” “Are you angry?
” “No, because he didn’t tell any lies. Everything was true.” —Pause— “That’s the difference. I used to lie in my writing. He told the truth.”
November 25, 2020. Diego Maradona dies in a small apartment on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. A 75-year-old man watches the news. Rodolfo Carranza, thin, old, alone. He watches television. Diego’s face, the goals, the tears of millions. And he remembers that night, the lights, the words: “I am many things, but I am not a hypocrite.”
Yes, Carranza is crying. For the first time in 20 years, a journalist finds him.
—Diego died. Do you have anything to say?
Carranza looks at the camera.
“Diego was imperfect, complicated, sometimes impossible.” —Pause—. “But he was never a hypocrite, he never pretended to be something he wasn’t.” —Pause—. “I pretended my whole life. And he showed me that.”
Silence.
“That night I lost everything. My job, my wife, my reputation.” —Pause— “But I gained something.
” “What?”
“The truth about myself.” —Pause— “Rest in peace, Diego. And thank you.
” “Thank you? For what?”
“For showing me who I really was, even though Diego Maradona destroyed me, the man who played football like no one else, the man who made mistakes like everyone else, the man who never hid.”
That night showed that judging is easy, pointing fingers is easy, and criticizing is easy. What’s difficult is looking at yourself in the mirror. Carranza spent 30 years judging others, and one night someone judged him. To be honest, Diego wasn’t perfect, he never was, he never pretended to be, but he was authentic. And in a world full of masks, that’s worth more than anything.
The difference between you and me is that I am who I am. You are what you pretend to be. Diego Maradona, the one who never pretended, the one who never hid, the one who told the truth even when it hurt. Standing tall, always standing tall until the end.
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