They say the best music belongs to the devil. In considering Diego Maradona, it could be said that Satan also had a handle on the best footballer.

Saturday's destruction of Venezuela by Argentina was described by Maradona, presiding over his first competitive game as national coach, as "a perfect game". And he should know about these things. Though one could beg to differ after Lionel Messi's unbelievably skilful run in the latter stages ended with him narrowly missing the target. The chance to hail Maradona's new charges as "five star" had gone but Messi's burst past a bewildered defence could only bring back memories of one man. That man, meanwhile, was pacing along the sideline, roaring on his charges.

Of all the Maradona impressionists we've had since the great man's playing career ebbed away, Lionel Messi is undoubtedly the best. And could just be the player to make sure that Maradona doubles the membership of Franz Beckenbauer's exclusive club of captaining and coaching his country to World Cup glory. Yet Messi is no Maradona. Not even close.

He may yet match the playing achievements of his country's prodigal and most worshipped son. That argument will not be settled until a decade hence. We shall see, yet it would seem hugely unlikely that the Barcelona prodigy could ever generate a fraction of the headlines, be they of outrage, intrigue or amazement, that his mentor has provided.

Few could imagine the quiet and studious Messi ever launching as rumbustious an autobiograhy as "El Diego", a highly recommended and relentless rant. Written mid-breakdown, as potentially fatal food and cocaine addictions wracked the body and mind of the man who had won the World Cup all but single-handedly in 1986, it speaks in the guttural vernacular of a boy from the barrio. Despite over 30 years of privilege, Maradona will never shake the roots of the shantytown. Foul-mouthed and angry yet wonderfully compelling and highly amusing, it is the story of one man against the world, him winning the battle and then the world taking it away from him again - in his eyes.

This is a man who believes he was destined to the greatest from the moment his uncle rescued him from drowning in the family cesspit. A metaphor for life, a psychatrist once told him, and one that he has seized on ever since.

There is, of course, a rival for his crown and Diego is not taking the battle to be regarded as the best lying down. He and Pele have been bickering jealously for years, though they once made up on Maradona's own TV show, tearfully comparing notes on the horrors of addiction (Pele's son has had a well publicised cocaine problem) and even singing a song together.

That was in 2005, but the gloves are back off now. After Pele's reported insinuation that Maradona was no role model because of his history with drugs, the Argentine chose to say that no-one should listen to Pele since the Brazilian legend had lost his virginity to a man. Something of a break with the tradition of tedium associated with pre-match international press conferences, this makes the barbs between Ferguson and Benitez look like a mutual appreciation society.

Hilariously lacking in diversity and political correctness as it was, Maradona's outrageous claim pointed to the realisation that the responsibility of international management cannot and will not ever curb his tongue.

In England, there is still a rump of dislike for the man, the "Hand of God" remaining the main reason. Personally, I couldn't help but admire him in 1986 and only went off him at Italia '90 where, less than half fit, he put up ugly displays of gamesmanship in every game but still found the wherewithal to end the participation of Brazil, Yugoslavia and a wonderful Italian side. The Argentina team of that tournament could never be the romantic's choice, and few, apart from Argentinians and Diego himself, by the bucketload, shed tears when they were beaten in the final by West Germany's own brand of realpolitik.

Four years later, in the USA, it seemed we had the old Maradona back. A thrilling goal and maniacal celebration in Argentina's opening destruction of Greece had the world believing. So too a masterclass against the emerging Nigerians. Yet a failed dope test robbed us all of the chance of one last hurrah. Maradona, as has been so often the case, self-destructed and snatched bitter defeat from the teeth of a glorious renaissance. We would never see his like again.

It is this edge of unpredictability which draws us to him. The demons were as strong a force as his unbelievable talent and won out in the end. Yet flawed geniuses are often the ones taken to heart. A devil-may-care attitude and fear that something could go wrong at any time can be a powerful attraction.

George Best over Bobby Charlton? Gazza over Gary Lineker? When they fall flat on their face, as all the aforementioned bad boys have done, a moral "majority" may often believe that they've had it coming. To do so is to dismiss what a taste of danger can bring to the game. In short: excitement.

Maradona is to be cherished, for however long he serves. Aside from the quality of the football his team look capable of producing, we should await his World Cup pressers with baited breath. That's if, of course, he makes it that far. Let's hope he can dance on the right side of the devil.