Well, that was anticlimactic.

Diego celebrates

For all the gnashing of teeth and biting of nails in Buenos Aires, the Argentines secured outright qualification for next summer’s World Cup with a 1-0 win in Uruguay. It ended up being rather moot, considering Ecuador fell to Chile and had no chance of disrupting the party, and yet, ol’ Cokey McSnort couldn’t resist some juicy “I Told You So” action for the waiting media!

You see, the one thing we love more than a vindicated manager is a barely vindicated manager.

“For those who didn’t believe in this national team, for those who treated me like garbage [I say] today we are in the World Cup with all the honours, beating a team like Uruguay,” was his triumphant opening stanza, and while he’s factually correct with that World Cup bit, we must cast an eye on how they got there.

It took a late goal from a free-kick to do the damage in a game where Uruguay had the lion’s share of the chances, though once Martin Caceres got himself sent off for the home side thanks to a shockingly dumb arm-tackle (I’m guessing the pressure, mixed with the embarrassment of being beaten for pace by Newcastle United’s own Jonas Gutierrez, got to him), the Argies seized their opportunity. The goal was scored by a sub, Mario Bolatti, in just his 3rd appearance for the national team.

Then there’s his team selection:

Romero, Otamendi, Schiavi, Demichelis, Heinze, Gutierrez, Mascherano, Veron, Di Maria, Messi, Higuain.
Subs: Andujar, Pareja, Federico Insua, Brana, Aimar, Tevez, Palermo.

That, my friends, is not a quality XI. It’s a side picked by an emotional man whose irrational love for certain players trumps all logic. The backline is comprised of aging defenders who can barely still walk (Schiavi, a rapidly-declining Heintze) and young’uns who can barely stand up. No place for Walter Samuel or Nicolas Burdisso, two of the better defenders still left to pick from. The wingers are inconsistent (Di Maria’s not nearly ready for the international level, while Gutierrez suffers from being Jonas Gutierrez), and Veron, though enjoying a renaissance, is too long removed from top-flight football to dictate the pace and attacking tempo of a side.

Still, Diego knows what it’s like to be written off, and perhaps longs to see his most controversial players destroying their demons much like he did in the twilight of his career.

Messi, as we all know, plays wide for Barcelona, where his menace is more effective. Give him space to run at defenders and create chances for his more physically-imposing peers. By slotting him up-top, you rob him of the precious space that so often allows him to produce magic. No place for the industry of Carlos Tevez (while the rest of the world thrives with productive, hard-working strikers-turned-defensive-wingers, Diego is still living in antiquity), or the keen predatory eye of his son-in-law, Sergio Aguero. Lavezzi deserves a shout for his Serie A form, as does Gabi Milito, not to mention the workrate of Fernando Gago alongside Mascherano.

Diego’s teams recall a more romantic age, the era in which he himself thrived. They are amalgams of raw talent and tarnished experience, long-shots and long-since-gones. If Maradona is to have any hope next summer, he needs to wake up and embrace the jarring, statistical modernity of the game, reading chapter and verse from the OPTA data and plyometrics that so many other top-flight coaches have adopted as gospel.

Which brings us to the next point: is there any chance of Diego remaining in charge next summer? The Argentines don’t like to fire their managers — something about upsetting the delicate class structure — preferring them instead to fall on their swords and turn in their parking passes with some air of nobility. His post-game conference included some rumblings that he’s getting ready to walk, at least in terms of bringing up some vague conflicts with his superiors.

From the article:

A week ago Maradona had given the impression there were divisions among the national team’s staff, suggesting to reporters in Buenos Aires that preparations to face Peru on Saturday had not run smoothly. He said he would only stay on for the finals on his terms, but a few days later accused the media of inventing his possible resignation.

On Wednesday he allowed a similar doubt to fill the air when, in answer to a question about whether he would be in charge of Argentina in South Africa Maradona would only say: “I need to talk to [the Argentinian Football Association president Julio] Grondona.”

He reserved his praise for his players and the small group of fans, fewer than 2,000, who crossed the River Plate from Buenos Aires to support the team in a stadium packed with close to 60,000 Uruguayans baying for Argentinian blood.

“I want to thank the whole squad for having given me the privilege of taking Argentina to the World Cup and the people … who crossed the pond.”

Sounds a tiny bit like he’s preparing his glorious exit, but I could well be wrong. This is, after all, how it begins: cite potentially irreconcilable differences here, gripe publicly there… lather, rinse, repeat until you’re heading out the door.

For today, at least, Maradona is vindicated. He did what he was there to do, regardless of the desperation or lack of control his side displayed in securing qualification. Ultimately, they had enough talent to get the job done, reminiscent of his work in 1986 in Mexico, when the curly-haired midfielder willed his average team to World Cup glory.

Next summer is an entirely different matter.