Glasgow has been the centre of the football universe this week. For the denizens of the Dear Green Place, there is always something surreal on the rare occasions the city provides the backdrop for sporting greatness.
Glasgow has been the centre of the football universe this week. For the denizens of the Dear Green Place, there is always something surreal on the rare occasions the city provides the backdrop for sporting greatness.
Lest we forget, Zinedine Zidane's sublime, arcing volley for Real Madrid against Bayer Leverkusen in the Champions League final of 2002 occurred in Mount Florida. Six years ago, the city buzzed with Leverkusen-supporting Germans and Spaniards following the Madrid Galacticos'. Games of 40-a-side took place in George Square and the whole city was swept up in the carnival atmosphere.
In 2007, the UEFA Cup final between Sevilla and Espanyol also produced a colourful cavalcade.
The arrival of a 5ft 5in football coach this week has generated a level of hysteria which, if not quite on the same level to 2002's beano, has nevertheless left a deep and lasting impression. Some believe that Scotland has embraced Maradona with such warmth because he once handled the ball against England in the World Cup. That may be true in some cases, but for every person who continues to revel in his impudent intervention against the Auld Enemy, there are others who simply appreciate his once spellbinding talents. That is as it should be. The memories of Maradona's abilities deserve to transcend petty parochialism.
Yet memories are precisely what they are.
It is more than a decade since he last kicked a ball in anger. None of which is to diminish the interest generated by his appointment as Argentina coach. It is a story of global significance, particularly given the path of self-destruction he has been on for the best part of the last decade.
Maradona has hauled himself back from the brink. Last night, he was also back to where it all began. Kind of. As an 18-year-old in 1979, he scored his first goal for Argentina in a friendly against Scotland at Hampden. This probably means more to Scots than it does to the man himself, but he has merrily played up his affinity with the country in recent weeks.
The ticket sales for last night's match were slow, although they finally inched their way up to a respectable 32,492. It was almost as if, amid the Maradona-mania, people had forgotten there was actually a game taking place. Or maybe it was the fact that the man himself was not playing. No-one could ever describe the visitors as functional, but no-one in last night's side comes close to the fusion of technique and sheer explosiveness that Maradona embodied at his peak.
A Scottish audience were also deprived of the talents of Sergio Aguero, who is not so much the new Maradona, as father-to-be of the new Maradona. Aguero flew home to be with his partner, who has been experiencing complications in pregnancy. The partner in question happens to be Maradona's daughter.
Yet there was still much to feast the eyes upon last night. Carlos Tevez has more of a British style than South American. T he Manchester United striker looks like a bullfrog and charges around like a bulldozer, but also happens to have the touch of an angel. The 24-year-old played a key role in the opening goal, laying it into the path of Jonas Gutierrez, who played in Maxi Rodriguez to score. The scorer had cheekily played keepy-up inside the Scotland box a few moments before.
Javier Mascherano's style is laced with more pragmatism than panache, but the Liverpool midfielder is also a technically accomplished performer. He tested Allan McGregor with a thunderous volley in the early stages.
Maradona made his first foray from the dugout just after the opener, trotting out to admonish Javier Zanetti, with his permed mullet billowing in the breeze. From a certain angle, the 48-year-old looks like a wee Glasgow wifey who has had her curlers in too long. He chose the standard coach's garb of tracksuit and anorak, but it was possible to imagine him shuffling out to the edge of the technical area in a nightgown and slippers, with a fag hanging out his mouth.
This was not a game without significance for the home side. It was George Burley's last competitive game before the World Cup qualifier with the Netherlands in March and the return of Barry Ferguson and Alan Hutton to the starting line-up was a cause for cheer.
After 20 minutes, you began to wonder about the wisdom of playing Argentina. There is a limit to how much any coach can learn about his team if they do not have the ball. Gradually, though, Scotland gained a foothold and stirred up some trouble at the other end. Maradona, meanwhile, was impassive hunched inside his anorak, watching intently as events unfolded. Even the opening goal failed to raise a flicker.
Lee Miller was introduced for Chris Iwelumo at half time, with the Wolves striker having failed to atone for his miss against Norway. He did, however, offer a physical presence in attack and proved a reasonable foil for James McFadden, who managed a couple of attempts on goal in the first half.
Burley made a couple more substitutions after an hour, with Scott Robertson replacing a wabbit-looking Ferguson and Shaun Maloney coming on for Paul Hartley. David Clarkson, Graham Alexander and Christophe Berra also got a run-out, but the game had lost its spark.
Burley will have not have learned a great deal that he did not know already. The same could be said for Maradona. Then again, this was not really about football. It was about the occasion. It was about Maradona. Scottish football has another memorable night to file away in its annals.
