That was what I said on Thursday 11 October 1990 and it came from the
                   heart. But to be honest it caused me terrible grief. That was the start of a
                   really confused period for me and for the fans too I reckon. A lot of people
                   were saying, “Hey, look at this inconsistent shithead.” I can be incoherent it’s
                   true. But I say what I feel...

                   That’s why I said that Christmas [in 1990] that stuff about not wanting to lose
                   the captaincy of the national team and then less than a fortnight later I said
                   again that playing for Argentina was only a beautiful memory. That’s how it
                   was, I came and went. Till one decisive week, a disastrous week in my career
                   and my life.

                   The whole thing started on Tuesday 12 March 1991. Coco Basile, the new
                   coach for the national side after Bilardo, had acted like a gentleman
                   throughout. Publicly he was forever saying, “The number ten shirt’s his. It’s
                   waiting for him but I want to give him time. He’s a man under a great deal of
                   pressure.” He rang up my agent, Marcos, to fix up a meeting in Ezeiza and
                   there in the new international team headquarters (something we’d been
                   fighting for for so many years) the meeting took place. Marcos told me what
                   Basile had said to him and it was music to my ears. Exactly what I wanted to
                   hear. “I’d like to meet up with Diego and have a word with him... But more than
                   anything, I’d just like to be with him, you know, one human being to another, to
                   try and help him through this. I was trying to keep my head above water in
                   various lawsuits and a constant string of hearings from the Italians and for me
                   it was like a friendly hand on my back, an embrace. And I promised to look him
                   straight in the eyes when I gave him an answer. If I could, that is, ’cause El
                   Coco’s over six foot tall...

                   On Sunday 17 Napoli played a home game against Bari in the San Paolo. It
                   was one more game in a championship where we were the underdogs. We won
                   1-0 with a goal by Zolita, Gianfranco Zola. He usually replaced me but that
                   Sunday we played together... Neither of us ever imagined it would be one of the
                   last opportunities. Nobody did. I got tested for drugs and... the vendetta was
                   complete. The revenge was written in stone and in the end it was bound to
                   come. I call it “El Doping de Antonio Matarrese”, the Antonio Matarrese
                   Drugs Test.

                   After that game in Naples, Matarrese, who was the Bari-born president of the
                   Federcalcio and a Napoli director, didn’t give me any angry or bitter looks. He
                   just looked at me the way mafiosos do... And I thought to myself “It’s going to
                   be difficult to carry on living here.”

                   Only the ignorant were capable of saying that I got a competitive edge with
                   what I was taking. If I was harming myself it was on a personal level. It didn’t
                   help me to score goals or do nutmegs. But luckily the Beard (God that is) is up
                   there watching over everything and drove somebody to tell the truth, a person
                   who worked in the laboratory, just so people will know there’s something fishy
                   behind it all... My lawyer in Italy is bringing a suit and the truth will soon be
                   known

~Chapter 15

Chapters Index~

Chapter 17~