The Story of the World Cup

by Brian Glanville

  Without Puskas—at least on the field—Hungary moved Czibor to inside-left, and used the Toths on the wings. Brazil made three changes in attack, keeping only their formidable right-wing pair of Didì and Julinho. Within eight minutes, under pelting rain, they found themselves two goals down; the Hungarians had made their familiar galloping start.

  Hidegkuti’s was the first goal, coming after only three minutes. He drove the ball home after Castilho had blocked shots by Czibor and Kocsis, having his shorts ripped off him in the process. Then he was involved in the second goal, moving Toth ii’s pass on to Kocsis for the inside-right to drive in his shot leaving Brazil’s defence bemused. At this point the Hungarians seemed altogether too quick in thought and pace for the Brazilians. But some of the virtue now went out of them, and Brazil’s abundantly gifted, if tempestuous, team came more and more into the game. Their apologists later maintained that the burly Hungarian defenders maddened them with a series of commonplace but irritating fouls. At the same time, those who proceeded from here to discern weaknesses, possible vulnerabilities, in Hungary’s team, were surely out of order; for how could they be properly assessed without Puskas? What was perfectly plain was that Brazil had not assimilated the third back method of defence; which, indeed, would be abandoned by 1958.

  After seventeen minutes a move between Didì and Indio was brusquely ended when Buzansky felled Indio. Djalma Santos thumped in the penalty. By half-time the Brazilians were giving quite as good as they got, Julinho was marauding on the right wing; and Toth i, his Hungarian equivalent, was a limping passenger.

  The second half was soon besmirched with sly fouls, deliberate obstructions which in turn bore fruit in another penalty. Pinheiro handled Czibor’s pass to Kocsis, and this time it was the turn of Lantos to score from the spot with tremendous power.

  Just as powerful, however, was the ferocious, right-footed shot with which the brilliant Julinho beat Grosics, after an amazing undulating dribble, to make it 2–3. Twenty-four minutes were left, the game was open, the moral climate abysmal. Six minutes more, and two great players, Bozsik and Nilton Santos, came squalidly to blows and were both sent off, Bozsik having reacted to Santos’ harsh tackle. Twice Julinho got away again, once to shoot wide and then to give Didì a ball which he struck against the bar.

  The Brazilians were now on top, but their very insistence left them open, Hungary breaking in the forty-fourth minute of the half for Czibor to dash down the right and cross, and Kocsis to head past Castilho. It must have been especially gratifying to Czibor, who at one point had been chased about the field by an incensed and threatening Djalma Santos.

  There was still time for Humberto Tozzi, the young Brazilian inside-left, to kick Lorant and be expelled in his turn, though he fell weeping on his knees to plead with Arthur Ellis. Then the violent match was over, giving way to worse violence still in the dressing-rooms, where bottles and football boots were swung and Gustav Sebes had his cheek cut open. Perhaps it should be recorded that Castilho had tried to calm his colleagues, that Kocsis and Hidegkuti stayed steadfastly aloof—but these were small comforts. To the Battle of Bordeaux now had to be added the Battle of Berne.

  Uruguay v. England

  The game between Uruguay and England produced the same score but none of the same brutality. Though there were several injuries, mostly to Uruguayans, the match was a clean and memorable one, in which Matthews, for England, and Schiaffino, for Uruguay, were superb.

  Though the cupholders were unquestionably the better, more gifted team, and won despite the fact that Varela, Abbadie and Andrade pulled muscles, they were much helped by Merrick’s feeble goalkeeping. He should certainly have saved two of the goals; he might well have saved three, a fact particularly galling to an English defence inspired by Billy Wright to resist splendidly. In attack, Matthews was the driving force, again playing not merely on the wing but often in the middle, at inside-right or left.

  Uruguay opened the score with a lovely goal, after only five minutes. The masterly Schiaffino sold the dummy to McGarry, who never dominated him, and unleashed Borges. The outside-left raced away, crossed a long diagonal ball to Abbadie and, with England’s defence entranced, raced in to convert the return pass.

  England rode the punch well and equalised eleven minutes later, when Matthews turned the defence with a clever ball behind Varela, Wilshaw ran on to it and gave Lofthouse a reverse pass to score. For twenty bright minutes England called the tune, but now one saw the flexibility of the Uruguayan methods; saw that the allegedly ‘open’ defence could be manned, when necessary, by seven or eight players. Lofthouse had a fine shot beaten out by Maspoli; Wilshaw shot just wide when a goal seemed sure. A sly shove was largely responsible.

  Two minutes from the interval, Uruguay delivered a counter-punch—to the solar plexus. Varela shot from near the edge of the area, and Merrick allowed the ball to pass across him—and home. It was bad enough that England should go in at half-time a goal down when they could have been a goal up. It was still worse to fall a second goal behind almost immediately afterwards; and a dubious goal, at that. Varela picked the ball up for a free kick and was allowed, inexcusably, to drop kick it. Schiaffino ran through a bewildered English defence to score.

  With three players limping, it was inevitable that Uruguay should find the second half difficult, but with Schiaffino now playing splendidly in Varela’s position they kept the lead. After sixty-seven minutes Maspoli got his hand to a shot by Tom Finney, and the ball bounced into the net to make it 2–3. Matthews hit the post and had one shot punched by Maspoli for a corner, but the last word was Uruguay’s.

  With thirteen minutes left, Miguez found Ambrois, who scored with a shot which Merrick should have saved, just as he should have saved Schiaffino’s. England were out; but at least, by comparison with the Scots, they had gone out with honour.

  Austria v. Switzerland

  At Lausanne that same Saturday, Austria and Switzerland produced one of the highest-scoring World Cup matches there has ever been; twelve goals, seven of them to Austria.

  It was an astounding match in which the Swiss, roared on by their crowd, scored three in the first twenty minutes; only for the defiant Austrians to reply with three in three minutes, five in seven minutes, building a 5–4 lead by half-time—and missing a penalty into the bargain!

  The strange score was partly to be accounted for by an uncharacteristically poor display by Roger Bocquet, the Swiss captain; behind which lurked a sad tale.

  Bocquet, in fact, had been suffering for some time from a tumour. His doctor had earnestly advised him not to play, but Bocquet, perhaps his country’s most celebrated player of the era, replied, ‘Afterwards, I shall be going into hospital for an operation, and I don’t know whether I shall survive.’

  Play, therefore, he did, and the intense heat provided the worst possible conditions for his tumour. Several times Karl Rappan, the Swiss team manager, tried to persuade him to move from his vital position at centre-half, but on each occasion Bocquet told him, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right!’

  ‘We all felt,’ said a Swiss Federation official years afterwards, ‘that he was playing in a sort of trance, and didn’t know what happened on the field.’

  In due course, Bocquet had his operation, which was happily successful; though it left him with a fearful scar, and the need to wear dark glasses, in consequence.

  Austria, who so comprehensively overturned the Swiss catenaccio which had mastered Italy, did it in a most un-Viennese manner: with sizzling long shots after runs by the Koerners down the wings. At 5–3 to Austria, Ballaman replied for the Swiss. ‘All goals scored against Switzerland owing to the sun,’ announced the official, unblushing Press communiqué at half-time, though it was true that Parlier, the Swiss ’keeper, had a touch of sunstroke. But even with the sun at their backs the Swiss could not recover. In the second half the forceful Theo Wagner ran through for his third goal and Austria’s sixth. Though Hanappi put the dynamic Hugi’s shot past his
goalkeeper for Switzerland’s fifth, Probst dribbled through for the most spectacular goal of all. 7–5. It had been a magnificent game for Ernst Ocwirk, and for two forwards who did not score: Stojaspal of Austria and the dark Roger Vonlanthen of Switzerland.

  *

  In Geneva the following day the West Germans sprang their first great surprise of the tournament. They beat Yugoslavia. The match proved that the Yugoslavs had the finesse, but not the finish, whereas the Germans had muscle, stamina, and immense determination. Moreover, after ten minutes they were presented with a goal.

  Ivan Horvat, the tall Yugoslav centre-half, was possibly the best in the tournament; a Titan in this match, too. But running back with Schaefer towards a ball headed on by Morlock, he headed it in his turn, without observing that Beara had come off his line. 1–0 to Germany. Their second goal came four minutes from the end when Schaefer put through Rahn—offside, in the opinion of some critics—who ran on, on, on before beating an injured Vladimir Beara unable now to move. It was absurd, wrote an Italian critic, that a team like Germany should be in the semifinal when a team like Brazil was out, but this was irremediably what could happen in Cup competitions.

  Germany would now play Austria, their victims in the third-place match of 1934, their companions in the World Cup of 1938. The Uruguayans, who had enraged their fellow hotel guests by perpetually and loudly playing a record which proclaimed their virtues, would meet Hungary. They promised there would be no violence; the Brazilians, they said, had lost their heads.

  The Semi-Finals Hungary v. Uruguay

  Uruguay kept their word at Lausanne in one of the classic matches of World Cup history. Either team might have won, for the game went into extra time. Moreover, it lacked a key player in each side, for if Puskas did not play for Hungary, Varela could not play for Uruguay. Each side, moreover, had to change its outside-right—Abbadie being forced to give way to Souto, while Budai replaced the injured Toth I, whose brother was succeeded by Palotas. This enabled Czibor, in turn, to go back to the left wing. Miguez, another absentee, was succeeded as Uruguay’s centre-forward by Hohberg, though Schiaffino nominally played there. Hungary were favoured, but Uruguay had never yet been beaten in a World Cup.

  The Uruguayans were slightly faster and more energetic than they had previously been; but after a quarter of an hour Hungary went ahead. Kocsis headed a pass by Hidegkuti to Czibor, and the left-winger volleyed the ball past Maspoli. Just after half-time, Hungary doubled their lead when Buzansky intercepted a poor clearance by Carballo, Varela’s deputy. He sent Budai and Bozsik flying away, and when Budai crossed Hidegkuti flung himself at the ball to head it in.

  Uruguay seemed beaten beyond hope, but their marvellous morale, not to mention their skill, brought them back into the game. Schiaffino began to work his spells, nicely supported by Juan Hohberg, a naturalised Argentinian who would manage their World Cup team of 1970. Lorant had to clear on the line, Schiaffino had a couple of near misses, and then at last, fifteen minutes from the end, Schiaffino gave Hohberg the chance to beat Grosics. Three minutes from the end Schiaffino and Hohberg did it again, Hohberg being so violently felicitated by his team mates that they knocked him out.

  His goal necessitated extra time, and soon after it had started Schiaffino put him through yet again, this time for a shot which smacked the post.

  Poor Uruguay; it was not to be their night. In the second extra period, the peerless Andrade was hurt in a tackle and, desperate to get back into the game, was still having treatment behind the goal when right in front of him Budai centred for Kocsis to soar and head past Maspoli.

  Seven minutes from the end Kocsis headed another memorable goal, and Hungary had won 4–2. ‘We beat the best team we have ever met,’ said their manager, Gyula Mandi.

  West Germany v. Austria

  At Basel a crowd of 58,000 saw the Austrians fall to pieces like a burning house. They had been expected to win quite easily; their technique was far ahead of the Germans’, and they had scored a cascade of goals against the Swiss. In the meantime, Sepp Herberger had worked hard at training Toni Turek, who he felt should have made Kohlmeyer’s saves on the line superfluous. Austria, for their part, made the cardinal mistake of dropping Schmied and restoring the famous Walter Zeman—a goalkeeper previously omitted precisely because he had lost form.

  It proved a disastrous error, for Zeman, once so polished and authoritative, played like a man who had lost his nerve, running about his area like a chicken with its head cut off, utterly confused by crosses. Two of the goals, indeed, came from centres, two more from corners; a damning commentary on Austria’s defence in the air. The other two were from penalty kicks.

  The Germans now showed that they were a great deal more than mere destroyers, a mincing machine for other people’s talent. Their football was sweepingly effective, splendidly incisive, with Fritz Walter the supreme strategist, scorer of two penalties to boot, and Helmut Rahn as powerfully effective a right-winger, in his muscular way, as the exotic Julinho.

  During the first half there was little sign of what awaited poor Austria in the second. For twenty minutes their team did pretty things, relaxed and elegant, but on the half-hour Max Morlock sent Fritz Walter away, and Hans Schaefer flicked in his well-judged centre. At half-time it was still 1–0.

  In the third minute of the second half an equally exact corner kick by Fritz Walter was headed in by Morlock, and though four minutes later Germany gave Austria a chance, Turek dropping the ball for Probst to score, the die was cast. The German attack, with only Rahn keeping his position firmly, the others switching at speed, overran the Austrians. Fritz Walter scored the third and fifth goals from the spot, each time sending the unfortunate Zeman the wrong way, while his brother Otmar headed the other two—one from Fritz’s corner, one from Schaefer’s cross—after Fritz had sent him down the right. In turning from the old metodo to the third back game, Austria seemed to have gained no more defensive solidity than Brazil.

  They consoled themselves a little by beating Uruguay 3–1 in the third-place match at Zurich, Ocwirk dominating the game, but it was scarcely one in which the Uruguayans gave their all.

  The Final West Germany v. Hungary

  The great question before the Final was whether Puskas would play. He would, said the reports. He wouldn’t. He was hoping to. There was no chance. There was a fifty-fifty chance; a specialist had said so. The ankle was better. It would never recover in time. The Germans had offered him special treatment; and been rejected.

  In the event, however, Puskas did play; and it would prove a manifest mistake, a testimony to the captain’s own powers of persuasion rather than the good sense of Sebes and Mandi.

  Ciro Veratti, the Italian journalist, spoke to Sepp Herberger, the little German manager, and wrote of his ‘formidable ascendancy’ over his players, his power to make them give almost more than they possessed. There had been 30,000 Germans in Basel when they beat Austria. There would be about the same number in Berne for the Final, so they would virtually be playing at home. Living now ‘in a climate of exaltation’, the Germans hoped to give the lie to everybody. If it happened, ‘it would be the greatest upset of the World Championship. But we don’t believe it, and we are making ready to hail as champions tomorrow that marvellous goal-scoring machine which is the great Hungarian team.’

  Sunday was a rainy day; rain, indeed, drenched the players and most of the 60,000 crowd at the Wankdorf Stadium throughout the match. If Hungary were the favourites, Gustav Sebes had still warned that their ‘greatest enemy is not so much physical fatigue as nervous tension. I had never suspected that the World Cup would be such a test of nerves.’

  Restoring Puskas, they also dropped Budai, who had played so well against the Uruguayans but had never been persona grata with Puskas. Germany’s team was that which beat Austria, with Posipal, centre-half of the Rest of Europe team, still at right-back, Liebrich as stopper.

  Once again, Hungary made a devastating, potentially a demoralising, st
art. Within eight minutes they were two goals up, and there seemed every prospect of another Basel. In the sixth minute, after Germany had three times menaced the Hungarian goal, Hungary counter-attacked. Bozsik sent Kocsis through, his shot hit a German defender in the back, the ball ran to Puskas, and that formidable left foot drove it past Turek.

  Within a couple of minutes Kohlmeyer, Germany’s saviour against the Yugoslavs, had given Hungary their second goal with the complicity of Turek. His misjudged back pass, suddenly bewitched, sprang out of Turek’s grasp and Czibor drove the ball in.

  It was enough to unhinge most teams; but not Germany. Within three minutes, shaking off the effects of so depressing a goal, they had struck back. Hans Schaefer crossed, Rahn returned the ball to the centre and this time Bozsik erred, fractionally deflecting it into the path of Morlock. The inside-forward stretched out a telescopic leg, and jabbed it past Grosics.

  It was becoming plain that for all the fury of their beginning, Hungary were not running smoothly. Puskas, clearly hampered by his ankle, was unwontedly heavy and slow, and now threw away a chance when he insisted on carrying on alone, losing the ball, when Czibor was free and better placed. Czibor, meanwhile, switched to the right, was obviously not at ease there, and things would go better when he moved to the left after half-time.

  So, after sixteen minutes the Germans equalised. Taking the third of three successive corners, Fritz Walter curved an insidious ball which was missed both by his brother’s head and by Grosics’ hands. It thus reached Helmut Rahn, who drove it thunderously back into goal.

  To this the Hungarians responded vigorously, Turek making the first of his many gallant saves from a header by Kocsis, then being saved by a post when beaten by Hidegkuti. Thus reprieved, the Germans attacked in their turn, and banged away at the Hungarian goal for a full three minutes. At half-time, the game was pulsatingly open.