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How long do football grudges last? It has long been argued that Brazil never truly recovered from the Maracanazo, or, if they did, it took decades. The same might be said of the English football community and Diego’ Maradona’s “Hand of God”. In Algeria, the national wound was inflicted at the 1982 World Cup and has been universally referred to as “the Shame of Gijón”. Almost exactly 44 years later, a potential reckoning for that arrives when Algeria play Austria in their final group match, with a last-32 place on the line.

In the summer of 1982 Algeria was a young nation, two decades removed from 132 years of colonial rule. Unless one was versed in African independence movements or the doctrine of third-worldism, Algeria was unlikely to register in most people’s political thinking. The World Cup, held in Spain, was a rare and precious platform for the country to announce itself, and the team seized the opportunity.

In their opening match, Algeria beat West Germany, the reigning European champions, 2-1. A defeat by Austria followed but Algeria recovered to beat Chile in their final group fixture. Crucially, that was played the day before West Germany faced Austria, giving the two European sides the luxury of knowing what result they required. A West Germany win by one or two goals would mean both advanced on goal difference.

Salah Assad, who started Algeria’s three matches at the 1982 World Cup, says he and his teammates anticipated what was coming. “In truth, we knew they would do it beforehand,” he said in an interview published in Competition this week. “We knew they were going to conspire against us and ensure Algeria didn’t qualify. So we went out shopping, buying gifts for our loved ones, fully expecting to be on a plane home the next morning.”

His prediction proved grimly accurate. Horst Hrubesch met a cross and scored for West Germany in the 10th minute. Thereafter, both sides appeared to reach a silent, mutual understanding. The result would stand, and the match would be seen out. The pretence of honest competition dissolved almost entirely. At one point, Uli Stielike stopped the ball and surveyed the pitch five times before settling on a five-yard pass. Paul Breitner spent 20 unhurried seconds walking laterally with the ball in his own half. The Austria midfielder Reinhold Hintermaier feigned ambition and his theatrical effort sailed 20 yards over, deceiving no one.

In one corner of the ground, an incensed Algerian supporter attempted to invade the pitch. He was restrained but the fury among those in attendance was universal. “¡Que se besen!” – “Just kiss each other!” – rang around El Molinón at the hour mark. “¡Fuera!” – “Get out!” – followed at the 70th minute. The local Gijón crowd, quickly drawn to the side of the wronged north Africans, abandoned any neutrality and began chanting “¡Argelia, Argelia!” Incessant jeering drowned out Bob Valentine’s final whistle.

Statistical analysis later bore out what everyone in the stadium had sensed. In the second half, three shots were registered, none on target. Both teams completed more than 90% of their passes.

Nonetheless, West Germany’s coach, Jupp Derwall, dismissed talk of collusion as “a grave and serious insult”. Hans Tschak, head of the Austrian delegation, was much less measured. “If 10,000 ‘sons of the desert’ in this stadium want to manufacture a scandal,” he said, “it only proves they lack education. Some sheikh crawls out of an oasis, gets a whiff of World Cup air after 300 years and thinks he has the right to open his mouth.”

Algeria’s federation lodged complaints with Fifa which went nowhere. The episode did, however, produce one lasting institutional consequence, with Fifa mandating that final group matches be played simultaneously.

“My father’s generation was traumatised by that game,” says Ghiles Sahnoun, a diehard football fan in Algiers. “They turned it into a disgrace, and I don’t think his generation ever forgave either of those teams.”

A generational faultline runs through how Algerians are approaching Saturday night’s fixture in Kansas City (a 3am BST Sunday kick-off). For supporters old enough to remember 1982, eliminating Austria would carry a satisfaction far beyond three points. For younger fans, the grievance is inherited and less raw.

Ihab Fridj, a fan in Algiers in his mid-20s, says: “My friends and I are all on the same page. We want to beat Austria. It isn’t about hatred or nursing a long grudge. But everything that happens in the world is connected to history and what came before. This would be a way of righting an old wrong.”

Not that Assad views it that way. “Every generation has its own story,” the former winger said. “These players should write their own chapter. They can do it. Don’t try to avenge us, just play your game and qualify. That’s all.”

In an extraordinary echo, a draw would almost certainly send both teams through – and they will know for sure before kick-off. Algeria and Austria start second and third respectively in Group J, behind its winners, Argentina. If a point were to guarantee Algeria a last-32 spot it may suit them to draw rather than win because the runners-up next play the Group H winners, expected to be Spain. Sahnoun, though, says: “I think everyone wants a clear victory, precisely to avoid repeating what happened in 1982.”

Nothing that Algeria do on Saturday night will erase the hurt of 25 June 1982, but perhaps the outcome can bring a smile and closure to a football-mad nation.