ill of you because if they do, they’re criticizing God, and you can’t criticize God because He is above everything.
Imagine you are two people; three, if we count God. You are Diego, the insecure boy who plays in his neighborhood; and Maradona, with multiple personalities overwhelmed by the weight of his own persona. Add to this that you are also God.
Imagine you are one person at home and another outside. You have a girlfriend whom you love above all, but you also have others. Your girlfriend doesn’t get pregnant, but your lover does. You deny your firstborn daily, only to acknowledge him thirty years later.
Imagine you are a prophet outside your homeland. A small, poor city in southern Italy welcomes you for your miracles. You give them the championships they had never won. They venerate you more than their own saint, placing your images on altars alongside crucifixes and virgins.
Imagine that God likes all women, prostitutes, and cocaine. That God is tired of being God. That He wants to escape the heavy burden of His divinity.
Imagine that deep down, you never stop being Diego, the poor boy who chases after the capricious ball fueled by rage, anger, and the fight against adversity.
That you are also Maradona and cannot bear the magnitude of your own power.
That they adore you, venerate you, and do not forgive you.
Imagine you are God.
