This piece was written by Martin Mazur for The Blizzard Issue 50.

That nurse, I will never forget her. Sue Ellen Carpenter. That was the woman who grabbed Maradona’s hand after Argentina v Nigeria at the 1994 World Cup and escorted him to the anti- doping control. That was the woman who broke my heart. Or at least my football heart.

It was probably the only time in history that a player was man-marked from the pitch to the anti-doping room. Argentina had managed to resurrect from an awful 5-0 home defeat against Colombia in the qualifiers to become one of the candidates to win the World Cup.

The class of Redondo. The energy of Simeone. The power of Batistuta. The speed of Caniggia. And the touch, the genius touch of Diego Maradona. 4-0 against Greece. 2-1 against Nigeria. And then, her. Sue Ellen Carpenter.

The woman who shattered my dream.

While Diego’s positive test triggered plenty of conspiracy theories, there was no way to dodge destiny. From guiding Argentina on the pitch, Diego ended up commenting on television as Argentina lost against Romania in the round of 16. Maradona was suspended for 15 months. It seemed the end of his career.

And to me, a 17 year old in his last year of secondary school, it was a double blow, for I had never watched Maradona on the pitch playing for my team. And given the odds it was difficult to foresee that chance ever happening again.

Never again for Argentina. Never again for Boca Juniors.

When Maradona started coaching Textil Mandiyú – a club that later went bankrupt and disappeared – in 1994 and then Racing in 1995, the idea of watching Diego in action again seemed more than remote. It seemed that I had missed football’s greatest genius of the century. I had only managed to save some videotapes and lots of memories.

Which is why, to me, Boca v Colón, a seemingly unimpressive fixture of Torneo Apertura 1995, became the game of
my life.

That day, Diego returned to La Bombonera as a Boca Juniors player and as a free man, having served his ban. And I was there to celebrate his comeback. The dream come true.

It was a Saturday. Managed by Silvio Marzolini, Boca were real contenders for the 1995 Torneo Apertura. Marzolini was the same coach who had guided Maradona to his only title with Boca, the Metropolitano 1981. And even better, to celebrate Maradona’s return, they had managed to sign his friend Claudio Caniggia, the best on-pitch partner he could ever have.

At the time, the policy to attend a game at La Bombonera was fairly simple: as a club member, you had free admission, but only on a first-come, first-served basis. This meant that when the stadium was full, gates would close. It could happen 30 minutes before kick-off. Or two hours. You never knew. This often created mayhem and violent police actions.

Still with a limited experience, I had never seen such a queue for a Boca game. Arriving three hours early seemed too late, but in the end, I managed to get in.

Two hours before the start, the stadium was already packed. The standing terraces often left you little space to choose. But that day it seemed like a sea of people, challenging gravity, bouncing as if they were underwater. It was a butterfly effect. Every time one gave a little push here, another would lose balance there, three or four metres away. Crazy.

I knew it was going to be one of those games in which you never manage to have your feet on the stands, but just on the edge of the stands, constantly bouncing like an acrobat, using the back of the fan in front of you as a barrier to prevent falling. Because the fall of one meant the fall of dozens, and that meant the feared avalanche.

All of this because Diego was coming.

It was the fragility of love. Love for an idol.

The last time Maradona had been at La Bombonera as a player, a visit during his brief spell at Newell’s Old Boys in 1993, he had been received and hugged by ‘el Abuelo’, the leader of the barras group La Número 12, in the centre circle. Now, that man, whose real name was José Barritta, was in prison for ambushing and killing two River Plate fans in 1994.

The ultras had also seen their most important treasures banned – the drums, the fireworks and the flags stolen from other clubs’ gangs, a measure to try to bring some peace to the stands.

At the time, it was forbidden to enter the stadium with radios (and if you had one, police forced you to throw away the batteries, since they were the preferred missiles to attack opposition players and referees) and belts with heavy buckles. Some of the food joints opposite to La Bombonera had implemented a belt wardrobe, so you could leave your belt and pay one peso to get it back after the game.

The blue and yellow balloons provided by the candy brand Georgalos, producers of the alfajor Dieguito Maradona, were the only fun for Boca fans who waited singing Diego songs from the 80s and trying to avoid avalanches.

After two hours of the pushing game, the horizon was clearer. Gates had been closed for a while and no more people were trying to squeeze in.

When Boca finally came out of the tunnel, Maradona was wearing the armband, a lock of hair dyed yellow (the idea was to have blue-yellow- blue, but the blue, we later found out, did not work) and holding the ball close to his chest, as the true owner of the show.

And then, boom, he threw it and kicked it upwards with a volley, drawing a perfect straight line in the sky.

Live is life.

Diego was ecstatic, but we were more.

“Olé, olé olé olé, Diego, Diegooo.”

“Maradooo, Maradooo, Maradooo.”

There was blue and yellow smoke, thousands of pieces of paper, firecrackers exploding.

He started dancing, moving his shoulders like a boxer who is about to fight, his hands full of rings and a pendant in one of his ears.

As Diego waved his hands to the entire stadium, a chariot with a giant gift box surprised him. Inside, his two daughters, Dalma and Giannina, popped up carrying a sign: “Thanks, Daddy.” In tears, he kissed them both and immediately started running frenetically to avoid the emotional hit.

The stadium announcer named the players from one to nine, then the number 11 and, finally, the number 10.

The ovation was unforgettable.

It was Diego who kicked off and it was Diego, less than 10 seconds later, who gave his first pass. A left-footed pass? No. Right-footed? No. Header? No.

It was a chest pass.

He jumped with his arms wide open, as if he was King Kong, and chested the ball to Julio Saldaña.

La Bombonera erupted.

Not only Diego was back in football, not only he was back at Boca Juniors. He was intact.

It was one of the best games he would have in his last two years of active football.

But if the atmosphere appeared to be a testimonial, it was a hard-fought game. Boca had some chances, but it was still 0-0.

Towards the end of the first half, there was a key moment. Caniggia made a dangerous two-footed tackle and the players from Colón reacted, asking for a red card.

The referee Nicolás Lamolina approached with a yellow in his hand. Among the Colón players, there was one, Julio César Toresani, who was clearly not happy with the decision. He said something to Maradona and Diego reacted.

Suddenly there was a melee and, in the end, Lamolina called Toresani and Maradona apart. He showed a yellow to Maradona and then to Toresani, but since the latter had already been booked he was dismissed.

The second half saw Boca attacking from every angle, but the Colón goalkeeper Leo Díaz was the surprise hero. Save after save, plus the occasional post, Colón managed to stay alive. Maradona looked at the sky in disbelief after every missed chance.

Until he sent a beautiful cross that was blocked, and in the second action, Kily González found Darío Scotto, who headed home to score the only goal in the 89th minute.

Diego was celebrating pointing to his wife and daughters, while the whole stadium was pointing at him.

What a night.

But there was one man that was still angry at him. Toresani. In the mixed zone, he said: “It was Maradona who showed me the red card. Unfortunately I won’t be able to find him now, to see if he has the courage to say to my face what he told me on the pitch.”

Diego reacted: “What? I swear on my daughters that I told Lamolina not to dismiss him. But if Toresani wants to find me, Segurola and Habana, 4310, seventh floor. And let’s see if he lasts thirty seconds.”

It was one of Diego’s most memorable quotes, one that went viral before the idea of going viral. A year later, Toresani signed for Boca and Maradona hugged him as a true captain.

After that Boca-Colón game, I was lucky to enjoy Maradona almost every week for the next two years.

The new resurrection of Diego was not only a beautiful football message, but a personal compass to someone like me, who had just started university.

For a passionate football fan who only thought about football, studying economics didn’t seem a faithful choice. A few months later, after dialling and dialling to a live radio show, I got lucky and managed to interact with Diego himself, who was a guest that day. I remember he thanked me for having asked a question that journalists did not ask him, and started to answer in a very passionate way.

It was the assist I needed to quit accounting and start studying sports journalism.