It was an ordinary day in Naples, but for Diego Maradona, the morning sun signaled the beginning of the end. On March 17, 1991, the phone rang, and on the other end of the line, a cold voice broke the silence of his room: “Diego, the results of the doping control from yesterday’s match are in. Positive, cocaine.” The impact was immediate. Diego, his head in his hands, understood that this would be the point of no return, the end of his reign.
Naples, his city, had turned him into a god. At just 30 years old, Diego had reached the pinnacle of world football. Since his arrival in the city in 1984, the most despised team in Italy had transformed its history. In 1987, he led Napoli to its first Serie A championship, followed by the UEFA Cup in 1989 and another title in 1990. The Neapolitans adored him like a saint. He had rescued from oblivion a city that, for years, had been rejected by the rest of Italy. Diego became their eternal idol, their symbol of hope.
But that adoration, as profound as a mother’s love, had its shadow. Behind the image of the idol was a man battling his own demons. Naples’ nightlife, fame, and party atmosphere dragged him into a dark world, one that the media and officials ignored as he continued to win. The streets of Naples were covered in graffiti bearing his face, churches lit candles in his name, and the streets echoed with chants of “Diego, Diego.” But no one said anything about the nights when cocaine was his companion, nor about the excesses that were already beginning to take their toll on his body and mind.
In June 1990, the World Cup in Italy reached its climax, and with it, the tension between his love for Naples and his loyalty to his homeland, Argentina. In an interview before the match against Italy, Diego, with his characteristic fervor, addressed the Neapolitans: “Napoli is not Italy, you have always been looked down upon, now I ask you not to boo me, at least for 90 minutes.” The response was a mixture of applause and boos. Italy felt betrayed, and the media were quick to label him a “traitor.” The match against Italy was a battle, and Maradona, with his characteristic skill, led Argentina to victory. But that victory, far from being glorious, became a symbol of division. Those who had adored him now called him a traitor. The insults he heard as he walked toward the locker room were harsher than any defeat on the field.
After Argentina’s elimination in the final against Germany, Diego returned to Naples empty-handed, but with something far more serious: the betrayal of the city that had once adored him. The Italian media began investigating his life, revealing dark secrets that had been ignored for years. Instead of support, the response was indifference. Teammates, who had once considered him a brother, now wouldn’t speak to him. The fans were divided. Some defended him, but most remained silent, as if he were no longer their god.
Maradona, aware that all was lost, hoped that the club, which had earned millions from him, would defend him. But Napoli’s president, Corrado Ferlaino, didn’t say a word in his favor. In a press conference, Ferlaino stated that “Diego’s situation is a personal matter.” Diego, who had given his body, soul, and life to Napoli, heard those words like a dagger to his heart. After seven years of sacrifice, the club abandoned him at the most critical moment of his life.
The news of the positive doping test exploded in the media. Maradona was suspended for 15 months, a devastating blow to his career at the age of 30. The press celebrated his downfall, branding him a criminal, while Naples, the city that had made him a god, cast him aside as swiftly as it had elevated him. The betrayal was so profound that Diego never forgave it. Years later, he would recall how he had arrived in Naples like a king and left like a thief, in the early hours of a cold morning, without farewells or glory.
On March 17, 1991, after that phone call, Diego’s life would change forever. The club he loved, the city that adored him, abandoned him in his greatest moment of need. The day after the call, in a world that had used him and then discarded him, Diego understood that his love for Napoli had been conditional, a love that only existed as long as he delivered victories. As the city awoke to yet another routine, he knew his connection to Napoli was gone. Unconditional love had conditions, and those conditions were broken on the day he needed it most.
Napoli’s betrayal wasn’t just a blow to his career, but also to his soul. He knew that, even if he continued playing for other teams, he would never be the same. After leaving Napoli, the city went through difficult times. Without Diego, the club declined, was relegated to Serie B, and almost disappeared. Napoli became the southern team that no one respected. Maradona’s glory faded like a distant dream.
Twenty-six years later, Napoli decided to honor Diego by naming the San Paolo stadium after him. A posthumous tribute, an “apology” that came far too late. When Diego was asked what he thought about it, his response was clear and bitter: “Now they want to name the stadium after me. Where were they when they needed me?”
Diego never forgave Napoli’s betrayal. They made him a god, then treated him like a dog, and that’s something football and the world should never forget. Years after leaving Napoli, Diego reflected on that betrayal: “They made me a god and then treated me like a dog.” And although he continued living and playing, a part of him died that morning, the part that believed in unconditional love. That part, which believed that people loved you for who you were and not for what you gave them, died in Napoli and never returned.
In 2020, when Diego passed away, the world mourned, and Naples mourned too. But the city that had made him a god no longer listened to him. Diego, the man who loved and gave everything for Naples, ceased to be a living legend and became a mythological figure that the city could no longer embrace.
