It is one of the most famous sports photographs of all time but have we been duped into liking that photo of Maradona? • In pictures: 25 of the best World Cup photos ever

In the pantheon of great World Cup photographs there is one which, in common perception at least, stands above the rest. It is the image of Diego Maradona being confronted by six Belgium players at the 1982 World Cup.

If ever a photograph encapsulates a player's genius, this is surely it. It is a simple snapshot which, on face value, showcases Maradona's audacity and the opposition's utter terror at the prospect of facing him; terror exemplified by the sheer numbers they had apparently dispatched to mark him. Or such is the myth.

The photographer, Steve Powell, was shooting his first ever assignment for Sports Illustrated and had trained one eye on the young maestro for long periods of the match in anticipation of something special. Frankly, everyone at the Camp Nou had. Maradona was appearing in his first World Cup and had recently secured a transfer to Barcelona; he was a star in the making and a striking photograph waiting to happen.

That said, Powell didn't exactly fancy his chances. He had been given what was considered in photographic circles to be the worst perch – a seat up in the gods – but his lofted vantage point provided an uncomplicated backdrop and, when the perfect moment arose early in the second half, he clicked the shutter and captured it perfectly. He wasn't aware then of what an iconic image he had created (because it was shot on film) but when he first saw the negatives he realised it was special.

"It happens to have great colours – the green of the grass and the organey-red of the Belgium shirt – those are wonderful contrasts that make for a good image, and the composition is strong, too, with the beautiful fan-like effect of the players," Powell said, when I asked him what makes the shot so good. "There was an awful lot of luck involved in getting it, but lots of memorable photos are like that. You just have to concentrate and be ready for the opportunities."

I agree. The arrangement of the players is the pivotal aesthetic quality. The way the Belgians are splaying left and right, like wild deer, fuses the image with a sense of comedic panic. Maradona, meanwhile, looks serene in comparison, balletic even, with his left boot wavering behind the ball and the his entire body poised, on tip-toes, for action. In some ways, though, the real brilliance of the photograph is the idea it induces: looking at it you might imagine that Maradona jinked his way past all of the players in front of him before casually stroking the ball into the net beyond a disbelieving goalkeeper (much as he did four years later).

So, here's the rub; beautiful though it may be, the photograph is intrinsically misleading. Maradona wasn't being man-marked by a huddle of Belgians. In fact, he wasn't even being marked. He'd merely received the ball from a short free-kick from Ossie Ardiles, and the players before him had been part of the Belgian wall, hence their proximity to one another.

Maradona receives the ball from the short free-kick. Photograph: YouTube

What's more, Maradona didn't waltz through them, or around them. Instead he attempted to hoik the ball over their heads, but his effort lacked leverage and was swiftly cleared by Luc Millecamps. Yep, Maradona was rather shoddy that day and Belgium went on to win the match 1-0; consequently, the image was initially cast onto the scrapheap and only received appreciation in the years that followed.

Maradona's attempt to chip the ball over the wall fails and is headed clear. Photograph: YouTube

The question, of course, is, does it matter that the image is so suggestive of something which did not actually occur? I think the answer is no. The fundamental nature of photography is that it selectively captures a moment in time, it doesn't necessarily speak of what went before or after, or of what happened beyond the bounds of the frame. Everyone knows that, we just forget it sometimes and we make assumptions (as the medium so often requires us to) to complete the story in our minds. If we were being pragmatic, we would do better to remember that every photograph offers only a singular, fleeting perspective – one which is by turns truthful and yet potentially duplicitous. In this case, the invitation to 'see' Maradona in his pomp is just too inviting.

As viewers, there's no reason to feel robbed by the reality of Powell's image. His image is, in itself, honest and accurate. Instead, we should delight in it simply for what it is: an apt reminder of an exceptionally talented footballer. After all, that's why we all loved it in the first place, right?

Powell agrees: "Ultimately it's not about the composition; it's not about art; it's not about that particular game; it transcends that," he says. "It's about communication. It communicates the power of Maradona and the fear he instilled. It's about this one man and the relationship he had with opposing players."

At its roots, good photography is always a matter of good communication.