PART ONE: THE HEAD
I. Ahn Jung-hwan vs. Italy/Perugia
2002: South Korea vs. Italy, Round of 16 – Daejon, South Korea
It’s funny. South Korean Ahn Jung-hwan scores the golden goal header against Italy. The day after, his club team, the Italian side Perugia, terminates his contract.
What a legend. One nation’s villain is another nation’s hero.
Perugia’s president, Luciano Gaucci, directed his ire at Ahn: “I am a nationalist and I regard such behavior not only as an affront to Italian pride but also an offence to a country which two years ago opened its doors to him. I have no intention of paying a salary to someone who has ruined Italian football.”
I’m not saying it’s funny that something bad happened to Ahn Jung-hwan. I just love how part of what makes the beautiful game beautiful is that fans, players, presidents, and entire clubs and countries can care so much about a sport—a game—that they can behave so ridiculously.
I’m not sure what Gaucci expected Ahn to do in that moment. Maybe he expected Ahn to suddenly remember his mid-table Italian team and put the ball wide. But Ahn, who had already missed two chances that match, including a penalty saved in the first half, merely did what every striker is trained to do: Trust that another chance will come, convert when it does.
In fact, several players contributed to Ahn winning the match for South Korea. His teammates played their part—Lee Young-pyo delivered the cross—but so did accomplices in blue shirts, with Italy having several chances to put the match away. Christian Vieri had been on fire that tournament and headed in Italy’s only goal of the match in the first half; he then squandered two opportunities. One of them came with the goal open at his mercy in the 89th minute. If only his right foot (his weaker foot) had been a little kinder to him that night.
Then there was Francesco Totti’s sending-off in extra time. Some argue that his second yellow card for simulation was harsh. But nobody forced him to collect the first yellow card 21 minutes into the match when he leapt into an aerial challenge and led with a high elbow into Korean midfielder Kim Nam-il’s head. Totti’s red card occurred in the 103rd minute but began in the 21st.
In soccer, villains are not created through their actions alone. They walk onto a stage set by the loyalties, actions, misfortunes, and failures of those around them.
This match is remembered by many fans bitterly because of the officiating (you can find a lot of “forensic analysis” in nostalgia pieces and YouTube comments), and in some circles, the referee is cast as the villain. But even the best villains rarely act alone.
Ahn’s transcendence is made possible by a series of mistakes and missed chances. In soccer, villains are not created through their actions alone. They walk onto a stage set by the loyalties, actions, misfortunes, and failures of those around them. Their moment emerges only because someone else failed to write a different ending.
If Totti stays on the field, perhaps Italy never finds itself under such pressure. Perhaps Lee Young-pyo never has so much time and space to curl that cross into the penalty area. Perhaps Ahn’s moment never arrives—rising above Paolo Maldini, one of the greatest defenders of all time, and pointing his header downwards past Gianluigi Buffon, another all-time great.
Or, if Vieri converts one more chance, if Christian Panucci doesn’t miscontrol the ball that allows South Korea to equalize near the end of regular time, if Maldini clears the cross as he had done countless times before in his career, maybe Ahn Jung-hwan never leaves Daejeon a traitor, a villain, or a hero. He becomes just another striker who missed opportunities for his country.
Instead, one touch of that great head of hair turned him into a national hero. And what happened afterward—Gaucci’s denunciations, the firing from Perugia—transformed him into a World Cup legend.
II. Zidane and Materazzi
2006: Italy vs. France, Final — Berlin, Germany
The same forehead that helped France win a World Cup against Brazil in 1998 might have helped Italy win one in 2006.
Zinedine Zidane opened the scoring with an audacious panenka in the seventh minute after Marco Materazzi fouled Florent Malouda in the box. In the 19th minute, Materazzi equalized with a header.
In extra time, Zidane and Materazzi resumed their starring roles, producing one of soccer’s most famous images: Zidane lowering his head into Materazzi’s chest. Red card. Walk to the tunnel, past the World Cup trophy.
But even here, there are too many ifs to make Zidane the sole villain. The game went to penalties, still in balance and within France’s grasp. If Zidane stayed on the pitch, he likely converts his kick in the shootout, yes. But the other French players would still have to convert their penalties. Instead, David Trezeguet’s penalty struck the underside of the crossbar and stayed out. Meanwhile, Pirlo converted. Materazzi converted. De Rossi converted. Del Piero converted. Grosso converted.
Four years after Ahn Jung-hwan “ruined Italian football,” Italy scored five out of five penalties to win the World Cup.
For some, the villain is Zidane, who supposedly abandoned his teammates in the late moments of a World Cup final. For others, it’s Materazzi, whose provocation incited the reaction that, for many, has come to define Zidane’s final World Cup appearance. Is the villain the one who commits the action or the one who prompts it?
And if Zidane simply walks away from the insult? If he gets in Materazzi’s face but doesn’t touch him? Or if the insult is something different? Not about his family? Perhaps there is no single villain. Perhaps they are both accomplices.
Years later, Malouda was asked whether Zidane apologized after full time.
“Yes, he apologized, but at the moment I didn’t understand why. . . . We have to remember: he came out of retirement to help France qualify for this tournament. In my mind, why is he apologizing? Without you, I wouldn’t even be at the World Cup. Without him, I would watch this World Cup on TV.”
That feels closer to the truth than endless debates over who is to blame. Malouda seems to be thanking Zidane for getting France back to the World Cup in the first place; his response suggests that gratitude sometimes survives even the moments history chooses to remember most.
III. Pepe vs. Pepe
2014: Germany vs Portugal, Group Stage – Salvador, Brazil
And then there is just unprovoked self-destruction.
In the first half, Portugal is already in trouble, down 2-0. Thomas Müller and Pepe are involved in a minor clash. Müller goes to ground easily, grabbing his face and feigning more serious contact than there really was. The ball is gone, and the play is essentially over. Instead of walking away, Pepe stands over Müller and appears to shout something at him. He bends down and presses his forehead into Müller’s.
It’s not Zidane’s cannonball in Berlin—no eruption, no knockdown—but something smaller and sadder. You’d probably respect Pepe more if he committed to using his head the way Zidane did —get red carded for something more substantive.
Perhaps the most important image in the whole incident is Pepe standing over Müller. Before the heads touch, Pepe has already created an image the referee cannot ignore. Pepe looming over Müller creates a visual imbalance that immediately looks threatening, aggressive. Then comes the forehead-to-forehead contact, which makes the referee’s decision for him.
Müller is by no means an innocent bystander, but he also doesn’t trick Pepe into getting dismissed. The trap, if there is one, is laid entirely by Pepe himself.
When the referee pulls out the red card, there’s surprisingly little shock on the field. Portugal’s players do not rush to surround the referee. Rui Patrício, Portugal’s goalkeeper, the first responder on the scene, looks resigned, as though he already accepts that 2-0 just got worse. German player Sami Khedira moves in to console Pepe, his Real Madrid teammate, as though already familiar with this side of Pepe. In the background, you can see one fan in an FC Barcelona jersey cheering on the dismissal. Years of Clásicos have taught him to expect moments exactly like this.
The red card arrived less as a surprise than as an obvious consequence. Portugal would play shorthanded. Germany would score again. Müller would complete his hattrick. Germany’s tournament would continue all the way to the trophy five matches later.
PART TWO: THE HAND
I. Henry
2009: France vs Ireland, World Cup Playoff Second Leg — Saint- Denis, France
France won the first leg in Dublin 1–0, so Ireland needed to win in France.
Early in the second leg, Robbie Keane put Ireland ahead on the night, leveling the aggregate score at 1–1.
The match drifted into extra time, and in the 103rd minute, Florent Malouda—again near the scene of the crime—floated a deep freekick into the Irish penalty area. The ball bounced and was heading beyond the end line before striking Henry’s forearm. I’m not sure he even saw the ball before it struck his arm, but what happened next leaves little room for debate: As the ball dropped, Henry intentionally used his hand to keep the ball alive. Only after that second touch did he square it across goal to William Gallas, who headed into an open net from point-blank with no Irish player near enough to challenge him.
The referee and assistant missed the handball. Henry ran down the touchline celebrating, yelling into the French crowd. The French players embraced. French flags rippled throughout the stands. Ireland never recovered, and France won the tie 2–1 on aggregate.
Fans and journalists often turn soccer into a morality play. Players, especially elite players . . . are more likely to think in terms of responsibility, cause and effect.
In the aftermath, Irish soccer great, Roy Keane, was asked about the situation. I love his response: “I’ve been amazed at the commotion that’s been going on over the last few days. I think about Henry’s handball. Yeah, of course he handled it. But I’d focus on why didn’t they clear it.”
I want Roy Keane’s school of accountability in all aspects of my life: You either do your job or you fail to do your job. Don’t whine about things outside your control.
Keane continued: “I’d be more annoyed with my defenders and my goalkeeper than Thierry Henry. How can you let the ball bounce in your six-yard box? How can you let Thierry Henry get goal-side of you? And if the ball drops in the six-yard box, I’d be saying, ‘Where the hell is my goalkeeper?’”
Later, he added, “At every level, when you’re 9–10 years of age, every defender is told don’t let the ball bounce, particularly in your own box.”
Fans and journalists often turn soccer into a morality play. Players, especially elite players like Keane, in contrast, are more likely to think in terms of responsibility, cause and effect: If you want to complain about the referee, first explain why the players created the circumstances that put them in that position to begin with.
A reporter followed up by asking Keane: “But having handled the ball, do you feel the integrity of the game has been damaged?”
Keane’s response: “No, not one bit.”
“Would I call him a cheat? No, I wouldn’t think so.”
II. Suárez
2010: Uruguay vs. Ghana, Quarterfinal — Johannesburg, South Africa
The most famous handball in modern World Cup history occurred with the game tied in the 120th minute, in the final moment of extra time.
In that moment, Ghana is inches from a historic semifinal berth when Luis Suárez, standing on his own goal line, deliberately uses both hands to knock away a goal-bound header. He is sent off immediately. Ghana is then one spot kick away from becoming the first African semifinalist in tournament history.
But Asamoah Gyan’s penalty strikes the crossbar and goes over the net out of play. Uruguay’s goalkeeper, Fernando Muslera, turns around and roars at the crossbar. Then he kisses his glove and touches the crossbar. The match goes straight into penalties. Gyan gets another chance at a penalty and converts Ghana’s first kick, but Uruguay wins.
Watching the handball sequence back, you can see the Uruguayan defender Jorge Fucile, next to Suárez on the goal line, also trying to smack the ball away. It’s one of those details that gets lost because Suárez’s handball became the iconic moment. Everyone remembers the villain, Suárez. It’s easy to miss that another Uruguayan defender was preparing to commit the exact same foul; he just failed.
On the eve of Uruguay and Ghana’s 2022 World Cup meeting, 12 years after the handball, Suárez was asked whether he should apologize. He responded: “Maybe I can apologize if I tackle and injure a player and take a red card. Maybe I can apologize. But in this situation, I take the red card, the ref says penalty. It’s not my fault because I did not miss the penalty.”
Suárez and Fucile weren’t the only players willing to commit the same heroic act for their country, though. Two Ghanaians from that very match later admitted they would have done exactly what Suárez did.
Gyan himself said, “Sometimes I have to be in somebody’s shoes. I always say, even in that time, if I was Suárez, I would’ve even handled the ball, the same thing to save my country. He did what he had to do. We had opportunity. We weren’t able to convert it, which is part of football.”
Later, Kevin-Prince Boateng also reflected, “Suárez does something unbelievable for his country. We have to be honest. I would have done the same.”
Boateng continued, “OK, it’s normal. So, I can’t blame him for that. Afterwards, how he got blessed with it, that’s the wrong thing. That’s the wrong thing that they went through and not us. Because we deserved it a million times more. But that’s the heartbreaking thing.”
Interestingly, he blames fate, the cosmos, the universe, or God—not Suárez or Gyan. Boateng doesn’t ask for an apology. Gyan doesn’t either; he doesn’t even talk about unfairness—the very man who missed the penalty kick that would have sent Ghana into the semifinals.
III. Maradona
1986: Argentina vs. England, Quarterfinal – Mexico City, Mexico
Decades after the Hand of God, two England players from that match—goalkeeper Peter Shilton and defender Terry Butcher—were still sore at Maradona. In 2008, Maradona and Butcher faced off again, this time in a friendly in Glasgow; Maradona as the manager of Argentina, Butcher as the assistant manager of Scotland. In the buildup, Butcher said he would never forgive Maradona, and when asked about a post-match handshake, he replied, “No, I’m not bothered about that.” Nine years later, at the FIFA Football Awards, Shilton said, “I’ve still not forgiven Diego Maradona,” adding, not for the first time, that Maradona should have apologized.
Not all English players from that match have continued to hold this resentment, though. In an interview with Maradona, Gary Lineker, who scored England’s only goal late in that match, told him with a half-smile, “Personally, I blame the referee and the linesman, not you.” On a separate occasion, he simply observed—repeatedly—that Maradona “got away with it.” Midfielder Peter Reid has spoken affectionately about Maradona on numerous occasions, recalling Maradona’s sense of humor and also sharing that he has a “lovely, personalized shirt” from Maradona in his home. He’d also been seen bantering with Maradona, hugging him, and even kissing the famous left hand.
One of the most interesting details about the Hand of God goal is that it only happens because an England player inadvertently creates the chance himself. Villains often need someone else to create the conditions in which their most infamous acts can occur. After a broken Argentine attack drifts toward the right side of England’s penalty area, midfielder Steve Hodge hooks the ball high into the six-yard box—right into the space where Maradona and Shilton converge.
Hodge’s own recollections suggest that this was intentional rather than an issue of technique: “I had a good left foot. It came at a nice height and I flicked the ball back and I caught the contact spot on.” At the same time, he acknowledged his role in the goal: “I just turned around and saw the clash and collision and the ball in the back of the net and thinking that I’m a part of that, that that wasn’t a great back pass.”
Hodge’s touch had another consequence. Maradona was in an offside position when the ball was looped into the penalty area, but because the last touch came from Hodge, an England player, there was no offside. Hodge’s intervention didn’t just create the opportunity for Maradona—it legally kept him onside.
Without Hodge’s touch, there is no Hand of God.
I was born one World Cup before this goal. From childhood into my twenties, I played enough pickup games to know that every player I knew with a sense of humor would eventually try to pull off a Hand of God. A ball would hang at head or chest height, and someone would blatantly slap or punch it into the net—or between two sandals, shoes, cones, or whatever happened to mark the goal. I remember doing it myself once. Nobody expected to fool anyone. That wasn’t the point. It was a way to laugh with others—an affectionate homage to Maradona and an iconic moment. And we didn’t just imitate the handball itself; we took the opportunity to imitate Maradona’s celebration.
For some fans, you need a villain in order to tell a story, in the same way that you wouldn’t have a story without a hero. Our soccer villains become characters we argue over, condemn, joke about, and revisit even decades later. The match remains the beginning of the villain’s story, but the way we continue telling it means that story never ends. During that same 2008 visit to Glasgow—the friendly match that prompted questions about whether Butcher would shake Maradona’s hand—a Scottish journalist informed Maradona: “Diego, there are some Scottish members from the Church of Maradona outside. Do you have a message for your disciples here in Scotland?”