For the old it was his greatness Pele. For the descendants of his “hand of God.” Maradona. For the younger famous spoon in his latest game Zidane.

And if these are the most characteristic moments that are inscribed in golden letters in the memory of generations of viewers World Cup, each of the lovers of the “round goddess” keeps his own from the thousands of moments of tenderness and awe that the events of the World Cup give every four years.

For some, the stages were frozen in time, from which they took their breath away, for some in the summer in the village the TV was always on and there was a match somewhere in the background, for some the World Cup tastes like pizza, but there are those who tried to imitate their world stadium leaders.

However, no one forgets where he was and what he was doing when the World Cup gave him memories of the future.

As well as the following 4 football fans who, no matter what, will always remember these moments in their hearts:

Antonis Antoniou felt AEK lost when Jeff waved his finger in ’82

I remember the 1982 World Cup well. Match Italy-Brazil, which decided to reach the semi-finals. I was with Brazil. Italy leads 1-0. Brazil compares. Italy leads 2-1. Brazil compares. Italy scores the third goal, and from here begins a flurry of opportunities for Brazil.

What I remember with great sadness is that after a header, Italian goalkeeper Geoff caught the ball almost on the line. Above him is Socrates from Brazil, this big player, and Jeff turns around and waves his finger back and forth and says, “No, he didn’t score.”

The knife then plunged into my heart. I was so upset, like AEK was losing. And finally, Italy won 3-2.

Greece is not participating this year anyway, so we are all going to Brazil.

Antonis Antoniou is an actor.

Pygmalion Dadakaridis was once looking for a tango ball on the fields of Rafina.

I distinctly remember two world championships, 86th and 90th. In ’86 for Maradona’s “hand of God” goal, that famous goal he scored with his hand in England, and the next goal he scored after that, conceding the whole team.

Since at that time all the children played ball, in the summer that we saw in Rafina, we all idolized this great football player and tried to imitate the way he played.

Our great joy when we were kids was the different Mundial albums where we took pieces of paper, stuck together and tried to compete who had more or what was different from each other. And most importantly, our dream during these four years was to have a tango soccer ball. It had a special shape, and all the children were looking for this ball to play in the playgrounds.

I distinctly remember how we brought the TV to the veranda and gathered all the guys who wanted to watch these big matches. Mostly in ’90 when it was night, because in ’86 it was in Mexico, the clock was upside down. Our parents cooked our favorite food and we all sat together and watched the games.

In general, I think that when the World Cup happens, for the new world, but also for the older world, it is a place where people meet. Now this year’s World Cup, which takes place in the winter and goes on as it is, I don’t know how it will be. This year is special and for other reasons it also has a negative sign. Anyway, I think sport is important anyway, it’s just going to be a bit weird this time.

I support my second country because of my mother, England. Although inside we are all drawn by Brazil.

Pygmalion Dadacaridis is an actor.

Elina Dimitriadis in 1994 cried because of Roberto Baggio’s “divine ponytail” and because of her own.

1994 was the year I cried because of two ponytails – mine, which was cut short for a short frame, and the “divine ponytail”, as they called Roberto Baggio, who missed the last penalty in the final of the 94 World Cup, which resulted in Brazil winning trophy in place instead of Italy.

If you ask me what the World Cup sounds like, I’ll tell you the whistle of a vuvuzela in the stands and the hiss of a cold beer. If you ask me what the taste of the World Cup is, I will answer: bittersweet or pizza. Nice because I love football so much and at the World Cup I always enjoyed how many of my all time amateur players would play ball together in tournaments and chant their nicknames while watching the matches with my favorite people in Oropos during the summer. Bitter, because my heart broke in the turn in ’94, the moment when the “divine ponytail” bowed his head, put his hands on his waist and remained motionless in front of an empty net, and Brazil celebrated a great victory around him. Bitter, because in the 1994 World Cup, the first in which Greece also participated, Batistuta and his Argentina dropped out ahead of schedule – after he managed to score 3 goals, and Maradona 1 against Greece of the great “Little” Sarawak, from “Turbo” . Apostolakis and “Ninja” Kalitzakis and others. Bitter because I never saw Batigol’s Argentina, as Batistuta was nicknamed, win the World Cup (I had two posters in my teenage room, one with George Michael and one with long-haired Batigol in a purple Fiorentina jersey). Pizza, not souvlaki, because my heart will always be in Italy, and one of my favorite photos is the one of Zidane “Zizou” and Del Piero “Pitouricchio” moderately eating pizza standing up somewhere in Italy. Pizza and ball go together.

When asked if I will watch this year’s World Cup, which will be held in Qatar and because of which it is considered controversial, I would like to answer with a saying that has entered the history of football: “When seagulls follow a trawler, it is because they think that the sardines will be thrown into the sea.” For a more detailed answer expressing my point of view on this particular issue, I will refer to Naomi Accardi’s newsletter “Things I’ve been thinking” and the related article “Thoughts on Qatar ’22”. My heart told me where it would be.

Elina Dimitriadis is the press manager of the Athens Kalithea football club and a columnist for Vogue and K.

Pantelis Boukalas will forever remember the five dozen he saw in a magic box in 1970.

From memory, do not steal, resorting to the Internet: Felix, Clodoaldo, Piazza, Brito, Everaldo, Carlos Alberto, Zerson, Tostao, Pele, Rivellino, Zairzinho. Yes, the Brazilian team at the 1970 World Cup, five to ten, I still remember. On the contrary, I am not at all sure about the eleven of our team at Euro 2004, although it should be in much more recent layers of memory.

The World Cup in Mexico was the first in my life, but it stuck in my memory with the chisel of the simultaneous second championship, which I still could not understand at that time, that this was actually the entrance to a new world: glass. That was the first time I saw TV. Electricity was still relatively new in the village. And while our parents left us on the one hand, and the fury of the ball on the other, we ran after the crews to collect everything they threw, from cables to insulators.

In a village about thirty kilometers from Messolonga, then Paleokatuna, now Lesini, there was a television set. And not in a cafe to say that we will all fit, from young to old. Houses. Schafer went to Germany, did not get drunk, returned, so to speak, with a box. Magic box. His image from the Mexican stadiums was endured, as was the little ticket cut off by the adults crowding into the largest room of the house. We, the younger ones (I was thirteen then), saw most of them with the eyes of imagination, peering out the windows. Our ticket was a couple handfuls of beans, borrowed (and raw) downstairs. The beans were then the production of the village, the blessing of Aheloy.

Well, the Brazilians played differently and played well. Even better than we imagined, playing everywhere, we got some free space, even if rocks were natural obstacles to our triplador talent. We fought until we shared the names of five dozen, and usually played without a goalkeeper. Nobody wanted to be Felix.

We haven’t heard anything about “gambling bonito”. These came much later. Together with information about the involvement of the Brazilian dictatorship in the national team, from the final choice of a coach to the formation of the squad.

Since the 70th year, I have played for Brazil in all the world championships. Not this year. I was taught. I was forced to recruit his stars, first of all and the worst still immature Neymar, in favor of Bolsonaro. In favor of a demagogue even more destructive than Trump, as he allowed the massacre of the Amazons.

Together with Denmark, I will be in this world championship of power grab, corruption and shame. With National, which somehow tried to protest the deaths of migrant workers in Qatar and its sheikhs’ contempt for any form of freedom.

And if Denmark doesn’t reach the final and Argentina does, I’ll be with Messi.

Pantelis Boukalas is a writer and columnist for Kathimerini.