SCOPA

In Naples there exists a little known card game called Scopa. It is played by men of questionable values who care little how they win. At Scopa's dark heart lay rule number one. 'Always try and glimpse your opponent's hand.' To triumph it is expected to lie and cheat, but always watch your back, cover your hand. Armed with this archetypal Neapolitan tactic Diego Maradona prepared mentally for the biggest match of his life so far. To beat the English by fair means or other, it mattered little, for the bitter humiliation suffered in the South Atlantic left Argentina in mourning.

Maradona was viewed in his country as the one man capable of restoring national pride by slaying the bullying British bulldog. A Falklands War part two scenario was stirred up by rabid tabloids hysteria in both nations as a dangerous patriotic fervor took hold. Maradona was referred to in the Buenos Aires based newspaper Cronica as 'our Exocet,' while its English equivalents, The Sun, proclaimed, 'Its war Senors,' and the Daily Mirror called to 'Bring on the Argies!'

As kick off grew close a simmering powder keg, hostile atmosphere left a bad taste in the mouth as old images of the conflict was dredged up on television and re-shown constantly. With both sets of supporters not of the ilk to walk away from confrontation the Mexican Police prepared for the worse. In the Pre-match press conferences the managers Bobby Robson and Carlos Bilardo spent more time fending off questions that had absolutely nothing to do with football but each knew deep down what was at stake. Sometimes football really is just a game.

Maradona refused also to be drawn. 'I am here,' he exclaimed a thousand times, 'to play football. Look mate,' he exclaimed wearily to an English journalist from The Times, who questioned him repeatedly on the thorny issue of revenge. 'When we go on the pitch it is the game of football that matters and not who won the war.' Fine words from the Captain as he tried to diffuse a potentially explosive situation. But it was only akin to taking a pin out of a grenade and covering the fuse with your thumb. No matter what was claimed in public there remained a hidden agenda for both sides.

Former England manager Ron Greenwood was asked his opinion on the best way to stop Maradona? Greenwood replied, 'first you pull out a handgun!' Hopefully he was joking! The quarter final took place in the legendary surroundings of the Azteca stadium in Mexico City and huge security measures were taken to ensure a bloodbath did not occur on the terraces. The 'Rule Britannia' hordes of Saint George and the notorious Argentinian hooligans 'Barras Bravas' would have needed little prompting if the opportunity arose to go for each other's throats.

Bobby Robson's battle-plan focused almost completely on blotting out the threat of Diego Maradona. Robson knew that any attempt to simply man-mark the Argentinian was doomed to failure for such was his explosive form there was not a player on the planet capable of dulling the threat for ninety minutes. Instead England would attempt to block him out by numbers. Crowd him, cut off his air. Plans were made, tactics discussed, the battle lines were drawn. But little did the three lions realise the full extent of what they would be up against. El Pibe De Oro would surprise them all, for he would be playing to an entirely different set of rules:

Scopa.

High noon on Sunday 22nd June 1986. A staggering crowd of 114,580 gathered at the Azteca to witness this titanic struggle between two sides that judging by the looks etched on their faces understood the magnitude of what was at stake. The Mexicans in the stadium threw in their lot alongside the South Americans with a rampant enthusiasm as they chanted the name of Argentina's number ten with unreserved passion.

As the two teams stood for their respective National Anthems Diego Maradona glared down the line of players and gave the white shirts of England what could best be described as a murderous look of disdain. The intent was clear to all who witnessed the moment. The kid from Villa Fiorito was up for this match like no other in his career.

To thunderous applause the teams broke for a brief warm up before battle commenced. England in traditional white, Argentina in a change strip of dark blue shirts. Both Captains were called to the halfway line by Tunisian referee Ali Ben Nasser for ceremonial duties. Diego Maradona and England's thirty-six-year old, veteran, goalkeeper Peter Shilton exchanged the slightest of handshakes, which was polite but nothing more. A touching of gloves: two heavyweight champions seconds before the first bell. Shilton and Maradona attempted to stare each other down. The Englishman, all seriousness, the Argentinian, wearing a worrying, half smile. Like he had already read the script. With the stadium close to emotional meltdown the game began.

'Trompe l'oeil,'' tricks and deceptions.' After a turgid opening period with both teams appearing overcome by the sheer enormity of the occasion, events exploded wildly into life on fifty-one minutes. A badly misjudged hooked clearance by English midfielder Steve Hodge succeeded only in sending the ball spinning back into his own penalty area. Sensing the danger Peter Shilton rushed out to clear, only to be challenged by a jumping Maradona who with a mischievous flick of the wrist erupted into infamy.

Blessed with all the cocky charm of the finest streetwise Neapolitan hustler, Argentina's number ten struck to steal a goal. A sleight of hand invisible to most punched the ball over the head of England's goalkeeper to set ablaze this magnificent footballing arena. Shilton's momentary expression of quizzical disbelief bore comparison with a man who had just seen his wallet snatched. In order to stoop low the Argentinian had leapt high to infuriate the hated English with an infamous stroke of gamesmanship forever immortalised in world cup folklore as the 'Hand of God.'

A likely story, for it was no divine intervention on the football pitch that day, just a twenty five year-old footballer called Diego Armando Maradona, sporting a knowing grin after succeeding in getting away with the biggest scam of his young life. In Naples they danced with joy, for it was clear they had taught him well. As Maradona ran off to soak up the adulation of the crowd he glanced nervously over his shoulder at the referee and the melee that ensued. His close friend Jorge Valdano ran over to embrace him and with a finger over his mouth gestured silence to his compadre. As if suggesting 'don't push it Diego!' High in the stand Maradona spotted his Father and gave a clenched fist salute. Argentina led. All hell had broken loose in Mexico City.

The referee appeared oblivious to protests as he waved away shell-shocked English players. A furious Shilton ran after Ali Ben Nasser pointing to his hand, but he appeared unmoved. A disgusted Bobby Robson pleaded with officials on the touchline but was showed short shrift. Nasser never again refereed another international football match. Before matters could calm down Diego Maradona struck once more, this time with the greatest goal ever scored in world cup football.

Racked by a sense of injustice and disbelief England simply did not see him coming as he received the ball just inside his own half and took off on a mazy, weaving run towards their penalty area. A flurry of white shirts pounced, only to be left trailing in the Argentinian's wake as he hurtled clear over the halfway line and into the history books.Across Argentina and in the back alley caf bars of Naples they watched mesmerised. Surely their boy could not beat them all?

El Pibe De Oro dribbled at high pace past panicking, retreating English defenders and bore down on a waiting Peter Shilton. The crowd in the Azteca rose as one to their feet in mounting excitement. A final desperate challenge by Terry Butcher appeared to have put Maradona off balance, only for him to throw Shilton a dummy at the last and switch the ball to his other foot before finishing coolly with a flashing, low shot into the net. The Azteca exploded in disbelief and delight. The sly and the sordid equally applauded as the beauty and the brilliant, by those who revered this stocky little figure with Godlike status. You simply could not make it up!

Stung by the bittersweet circumstances of Diego Maradona's first and the sheer bloody genius of his second England staged a rip-roaring effort to get back in the game. On the brink of elimination and with nothing to lose Bobby Robson threw caution to the wind. Off came midfielders Peter Reid and Trevor Steven, both victims of Maradona's whirlwind to be replaced by two young gifted if unpredictable wingers in Chris Waddle and John Barnes.

In a heart-stopping final half hour Barnes in particularly almost saved the day for the three lions as he terrorised the Argentinian rearguard with his electric pace and guile. When in the mood and firing on all cylinders the enigmatic Jamaican born forward possessed the talent to take apart the finest defence. Nine minutes remained to play when a typically devastating run and cross from the Watford man was met by Gary Lineker who swooped from close range to smash a header past Argentina's keeper Nino Pumpido.

With the South Americans hanging on by the skin of their teeth and praying for the final whistle John Barnes again soared down the left flank and hit an inch perfect ball for Lineker who failed by a whisker to force it over the line. Finally the full time whistle sounded and Argentinian players went in search of their Captain. Later in the sanctity of the dressing room Diego Maradona led the celebrations as he wrapped himself in his country's flag and along with his teammates sang a boisterous rendition of the national anthem. Nobody bothered to mention the Malvinas...They didn't have to.

Late in the game England centre half Terry Butcher had motioned to Maradona if he had punched the ball over Shilton? With a wry smile the Argentinian Captain simply pointed to his head. Questioned afterwards Maradona caused outrage amongst the English journalists when he claimed with straight face and all mock innocence it was not he but indeed 'The Hand of God' who soared high over Peter Shilton to score the first goal.

With a wicked glint in his eye the Argentinian told one reporter who repeatedly tried to force him to admit his indiscretion 'to go and cry in a Church.' Seemingly enjoying himself torturing the Gringo, newspaper hacks, a teasing Maradona finally admitted with an ironic smile and slight shrug of the shoulders that it was 'a little bit of the hand of God, a little of the head of Maradona.'

How they raged: suddenly as was his wont, and again without trying to hard El Pibe De Oro earned an entire new audience to despise him. Not that Maradona cared, for despite all that was aired publicly the victory in the Azteca was indeed payback time for what occurred in the South Atlantic. A war without guns and bullets, but a war nonetheless.

john ludden: cfieldsoffire@aol.com