Football

by Michael Sells

  The match seemed to be petering out. Then, five minutes from time, Brazil were awarded a free-kick five yards outside the Zaire box. Jairzinho and Rivelinho, two masters of free-kick taking, stood over the ball. The three-goal margin looked under threat.

  As the Brazilians stood, pondering their approach, a lone figure broke free from the Zaire defensive wall. When Mwepu Ilunga reached the motionless ball he propelled it back down the pitch, towards the Brazilian goal. Everyone else watched incredulously, the referee immediately brandishing a yellow card. John Motson, commentating for the BBC at the time, declared it to be ‘a bizarre moment of African ignorance’. Many were unsure quite what they had just seen. It resembled the petulance of a schoolyard football match, but there had not been anything particularly contentious about the decision to award a free-kick. Mwepu Ilunga’s clearance appeared to be fuelled by blind panic, not any burning sense of injustice. Nevertheless, after a moment’s head-scratching and guffawing, the free-kick was eventually retaken and successfully defended. The game finished 3–0, but Zaire’s pride was somewhat dented by the bizarre actions of Mwepu Ilunga and confusion over his thought process continued long after the game’s end.

  Their World Cup campaign had begun in such promising fashion, drawing begrudging praise from Scotland manager Willie Ormond in the process. Ormond had said: ‘Zaire were an eye-opener. Their control is on the ground, with the accent always on attack, as fresh as a summer breeze on a lovely summer night.’ By the time their involvement in the competition ended they were receiving no such praise; they had become the punchline of the world’s jokes.

  However, Zaire were not new to the game. They were the reigning African champions, having won the African Nations Cup in March of the same year. While this was not a tournament on the same level as the World Cup, it was a FIFA-accredited competition contested by the best teams of an entire continent. It was simply inconceivable that what Ilunga had done was the result of cultural differences and a different take on the rules. As Mwepu Ilunga later revealed, President Mobutu had said that the performance of the team and him in particular had ‘set back the perception of African football twenty years’. Surely there had to be more to the story than, as John Motson had so bluntly put it, African ignorance.

  The scathing assessment from Mobutu was typical of the man. Rising to power on the back of a series of military coups during the 1960s Congo crisis, Mobutu was a daunting individual. Having spent his youth in the Zairian army before taking the role of army chief of staff, he later went on to overthrow the very man who had granted him the position, President Lumumba. When Mobutu found himself the target of a military coup, thirteen years on, he instructed his troops to shoot on sight as he successfully suppressed the onslaught. His reputation throughout Zaire was fearsome. When it was announced that he had summoned the national football team following the defeat to the Yugoslavs, few envied the players.

  Years after the 1974 World Cup, the man whom Mobutu had singled out for the most damning criticism gave his side of the story. Ilunga first explained that the Brazil game was not the start of the trouble between Mobutu and the national team. Mobutu was keen to ensure that Zaire would come to be associated with sporting prowess and made a habit of throwing vast sums of money at this aim. Shortly before the 1974 World Cup he laid out the grand sum of $5 million to boxing promoter Don King for Zaire to host a heavyweight boxing match between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman. The fight went on to be dubbed the ‘Rumble in the Jungle’ and is one of the most famous bouts in history.

  Mobutu offered similar riches to the Zaire football team should they perform admirably in West Germany but, on the eve of the Yugoslavia match, the players received new information. Ilunga explained: ‘Before the Yugoslavia match we learnt that we were not going to be paid, so we refused to play.’ Of course they did play, but their standard reflected the distraction of players who had been coerced into turning up against their will.

  It might seem disappointing that the players could be so unpatriotic as to require financial persuasion to represent their nation, but the pre-Yugoslavia U-turn from Mobutu was just a glimpse of a far graver situation for the Zairian players. Unlike many of the other teams competing at the World Cup, Zaire’s squad consisted solely of amateurs. This was not by chance. As the inevitable 9–0 drubbing played out and Mobutu’s ire grew greater, he planned his fateful meeting with the team. It was another of the Leopards, striker Adelard Mayanga, who later divulged one of Mobutu’s more unsettling outbursts from that meeting: ‘I can tell you all now that you are not going to be like the Senegalese, the Ivorians, the Cameroonians who go and play overseas.’ Mobutu promptly banned any players from exiting the Zairian leagues to play elsewhere. This had been an unwritten rule throughout Mobutu’s time in office, but he left the players in no doubt that the ban stood firm. Since the Zairian leagues were not professional, the transfer ban effectively imposed a ceiling on the players. What’s more, without their international bonuses their futures looked increasingly bleak.

  Mobutu’s threats extended beyond forced residence: ‘After the match, he sent his presidential guards to threaten us,’ said Ilunga in a 2002 interview with the BBC. ‘They closed the hotel to all journalists and said that if we lost 0–4 to Brazil, none of us would be able to return home.’ Suddenly Ilunga’s ‘comical’ free-kick clearance starts to make sense. Far from the African ignorance that Motson had believed he was observing, Ilunga understood the situation all too well. ‘Most of the Brazil players, and the crowd too, thought it was hilarious. I shouted, “You b*stards!” at them because they didn’t understand the pressure we were under.’ As we know, Zaire managed to avoid the perilous 0–4 scoreline, but the football of sub-Saharan Africa might have been damaged unalterably had the boys from Brazil managed to strike just once more.

  Over the course of the following decade or so, there was a power shift in African football. Zaire’s World Cup debut had whetted the appetite and raised the expectations of the whole of sub-Saharan Africa. Whereas the Arabic nations, such as Egypt, Algeria and Tunisia, had dominated the African Cup of Nations and by extension World Cup qualifying for decades, by the time the 1990 World Cup in Italy came around, the southern nations were ready to try again. With the qualifying stages in Africa changing from a knockout system to a league for the first time, the Cameroonians were able to overcome the traditional dominance of Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco to qualify. The minimal TV exposure of African football meant that their opposition had little idea of whom or what they were set to face. As such, Cameroon’s team was the surprise package at the tournament, much as Zaire had been in ’74. Even more surprisingly, their stand-out performer was a 38-year-old striker who had only recently left the spotlight of the French leagues to compete on the remote French island of Réunion. Roger Milla took the tournament by storm, helping Cameroon out with four priceless goals as the nation reached the quarter-finals. His image was made famous by his trademark goal celebration, running off to the corner flag before performing an exotic dance with it. Their exit eventually came when they were knocked out by clear favourites England, but they managed to hold a 2–1 lead until the final minutes before conceding again in extra time. It was a valiant effort from the Indomitable Lions.

  Once Cameroon had shown that a nation from the region was capable of competing against the best teams in the world, African sides became a regular fixture in later World Cups. In 1994 they returned, joined this time by Nigeria. While Cameroon failed to make it out of the group stages, Nigeria continued in similar fashion to the Cameroonians’ 1990 campaign. They reached the knockout stages before being sent home in extra time at the hands of prestigious opposition. It wasn’t England that broke African hearts this time around, but Italy. Four years later in France, three sub-Saharan teams qualified; Cameroon and Nigeria retained their places and South Africa joined them.

  The trend continued until eventually FIFA sat up and took notice. In 2004, the right to host the 2010 World Cup was awarded to So
uth Africa. With the hosts granted automatic qualification, the region was given an extra place in the finals. An unprecedented six African sides competed in the tournament, five of which were from south of the Sahara. The region’s fortunes in the competition were mixed, with Cameroon and Nigeria failing to impress, while South Africa, Algeria and the Ivory Coast battled bravely but without joy in difficult groups. Ghana, however, repeated the feat of Cameroon in 1990 as they became only the second African nation ever to reach the quarter-finals. They would have progressed further were it not for a handball from Uruguay’s Luis Suarez stopping the ball on the line. Ghana missed the resulting penalty and crashed out following a dramatic shoot-out. Regardless of the disappointing end to their involvement in the competition, it was a watershed moment in African and world football alike. From the novelty of Zaire’s calamitous showing in 1974 to a commanding and impressive presence in 2010, in just under 25 years the transformation of the continent’s footballing pedigree was quite sensational.

  All of this progress would not have been possible if Brazil had managed to score a fourth goal in 1974 and Mobutu had acted upon his threats. FIFA have an admirable history of banning nations from competing over racial or civil rights issues. One of Africa’s strongest sporting nations experienced this first-hand between 1958 and 1992 as South Africa were banned because of the apartheid regime. Should Mobutu have carried out his threats to the players, there is little doubt that Zaire would have been removed from any further competitions. As it happens, Zaire’s appearance in 1974 is their only World Cup appearance to date, but their exploits at that tournament kick-started a legacy for their continent, if not their country. Should Zaire have joined South Africa on FIFA’s blacklist, the reputation of the entire region would have been sullied. With a further competitor removed from its numbers, the African Cup of Nations would have undoubtedly suffered too.

  Mwepu Ilunga sadly passed away in 1998 after sustaining a fatal gunshot wound. He had seen out his final years in a penniless state, seemingly a forgotten man. His former teammate Ndaye Mulamba later paid a bittersweet tribute: ‘In Europe they honour their footballers. Here, when you play they know you but when you finish they forget you.’ His words made for painful reading and highlighted the tragic demise of a true icon. Mwepu Ilunga must never be forgotten, for without his brave efforts the world of football would be a very different place.

  Chapter 5

  Imagine that …

  Football moves to soften its image midway through the 20th century … and a nation’s footballing identity is transformed

  Football has cleaned up its image in recent years, but as the cleansing continues, so too do the calls for a return to the ‘good old days’. A romanticised nostalgia is only natural but it goes beyond that; football today is completely different to the game that was played no more than 20 or 30 years ago. Many of football’s most famous moments might never have occurred had modern-day rules been in place.

  The protective element of the new laws can be seen in almost any game on any continent. Gone are the bone-crunching tackles from behind, and with them the accompanying piles of crumpled players. In their place are ‘soft bookings’ and players ‘simulating’, or diving. These oft-maligned side-effects have led to regular claims that football is becoming a non-contact sport. This is, it appears, an unavoidable trade-off.

  When Argentine prodigy Lionel Messi broke onto the scene he was the latest in a long line of players dubbed ‘the new Maradona’. It had long been an affliction which burdened Argentina’s young talents and, while many had gone on to forge admirable careers, none had quite managed to reach the heights of Maradona at his peak. However, Messi was not just another also-ran. In 2007 his Barcelona side took to the pitch to face Getafe in the semi-final of the Spanish Cup, otherwise known as the Copa del Rey. In the 29th minute, with Barcelona already a goal up, the diminutive Argentine took possession of the ball just within his own half, wide out on the right wing. His first task was to evade the oncoming challenges of two Getafe players. He did so with ease. Then, from a seemingly innocuous position, he began to drive forward, skipping past the flailing legs of the opposition. Ten seconds later he was running towards his adoring fans to celebrate a magnificent solo effort.

  Lionel Messi

  If the jinking brilliance of the goal was not enough to convince people that Messi was at least a contender for Maradona’s mantle, then the accompanying sense of déjà vu surely was. It was a carbon copy of the goal Maradona had scored against England in the 1986 World Cup two decades earlier, a goal that had been nicknamed ‘Goal of the Century’, an unofficial but rarely disputed accolade. He had started in the same part of the field, followed the same meandering path, and rounded the goalkeeper in exactly the same manner. A relic had been revived, yet still some remained unconvinced. The battering that Maradona had evaded on the way was the difference, they argued. While Messi passed players who were vying for the ball, Maradona’s opponents aimed for ankles, shins, legs. This does not make Messi’s feat less remarkable.

  This is only one side of the argument. Where does this leave the defenders? Should the achievements of those from bygone eras be devalued because the tackling was more robust then? Among the defenders that Maradona hurdled en route to scoring his wonder goal was one Terry Butcher. Another much-loved face of 1980s football, the devoted following amassed by Butcher throughout a career in the English and Scottish leagues was somewhat different to that of Maradona. Butcher’s tough tackling appealed to a British sense of battle. Maradona’s weaving runs provided the flair and expression that the Argentinians craved. A culture clash perhaps, but it highlights the tricky business of regulating a game with a global reach.

  Terry Butcher’s most iconic moment is another reminder of football’s past. In September 1989, England travelled to Stockholm to face Sweden. There was a lot at stake: England needed to come away from the Swedish capital with at least a draw or else they would fail to qualify for the 1990 World Cup in Italy. Just minutes into the match their hopes were dealt a colossal blow. An essential brick in their defensive wall, team captain Terry Butcher leapt high above two Swedish midfielders to head a stray ball clear, but in doing so clashed heads with his challenger. The pair fell to the ground before groggily returning to their feet. Blood was streaming from Butcher’s head. Undeterred, he waited while the team doctor applied stitches and bandages before returning to the action. Far from being cautious from then on, Butcher proceeded to challenge for each and every aerial ball and before long was covered in his own blood. So too was the ball, and the opposition for that matter. Every header sent blood splattering. England went on to clinch the point they so desperately needed, in no small part due to Butcher’s defensive efforts. The post-match photographs of him standing with his white shirt and bandages drenched in his blood have long since been held up as a snapshot of an English bulldog spirit.

  Today, however, the iconic image of Terry Butcher would never have appeared. He would have been forced to replace his bloodied shirt and shorts with clean replicas once blood started to spill. There is, of course, clear reasoning behind this change. In 2004 the British Journal of Sports Medicine conducted a review of sporting practices relating to blood-borne infections. The report’s findings were numerous and wide-reaching, as it was a multi-purpose review designed to inform sport in its entirety and not just football. Among other advice, its main conclusion was that a preventative approach needed to be taken:

  Any equipment contaminated with blood should be removed from the sports activity area; if this is not possible – for example, a wrestling mat – the item must be cleaned and dried appropriately (using disposable cloths and a fresh solution of one part household bleach to ten parts water).

  Terry Butcher

  With Hepatitis B and C and HIV all transmissible by blood it made perfect sense. The inconvenience of having to change out of bloodied garments, whether that was a red speck or a Butcher-esque soaking, paled in comparison to the threat of ser
ious infection. It was a necessary clean-up, but one that spelled the end of a ‘blood, sweat and tears’ era.

  Butcher’s finest moment is not the only iconic feat of endurance that would have been erased by stricter health and safety rulings. In 1966, following a nineteen-day tournament that had seen him feature in five games and 120 minutes of a World Cup final against West Germany, England striker Geoff Hurst found himself rushing towards goal with the ball at his feet. Kenneth Wolstenholme was commentating for the BBC. ‘Some people are on the pitch. They think it’s all over. It is now,’ he exclaimed, as Hurst thumped the ball beyond the goalkeeper. It was a moment of pure serendipity. The fans celebrating before the goal had even been scored, the tantalising unfurling of Wolstenholme’s words, the crowning moment of host nation England’s victorious World Cup campaign. Today, however, Wolstenholme’s momentous commentary would have been cut short. The pitch invasion he had described, the ‘people on the pitch’, would have led play being stopped and Hurst being robbed of his cup final hat-trick.

  So would it really have mattered if Hurst’s hat-trick strike had been ruled out due to pitch invasion, or if Butcher had played on in a clean shirt? The eventual outcomes are unlikely to have differed greatly. If only it were that simple. The wholesale improvements to health and safety in football have been the result of many factors, and have gone hand in hand with a faster-paced game.