The Story of the World Cup
Page 1
The Story of
the World Cup
The Essential Companion
to Russia 2018
Brian Glanville
Contents
Title Page
List of Illustrations
URUGUAY 1930
Results
ITALY 1934
Results
FRANCE 1938
Results
BRAZIL 1950
Results
SWITZERLAND 1954
Results
SWEDEN 1958
Results
CHILE 1962
Results
ENGLAND 1966
Results
MEXICO 1970
Results
WEST GERMANY 1974
Results
ARGENTINA 1978
Results
SPAIN 1982
Results
MEXICO 1986
Results
ITALY 1990
Results
USA 1994
Results
FRANCE 1998
Results
JAPAN 2002
Results
GERMANY 2006
Results
SOUTH AFRICA 2010
Results
BRAZIL 2014
Results
Index
Plates
About the Author
Copyright
List of Illustrations
1. Italy’s team manager Vittorio Pozzo instructs his players before the start of extra time in the 1934 Final
2. World Cup Final 1938. Italy’s Alfredo Foni clears with an overhead kick
3. World Cup Final 1958. Svensson, Sweden’s keeper, challenged by seventeen-year-old Pelé
4. World Cup Final 1966. Wolfgang Weber’s last-ditch equaliser for West Germany against England. Ray Wilson and Gordon Banks stretch in vain
5. World Cup Final 1966. Was it a goal? Roger Hunt exults as Geoff Hurst’s shot beats Tilkowski to come down from the underside of the bar
6. World Cup 1974. Johan Cruyff scores a splendid second goal for Holland against Brazil, at Dortmund
7. World Cup Final 1978. Mario Kempes leaps between Dutch defenders Willy van de Kerkhof and Erny Brandts
8. World Cup 1982. Italy’s Bruno Conti trying to foil Argentina’s Osvaldo Ardiles with a back flick
9. World Cup 1982. Gerry Armstrong blasts the ball past Spanish goalkeeper Luis Arconada for Northern Ireland’s winner
10. World Cup 1982. Germany’s Karl-Heinz Foerster and Harald Schumacher tangle in their efforts to keep the ball from the opposing Spanish attacker
11. World Cup Final 1982. Italy v. West Germany. Italy’s Dino Zoff misses a high cross while defending his goalmouth
12. World Cup 1986. Preben Elkjaer scores Denmark’s winner against Scotland at Neza
13. World Cup 1986. Diego Maradona swerves past England’s Terry Fenwick on his way to a remarkable solo goal, his and Argentina’s second
14. World Cup 1986. Gary Lineker puts England back in the game against Argentina, heading John Barnes’ left-wing cross
15. World Cup Final 1986. Jose Luis Brown exploits Toni Schumacher’s error and heads Argentina into the lead against Germany
16. World Cup 1990. David Platt scores England’s spectacular winning goal against Belgium in extra time
17. World Cup 1990. Andreas Brehme’s deflected free kick for Germany sails over Peter Shilton’s head into England’s goal
18. World Cup Final 1990. Andreas Brehme scores West Germany’s World Cup winning goal against Argentina
19. World Cup 1994. Romania v. Colombia. A clash between artists: Ilie Dumitrescu of Romania and the dreadlocked Carlos Valderama of Colombia
20. World Cup Final 1994. Brazil’s superb centre-forward, Romario, the star of the tournament, kisses the Cup he did so much to help win
21. World Cup 1998. David Beckham sent off by referee Nielsen: England v. Argentina
22. World Cup Final 1998. A dejected Ronaldo leaves the field after the Final: should he have played?
23. The 2002 World Cup Final. Germany’s Carsten Ramelow stretches desperately to try to intercept Brazil’s Ronaldo.
24. Ronaldo whirls away in triumph having scored Brazil’s second goal of the World Cup Final, beating the prostrate Oliver Kahn.
25. World Cup Final 2006. Fabio Cannavaro with the trophy.
26. World Cup Final 2010. Andres Iniesta scores the winning goal.
27. World Cup 2014. Miroslav Klose breaks the World Cup finals goalscoring record.
28. World Cup Final 2014. Mario Götze scores Germany’s extra-time winner against Argentina.
The author and publishers are glad to acknowledge the following copyright holders of illustrations reproduced in this book:
Bob Thomas, 8, 12–18
Colorsport, 11
Corbis Images, 25, 26
Damien Meyer/AFP/Getty, 24
Keystone Press Agency, 1–5
Pedro Ugarte/AFP/Getty, 23
Popperfoto, 19–22
S & G Press Agency, 6, 9, 10
Syndication International, 7
Adrian Dennis/Getty, 27
Matthias Hangst/Getty, 28
The Story of
the World Cup
URUGUAY
1930
Background to 1930
Like so many of the best ideas in football, that of the World Cup was conceived in France. Its true parents were, indeed, two Frenchmen: Jules Rimet, after whom it was eventually named, and Henri Delaunay. Rimet was President of the French Federation, FFF, for thirty years from its beginning in 1919, and President of FIFA, the Fédération Internationale des Football Associations, from 1920 to 1954; an extraordinary record. Delaunay, who had been concerned with running French football from 1908, was officially Secretary from 1919 till his death in 1956, a little before the death of the 83-year-old Rimet.
These two men complemented each other: Rimet the persuader, the diplomat, sometimes intransigent, always devoted to the game; Delaunay the worker, visionary and energetic. Sometimes they quarrelled, but they were the pioneers of French football, European football—and the World Cup.
The very first meeting of FIFA took place in Paris in 1904—without the benefit of British attendance—and decided rather grandly that it alone had the right to organise a world championship. This right was not to be exercised for twenty-six years. In 1920, at FIFA’S Antwerp congress, concurrent with the Olympic Games, the idea of a World Cup, previously much debated, was accepted in principle. In 1924, at the Paris Olympics, the FIFA meeting discussed it in more serious detail, while a dazzling and hitherto obscure Uruguayan side walked off with the soccer tournament.
Two years later, at FIFA’S congress, Delaunay proclaimed: ‘Today international football can no longer be held within the confines of the Olympics; and many countries where professionalism is now recognised and organised cannot any longer be represented there by their best players.’
This had always been true of Britain, which even before the war had been represented by genuine amateurs and which in a couple of years would withdraw from FIFA over the question of broken time payments. Now, it was keeping out such rising countries as Austria and Hungary, while many of those which competed were professionals in all but name. In 1928, in Amsterdam, where Uruguay retained their title against a strong challenge from Argentina, Delaunay’s resolution that the World Cup be set on foot at once was adopted. But where should it be played?
There were five aspirants: Italy, Holland, Spain, Sweden and Uruguay. Tiny Uruguay, with its proud footballing tradition—‘Other countries have their history,’ their team manager, Viera, would say at the 1966 World Cup, ‘Uru
guay has its football’—made an offer extraordinary for a country of merely two million people. They would pay all travelling and hotel expenses for the visiting teams, and they would build a new stadium for the tournament. It would be in central Montevideo, and would be called the Centenary Stadium, for Uruguay in 1930 would be celebrating a hundred years of independence. It would be built in only eight months, three of which included the rainy season.
The Contenders
Allotted the World Cup at FIFA’S 1929 congress in Barcelona, Uruguay found themselves, two months before it was due to kick off, without a single European entrant. In addition to the four we have mentioned, the Austrians, Hungarians, Germans, Swiss and Czechs said no; the British were out of FIFA. Belgium, Romania and Yugoslavia vacillated, as did France, though after Rimet’s appointment to the FIFA presidency, and Uruguay’s 1924 appearance in Paris, the moral imperatives were strong.
Embittered, insulted, the Latin American federations threatened to withdraw from FIFA; a threat they would be making many times in the years to come. Belgium and Romania at last adhered—Belgium under the pressure of the veteran FIFA Vice-President, Rodolphe William Seeldrayers, Romania under that of King Carol himself. Though the German-speaking king was never popular in Romania, he had always had much to do with Romanian sport. One of his first acts, on coming to the throne, was to grant an amnesty to all suspended Romanian footballers. Now he picked the Romanian team himself and brought pressure on the companies which employed them to give them time off for Uruguay. Yugoslavia also agreed to go, so there would be four European entrants; but not even by the greatest feat of imagination could they be ranked among the élite. The bitterness in Montevideo was scarcely assuaged.
In the 1924 Olympics Uruguay had thrashed Yugoslavia 7–0 and France 5–1. In 1928, Belgium had been beaten by Argentina 6–3; and now they were travelling without three of their best players, including Bastin.
Argentina, traditional rivals of Uruguay in the Lipton Cup, would be there, however, and would be doughty rivals. In 1928, it had taken a replay before they succumbed 2–1 in the Olympic Final.
The United States would be there too; moreover, they were one of the teams seeded in the four qualifying pools, which had been set up only when it was realised there wouldn’t be enough countries to make a knockout competition possible. At this time there was still professional football of a sort in the States, the rump of the attempt by such as Bethlehem Steel to put the sport on its feet in the 1920s. The American team, managed by Jack Coll of Brooklyn Wanderers, was made up largely of British and Scots pros: Alec Wood, James Gallacher, Andrew Auld, James Brown and Bart McGhee from Scotland, George Moorhouse from England. They were powerfully-built men whom the French players nicknamed ‘the shot-putters’.
Brazil were present, but it was not long since the gates had been opened to the black player and the game there was still somewhat in a condition of inspired anarchy. Chile and Mexico, who made up Pool I with Argentina and France; Bolivia, in Pool II with Brazil and Yugoslavia; Peru, in Pool III with Uruguay and Romania; Paraguay, in Pool IV with the USA and Belgium completed the entry of thirteen. The four Pool winners would go into the semi-finals.
Uruguay were unquestionably the favourites, though their fine team of the 1924 and 1928 Olympics was fractionally past its peak; in the image of its famous centre-forward, Pedro Petrone. Nevertheless, it had home advantage and its still abundant talent in its favour, and it is arguable that it would have won the tournament whatever European teams had come, even England, Scotland and the formidable Austrian Wunderteam.
The Earlier Matches
The four European teams, whose boat had picked up the Brazilians en route, were tumultuously welcomed in Montevideo, though none had been seeded head of a group; a distinction reserved for Uruguay, Argentina, Brazil and the USA. The Centenary Stadium was, alas, still unfinished, thanks to heavy rain; early matches had to be played on the grounds of the Penarol and Nacional clubs, Pocito and Central Park. On Sunday afternoon, July 13, France opened the tournament against Mexico with a 4–1 win; although their admirable and unspectacular goalkeeper, Alex Thépot, was kicked on the jaw after ten minutes, giving way to his left-half, Chantrel. (There would be no substitutes for another forty years.) The French team was a good and lively one, with Etienne Mattler, who would play so well for France for so long, at rightback, Pinel as pivot, and a captain, Alex Villaplane, the right-half, who would ultimately be shot by the French Resistance for collaborating with the Nazis.
Two days later, France faced the gifted Argentinians—and were most unlucky to go down by 1–0. Monti was at his most ferocious, hurting the ankle of Lucien Laurent, France’s inside-left, early in the game, and giving Pinel, who largely overplayed him, some kind of a knock every time they met. Monti it was who scored the goal, nine minutes from time. Argentina were given a free kick, twenty yards out. As Monti took it, Pinel stepped to his right, unsighting the excellent Thépot—and the shot flashed into the net.
Three minutes later, with Maschinot, the centre-forward limping after another tackle by Monti, Marcel Langiller raced the length of the field. It might have been the equaliser, but Almeida Rego, the Brazilian referee, suddenly blew for time. Instant chaos. While Argentina’s fans invaded the field of Central Park, the French players assailed the referee, insisting there were six minutes left. Mounted police galloped on to the field, Senhor Rego consulted his watch and his linesmen, and at last, raising his arms, cried to the heavens that he had erred in good faith. Cierro, the Argentinian inside-left, fainted, the game resumed, and the remaining minutes petered uneventfully away.
Afterwards, Uruguay’s watching players declared that France deserved to win, Thépot and Pinel were carried off shoulder high, and the Argentinians complained accordingly to the Organising Committee, threatening to go home; thus sounding what would become another tediously familiar note.
In their next match, against Mexico, deprived of Manuel Ferreira, taking a university exam, they brought in young Guillermo Stabile, El Enfiltrador, destined to become the competition’s leading scorer and eventually his country’s team manager.
This was a match in which the Bolivian referee, Ulysses Saucedo, gave no fewer than five penalties—Monti was not playing!—of which perhaps two were justified.
Stabile, who had scored three goals against Mexico, kept his place for a tempestuous game against Chile, Ferreira coming in as inside-left. Two minutes from half-time Monti, back again, kicked at Torres, Chile’s left-half, as he jumped to head the ball. Torres retaliated, and both teams indulged in a protracted brawl, broken up with great difficulty by the police.
Argentina, Stabile scoring twice more, won 3–1 and advanced to the semi-finals. A tried France had anti-climactically gone down 1–0 to Chile, managed by the old Hungarian star, George Orth.
Uruguay did not enter the fray till July 18, when the Centenary Stadium was at last ready to receive them. Not unexpectedly, perhaps, the game against Peru was a disappointment. Peru’s defence held out well, and where Romania had scored three against them, Uruguay could manage only one; a late one by Castro—a player who had lost the lower part of one arm.
For their next match, against Romania, Uruguay brought in Scarone and their new star, Pelegrin Anselmo, for Castro and Petrone, respectively, winning 4–0 in a canter to qualify.
In Group ii, Yugoslavia unexpectedly toppled Brazil 2–1 in their first game. Brazil were individually cleverer, collectively inferior. Two of the Yugoslav team, Beck and Stefanovic, had just helped Sète win the French Cup. Tirnanic and Beck scored in the first half-hour, another goal was disallowed for offside, and Brazil could muster but one reply through their captain, Neto. Each team then beat Bolivia 4–0, and the Yugoslavs went through.
So did the United States, their strong defence and breakaway attacks routing Belgium and Paraguay in turn by 3–0. In the semifinal, alas, the much greater pace and sophistication of the Argentinians simply overwhelmed them and they crashed 6–1; preci
sely the score by which Uruguay trounced Yugoslavia. The half-time score was only 1–0, a goal credited to Monti, but in the second half the Americans simply fell apart, conceding five more, the last three within nine minutes, two to the swift right-winger, Peucelle. Brown, their own outside-right, got their only goal.
Eighty thousand spectators watched Uruguay despatch Yugoslavia after sustaining the shock of a fourth-minute goal by Seculic. Cea and Anselmo made it 2–1 by the interval, and Yugoslavia were then refused, on a controversial offside decision, what would have been their equaliser.
So, in the second half, Uruguay scored four. Fernandez caught the Yugoslav defence off guard with a cleverly lobbed free kick which Iriarte converted, then Cea, the inside-left, scored two more, the first after a mistake by Yugoslavia’s captain and right-back, Ivkovic. Next day, Argentina joined them in a Final which would be a repetition of the Olympic Final of 1928.
The Final Uruguay v. Argentina
In Buenos Aires the excitement was phenomenal. Ten packet-boats were chartered to take fans across the River Plate to Montevideo, but they were insufficient; thousands of desperate supporters thronged the centre of Buenos Aires, clamouring for more boats. When they eventually sailed, at ten o’clock on the eve of the Final, a great crowd thronged the quayside to see them off, letting off fireworks and chanting, ‘Argentina si, Uruguay no! Victory or death!’ Arriving in Montevideo, the Argentinians were searched for revolvers by customs and police; and searched again at the entrance to the Centenary Stadium. The kick-off was scheduled for two o’clock; the gates were opened at eight in the morning, and by noon the ground was packed. Though it could take 100,000, the attendance was limited to 90,000—with memories of an inaugural day when the police had been overwhelmed by the crowds and the ticket offices, now closed with metal grilles, were assailed.
John Langenus, chosen, as had been expected, to referee the match, demanded that the safety of himself and his linesmen be guaranteed, and only a few hours before kick-off did his fellow referees authorise him to preside. The Argentinian players had been under a police guard day and night, mounted police escorting their coach to and from each training session. Around the stadium, soldiers with fixed bayonets kept the crowds moving; and after all this there was still the question of the match ball.