June 22, 1986. Mexico City. The heat was oppressive.
If you weren't there, or if you weren't alive, it is hard to explain the tension inside the Estadio Azteca. This wasn't just a quarter-final of the FIFA World Cup. It was a proxy war. Argentina and England were meeting on a pitch just four years after the Falklands War—the Guerra de las Malvinas. People weren't just thinking about corner kicks and offside traps; they were thinking about soldiers and sovereignty.
Then, the 51st minute happened.
Diego Armando Maradona, a man who was basically a god in a blue jersey, leaped into the air. He was 5'5". Peter Shilton, the English goalkeeper, was 6'1" and had his arms fully extended. Logic says the keeper wins that ball every single time. But Maradona’s left fist got there first. The ball bounced into the net. The world gasped. La Mano de Dios—The Hand of God—was born in that singular, rule-breaking moment.
The Goal That Shouldn't Have Happened
Honestly, the referee, Ali Bin Nasser from Tunisia, was the only person in the stadium who didn't see the foul.
Maradona later admitted he was waiting for his teammates to embrace him, but they stood there, frozen, waiting for the whistle. He had to yell at them to come celebrate so the ref wouldn't suspect anything. It was pure theater. It was cheating. It was genius. It depends entirely on which side of the Atlantic you call home.
England fans still get red-faced talking about it. You can't blame them. In a game of inches, a literal punch to the ball changed the course of history. If VAR existed in 1986, the goal is wiped out, Maradona probably gets a yellow card, and maybe England goes on to win. But there was no video. There was only the intuition of a man who played the game like he was writing a screenplay.
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What's wild is that just four minutes later, Maradona scored what is widely considered the "Goal of the Century." He took the ball in his own half and danced past Peter Beardsley, Peter Reid, Terry Butcher, and Terry Fenwick. He rounded Shilton and slotted it home. It was the most beautiful thing most people had ever seen on a grass field.
Yet, we still talk about the handball more. Why? Because the second goal showed he was the best player in the world, but La Mano de Dios showed he was the most human. He was flawed, cunning, and willing to do whatever it took to win for a country that was hurting.
Beyond the Pitch: The Politics of the Punch
To understand why this goal is a cultural touchstone and not just a sports highlight, you have to look at the context of Argentina in the mid-80s. The country was reeling from a military defeat and economic instability.
Maradona didn't see it as "just a game." In his autobiography, Yo Soy El Diego, he basically said that although they said before the game that football had nothing to do with the Malvinas War, they knew many Argentine boys had died there, shot down like little birds. This was revenge. It was "symbolic" recovery of pride.
When he spoke to the press after the match and uttered the famous phrase—that the goal was scored "un poco con la cabeza de Maradona y otro poco con la mano de Dios" (a little with the head of Maradona and a little with the hand of God)—he wasn't just being cheeky. He was creating a myth.
The Ref's Perspective
Ali Bin Nasser has defended his decision for decades. He claimed he was following FIFA's instructions of the time, which told referees to rely on their linesmen if they had a blocked view. The linesman, Bogdan Dochev from Bulgaria, didn't flag it. Dochev later said he saw the hand but thought the referee saw it too and chose to allow it. It was a comedy of errors that resulted in the most famous goal in history.
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Interestingly, Bin Nasser and Maradona met years later. Diego gave him a signed jersey. There was no apology—just a recognition that they were both parts of a moment that became bigger than both of them.
The Lasting Legacy of the Hand
If you go to Naples or Buenos Aires today, you will see murals of Maradona. In many of them, he has a halo. La Mano de Dios is more than a highlight; it’s a religious event for some.
It represents the "Pibe" culture—the street kid who uses his wits to beat the establishment. The English represented the establishment: organized, tall, following the rules. Maradona represented the "Picardia"—the cunning of the streets. To Argentine fans, the handball wasn't "cheating" in the way we think of it; it was a clever trick played on a more powerful opponent.
- It cemented the 10 jersey as a sacred object.
- It turned the World Cup into a stage for geopolitical drama.
- It forced FIFA to eventually look at technology, though it took them 30 years to do anything about it.
Even today, when a player handles the ball, commentators immediately scream "Hand of God!" It has become the universal shorthand for a lucky or illicit break. But nobody does it like Diego. When Lionel Messi scored a similar goal against Espanyol in 2007, the world went crazy, but even that felt like a cover song of a legendary original.
What This Means for Football Fans Today
We live in the era of VAR. Every frame is analyzed. Every fingernail that might be offside is measured by a computer in a dark room.
In some ways, that's "fairer." But it also kills the magic and the messiness that makes football the "Beautiful Game." La Mano de Dios could never happen now. We have traded the legendary for the logical.
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If you are a student of the game, or just someone who loves a good story, you have to realize that Maradona’s handball wasn't a mistake—it was a statement. It was a man carrying the weight of a nation’s trauma on his shoulders and using every tool at his disposal, including his fist, to lift them up.
Was it sportsmanship? No. Was it legendary? Absolutely.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Fan:
Look for the "Picardia" in modern players. While the "Hand of God" is illegal, the spirit of using cleverness over brute force is what makes players like Vinícius Júnior or Bernardo Silva so fun to watch.
Watch the full 90 minutes of that 1986 match, not just the highlights. You'll see how many times England players kicked Maradona. He was fouled relentlessly. The handball wasn't his first interaction with the English defense; it was the culmination of a brutal physical battle.
Study the "Goal of the Century" immediately after the handball. It provides the necessary balance. One goal showed his devilish side; the other showed his angelic talent. You cannot have one without the other when discussing the myth of Diego Maradona.
Finally, recognize that sports are rarely just about the final score. They are about the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. For Argentina, that goal was a moment of justice in an unjust world. For England, it was a robbery. Both are true.
Go back and find the grainy footage of the post-match interview. Look at the glint in his eyes. He knew exactly what he had done, and he knew that for the rest of time, we would be talking about it. He was right.