England were back and Brazil sparkled but it was Italy who emerged triumphant thanks to a reborn Paolo Rossi.
England return, Brazil star but Rossi and Italy win
I had just turned 13 when the World Cup finals headed to sunny Spain.
And for me that meant seeing England on the World Cup stage for the first time.
In 1978, the first tournament I can remember, I had been an honorary Scotland supporter.
The Scots had been humiliated back then so surely England had to fare better - and it took just 27 seconds for Ron Greenwood's men to make their mark.
A quick throw-in from Steve Coppell, a flick on by Terry Butcher and there was Bryan Robson at the far post to hook the ball home.
Regretfully I wasn't in front of a TV to see it.
The game had clashed with a trip to the dentist and despite massive Kevin The Teenager-style "Huh, it's so unfair" protestations, my mother wouldn't be swayed.
Luckily my dentist had the wireless on, although when the French equaliser went in his drill almost removed my front teeth.
After a mad rush home for the closing stages, when my dad broke 60mph for the first and only time in his life, I actually got to see Robson head home a superb second and Paul Mariner sew it up with a third. Magnificent. What a start.
But that was to be the high for England.
Uninspired 1-0 wins over Czechoslovakia and Kuwait followed and our lack of goals was again apparent as we drew 0-0 with West Germany in the first game of the three-team second group phase.
It meant England needed a 2-0 win over hosts Spain to reach the last four - surely an impossible ask now the goals had dried up.
But wait, there was hope. We had a trump card, make that two trump cards, up our sleeve - the deadly double act of Kevin Keegan and Trevor Brooking.
The star pair had been injured for the early part of the tournament but it was now or never and Greenwood put them on the bench for the showdown with Spain.
With the nation roaring at Greenwood through their televisions to bring them on, the England boss finally relented with 20 minutes left.
Brooking picked up the pace from the start but a pumped-up Keegan looked far too anxious.
Having missed out on the finals in 1978, he had a golden chance to give England hope but somehow headed an absolute sitter wide of the post. And then it was all over.
To this day I still believe a shaven headed man would have scored that goal - as it was Keegan's perm got too much on the ball and it frizzed wide.
But for me the 1982 World Cup was all about falling in love for the first time. Not with a girl but with Brazil.
Greatest
Ahh, what a team. I had often cursed my luck that I hadn't been born 12 years earlier and seen the magical Brazilians of 1970 play live in Mexico.
But in 1982, I had my own version of the 1970 team to drool over. Zico, Socrates, Junior, Falcao and best of all, by a million miles, Eder!
Watching Brazil was sheer bliss and surely this team were destined to go down as one of the greatest in history as they headed into the game with Italy needing just a draw to reach the semi-finals.
The game has gone down as one of the greatest in World Cup history.
But to me it rekindles memories of total injustice and a huge sense of loss.
Playing what Dave Bassett might call "too much fanny dangle" at the back, Brazil defended like idiots and allowed Paolo Rossi to fire home a hat-trick and dump them out.
Rossi had previously been banned for his part in a match-fixing scandal and had looked poor in the opening games of Spain '82.
But suddenly he came over all ruthless and wrecked my entire summer.
I even agreed to turn out for the school cricket team when Italy played Poland in the semi-finals so, as I'd watched every single game of World Cup '82 so far, my heart was clearly no longer in it.
Nevertheless, I was still quietly pleased when Italy tonked West Germany 3-1 in the final - Marco Tardelli's passionate celebration of the second goal reminding me of how great football is for stirring the emotions.
And, of course, it also meant a loser's medal for villain of the piece Harald Schumacher.
If you think English referees are rubbish nowadays then remember that the German goalkeeper wasn't even booked for his assault on Patrick Battiston.
I shall also remember World Cup '82 for Northern Ireland.
Although 17-year-old Norman Whiteside was the centre of attention, Billy Hamilton and Gerry Armstrong became my personal favourites with their buccaneering runs and the two combined to score that memorable winner against hosts Spain.
The hairs on the back of my neck still stand on end when I hear John Motson cry "Armstrong" as the striker fires past the helpless Arconada.
As for Scotland, again I was left with a real sense of disappointment so goodness knows what real Scottish fans felt.
How, I wondered, could Kenny Dalglish and Alan Hansen be so good for Liverpool and yet look so mediocre in a Scotland shirt.
Despite taking the lead against Brazil and beating New Zealand, Hansen and Willie Miller ran into each other near the touchline, Russia broke away and scored and the Tartan Army's trip to sunny Spain was all over.
