That year, he burst into my sight like the wind.
That year, he proudly told those people, "I will not cut off my hair for a position in the national team." Long hair was his symbol and my belief from then on.
That year, the arrogant and stubborn prince cried like a child, "Maradona is there, I searched the whole stadium and didn't see him..." Suddenly, I thought of Carney. They were three geniuses born at the same time, unfortunate geniuses. Each of them walked a different path and had different sorrows, but there was no intersection. Is it true that if they intersected, they would not be sad anymore... There are only wordless sighs, fate plays tricks on people...
That year, he bid farewell to the national team with zero appearances and one red card. He left. I had no intention of exploring the whole story of what happened on the bench at that time. But when he turned to leave, I noticed a hint of sarcasm in the always elegant smile on his lips. He drifted away, leaving me with a dazed back. The light of the world was wandering in the blond hair, gathering and then dispersing, like the passing years. He clearly saw through the truth and falsehood in it.
That year, he faced the reporters and said: "I can still play football, I am serious." At that time, my eyes were blurred by tears again. He is thirty-nine years old, and I know he is serious. He has always been. He loves football and his country called Argentina more than me and his descendants more than anyone else.
Conception: