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in bed with maradona

Sócrates was Benjamin Franklin with immaculate close control and a penchant for all-nighters and headbands. It would be beyond ready acceptance if it were the life of a fictional anti-hero, but reality says that the man existed and did all these things and then died way too soon because he couldn’t and wouldn’t take care of himself. It doesn’t make sense, and so we seek to find a unifying logic in it, though it may be the pursuit of a fiction.