Maradona gave us another possible body, a face, his curls. The body and the color of the shantytown. He gave us a tongue, incendiary. He gave us a politics, always the most irreverent. He gave us a movement, grace, cunning, insolence. He gave us happiness, the most plebeian kind. He gave us excess, he taught us lust. He wanted it for everyone, like the gold of the Vatican. He was the dream, the dream of the many. When he was among the masters, he spat on his hand and returned to the mud. He gave everything, until the end. They wanted to capitalize on everything, until the end. Even his old and broken body. Without a trace.

Emiliano Sacchi

Diego, a myth made of vulnerabilities and excesses, functioned as a surface of inscription, a catalyst and support for expressing the shared affections of the community. This is not a typical collective book, but a hypothesis developed collectively, an attempt to think about what his absence entailed as an event.