@FootynewsJORGE VALDANO: "In Mexico, during the 86 World Cup, Maradona won a bet from me. After training sessions, we used to stay sitting on the floor talking a bit to pass the time, time that during team get-togethers never passes." The conversations had nothing extraordinary about them. The only thing that broke the monotony was the presence of the journalists waiting for us (especially for him). At that point, Diego said listlessly: – Look at them. – They are all yours – I replied just to say something. – None of them like football – he continued. To encourage the conversation, I chose the other side of the ring: – It's a lie, we can argue whether they know or not, but everyone likes it. – What do we bet on if they don't? – And how do we find out? I also asked. "He imagined a method that caught my attention for its originality and I found it acceptable as a quasi-scientific test. It was about dropping a ball in the middle of the journalistic swarm. If they returned it with their foot, I would win; if they returned it with their hand, he would win. I accepted the bet." "Diego slowly got up, grabbed a ball and with that exaggerated precision he has and that I don't know why but always made me laugh, he deposited it in the middle of the group in question. There was a commotion like a kicked anthill, a struggle from which the most determined took advantage, and after taking three or four quick steps to make it clear who had won the dispute, a man returned the ball to us with both hands, making a kind of throw-in." "I defended myself as best I could: – Poor guy, he was embarrassed to reach it with his foot because it was you, Maradona. But Diego also had an answer for that: – If I am at a party at the President of the Nation's house in a tuxedo and a muddy ball comes to me, I stop it with my chest and return it as God commands. And God commands returning it with the foot, I suppose. Sorry journalists, but I will never bet on you again."

@FootynewsJORGE VALDANO: "In Mexico, during the 86 World Cup, Maradona won a bet from me. After training sessions, we used to stay sitting on the floor talking a bit to pass the time, time that during team get-togethers never passes." The conversations had nothing extraordinary about them. The only thing that broke the monotony was the presence of the journalists waiting for us (especially for him). At that point, Diego said listlessly: – Look at them. – They are all yours – I replied just to say something. – None of them like football – he continued. To encourage the conversation, I chose the other side of the ring: – It's a lie, we can argue whether they know or not, but everyone likes it. – What do we bet on if they don't? – And how do we find out? I also asked. "He imagined a method that caught my attention for its originality and I found it acceptable as a quasi-scientific test. It was about dropping a ball in the middle of the journalistic swarm. If they returned it with their foot, I would win; if they returned it with their hand, he would win. I accepted the bet." "Diego slowly got up, grabbed a ball and with that exaggerated precision he has and that I don't know why but always made me laugh, he deposited it in the middle of the group in question. There was a commotion like a kicked anthill, a struggle from which the most determined took advantage, and after taking three or four quick steps to make it clear who had won the dispute, a man returned the ball to us with both hands, making a kind of throw-in." "I defended myself as best I could: – Poor guy, he was embarrassed to reach it with his foot because it was you, Maradona. But Diego also had an answer for that: – If I am at a party at the President of the Nation's house in a tuxedo and a muddy ball comes to me, I stop it with my chest and return it as God commands. And God commands returning it with the foot, I suppose. Sorry journalists, but I will never bet on you again."