When it comes to Argentina’s glorious run at the 1986 World Cup, there are stories that are told over and over again; the Hand of God, the Goal of the Century, and Diego Maradona lifting the trophy at the Azteca. They’re so present in the collective memory of Argentines, as well as fans from around the world, that they almost feel like scenes from a movie we’ve all watched too many times.

But there are other stories, quieter ones, that exist on the margins of the great tales. Episodes that seem minor but end up illuminating a tournament, a country, or an entire generation from an unexpected angle.

Mexico ‘86 was full of such moments; the midday heat of Mexico City, the altitude that forced Carlos Bilardo to plan obsessive training sessions, the press conferences where Maradona answered incredulous journalists with sharp, unforgettable lines.

And among those parallel stories is one of the most colorful: that of the ‘fake’ jerseys Argentina wore in their quarter-final win over England – acquired at the very last minute in Tepito, the roughest neighborhood in Mexico City.

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  Under suspicion

  To understand the magnitude of that anecdote, you have to go back to months earlier. Argentina didn’t arrive at Mexico ‘86 as a favourite. The memory of Spain 1982 still weighed heavily – a World Cup in which the team tried to defend its 1978 title but failed spectacularly. Cesar Luis Menotti’s squad collapsed in the second round, and Maradona, then an up-and-coming 21-year-old, was sent off against Brazil.

  The transition to Bilardo’s era was far from smooth. His tactical approach – a 3-5-2 system that prioritised defensive order and discipline – was seen by many as heresy against Menotti’s romantic, attack-minded ideal. The always influential Argentine press openly distrusted Bilardo, calling him defensive and calculating, and even accused him of 'killing the essence' of the national game.

  Pre-tournament results were modest, the team didn’t click, and scepticism spread. Some journalists even wrote that the goal should simply be ‘to get through the group stage and save face’. The atmosphere in Buenos Aires was pessimistic, almost hostile. Meanwhile, the country itself was facing its own turbulence. Raul Alfonsin’s young democracy was struggling to consolidate after a military dictatorship amid political and economic tension. Football, as always, served as an escape valve – but also as a symbolic battleground. In that context, the World Cup appeared as a space for catharsis and hope, even if few believed in the team.

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• Unfinished business

  Amid all the doubts, there was one certainty: Diego Armando Maradona. At 25, he arrived in peak physical form and as team captain. In Italy, he was already a god in Naples – though he was still in the process of leading Napoli to the glory that would come later. But in World Cups, Diego still had a debt to settle.

  Spain ‘82 had been a bitter blow after the red card against Brazil, the early elimination, and the merciless criticism. For many journalists, Mexico was Maradona’s ‘now or never’. Bilardo knew it and built the entire team around his number 10. There was no Plan B – everything revolved around Diego.

  “We’re here to fight. I feel like this is our moment,” Maradona would later recall in interviews. That conviction wasn’t an act – it was a message he sent to his team-mates and to a doubtful nation. Bilardo reinforced it during training sessions: “Diego is the axis; we all play to bring out his best.”

  The challenge, however, wasn’t only tactical. There were external factors: the altitude of cities like Toluca and Mexico City, the scorching midday sun, and the logistical hurdles of a World Cup that demanded quick solutions. And it was precisely within that mix of obstacles that the bizarre jersey episode appeared.

• The jersey dilemma

  On June 22, 1986, Argentina were set to face England at the Estadio Azteca in the quarter-finals. It was a match charged with symbolism. Only four years earlier, the Falklands War had pitted both nations against each other, leaving open wounds and painful memories across Argentine society. Although FIFA insisted it was “just football,” for fans and players alike it was clearly something more.

  In that context, FIFA informed Argentina that they had to wear dark jerseys to distinguish themselves from England’s white. A technical detail, seemingly minor, but the problem was that the team didn’t have an appropriate alternative for the heat.

  The only available shirts were made of thick cotton – heavy, almost unwearable under the Mexican midday sun. Bilardo immediately noticed that wearing them would pose a physical risk to his players. And in such a demanding match, every detail could make the difference.

  Oscar Ruggeri would recall years later: “They went to Tepito because Zelada knew the place – he sent a kitman with a backpack and brought back one thick jersey. They kicked him out, but we had to play… They went to look for other jerseys, and those we liked.”

  Fate, mischievous as ever, had placed the team in a ridiculous dilemma: Play in suffocating shirts or go out into the city to find new ones. And that’s where Tepito came into play.

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• Market of the possible

  Tepito is an iconic neighbourhood in Mexico City – popular, vibrant, dangerous, and fascinating all at once. Known as ‘the tough neighbourhood’, it’s famous for its informal commerce, street culture, and endless ability to reproduce, imitate, and reinvent. By the 1980s, it was already notorious for selling pirated goods, from movies to sportswear.

  Amid World Cup fever, Tepito’s streets were packed with jerseys from every national team. Many were high-quality imitations, made in local workshops with lighter materials than the official ones. In their desperate search, a group of Argentine kitmen, guided by back-up goalkeeper Héctor Zelada, ventured into the neighbourhood’s alleys.

  Maradona would later summarise it in one brief, telling sentence: “I asked for something light… and they found some.”

  The negotiation was quick and almost surreal. The vendors couldn’t believe that real members of the Argentina team were buying jerseys they knew were fakes. But necessity ruled. The problem had to be solved – and in that moment, the counterfeit became salvation.

  The shirts were ideal: lightweight blue polyester with the Le Coq Sportif logo embroidered, almost identical to the official ones but much fresher. They were, literally, the perfect solution.

Tags: Futebol
Category: News