The Story of the World Cup

by Brian Glanville

  Then, the coup de grâce. The high cross which came over from Bulgaria’s right wing, 12 minutes from the end should have been a defender’s ball. Towering above little Thomas Haessler, an attacking midfielder, Yordan Letchkov headed in. And Matthaus, the sweeper? Nowhere to be seen.

  The Italian players, watching in their ritiro in New Jersey, amidst the spacious, green grounds of the Pingry school, were cheering not for either team but for … extra time.

  In San Francisco, on the same day, 81,715—the crowds remained astonishing—watched Sweden edge past Romania in a penalty shootout. Sweden played their usual four-in-line defence; Romania, as usual, employed a sweeper. Thomas Ravelli, the balding veteran Swedish goalkeeper, played his 115th game for his country. He was, by turns as usual, brilliant and erratic, and for ever the exhibitionist. After three minutes, Dahlin headed against Prunea’s post. In Romania’s midfield, Gheorghe Hagi’s famed left foot constantly did clever things.

  Brolin would score the opening goal, after 32 minutes of the second half, the result of a cleverly worked free kick. Stefan Schwarz, the midfielder who often used his powerful left foot to take them, feinted, Mild slipped the ball beyond the wall, and Brolin dashed in, to beat Prunea. But Florin Raducoiou, the young Romanian centre-forward, was on a day of grace. Just a couple of minutes from what would have been the end, Hagi, getting a return ball from a free kick, banged the ball into the box, it rebounded from the Swedish wall, and Raducoiou scored.

  Romania took the lead after ten minutes of extra time, Raducoiou snapping up a ball deflected inadvertently by Sweden’s stopper, Patrik Andersson. There were just five minutes left when the Swedish rightback, Roland Nilsson, centred. It should have been the goalkeeper’s ball, but the giant Kennet Andersson soared aloft, and headed Sweden’s equaliser. So, alas, to penalties. Survival indeed by Sweden, who’d been down to ten men after 102 minutes, when Schwarz was sent off for a second yellow card.

  Mild promptly shot over the Swedish bar from the spot. Raducoiou converted, so did Kennet Andersson, Hagi, Brolin, Lupescu and Ingesson. But when Petrescu shot, Ravelli saved, and it was all square. Now, whoever missed would miss fatally. Roland Nilsson scored, Ilie Dumitrescu replied. Henrik Larsson succeeded. But when that elegant sweeper, Belodedici, shot … Ravelli’s left arm stretched out, reached the ball, and Sweden were in the semi-finals. Poor Romania: it was the second successive World Cup in which they had gone out on penalties.

  The Dutch team which faced Brazil lacked both Gullit and Van Basten. There was no equivalent to Cruyff. Using Koeman to mark the effervescent Romario, and bringing Jan Wouters back to tail Bebeto, Holland survived the first half. Brazil used Mazinho and Zinho wide on the flanks of midfield—the latter having his first really impressive game of the tournament. Brazil began to pick up steam, with Mauro Silva moving eagerly through from central midfield; now helping his defence, now starting attacks, he played a dominant role.

  The Dutch defence, especially Ronald Koeman, was short of pace—a potentially lethal failing against the likes of Romario and Bebeto. And when, in ten minutes of the second half, those two put Brazil a couple of goals ahead all seemed lost for Holland. Was the second goal offside? The Dutch bitterly insisted that it was. Mauro Silva sent Bebeto flying through as Romario came running back from what was clearly an offside position. As the referee decided that he wasn’t interfering with play, Bebeto ran on and scored.

  Holland might have seemed down and out; their revival was a triumph of morale, helped no doubt by the fact that, for once, the Dallas weather was fresh and windy, rather than hot and stifling. A couple of minutes after Bebeto’s goal Dennis Bergkamp got the ball from a throw-in on the left, worked his way cleverly through the Brazilian defence, and beat Taffarel: 2–1. Twelve minutes more, and the Dutch were level. Taffarel had earlier saved a powerful shot from Holland’s black midfielder, Aron Winter. But when Marc Overmars sent in a corner, Winter’s head met it on the edge of the six-yard box: the game was now wide open.

  How ironic that it should be resolved by Brazil’s veteran left-back, Branco, playing only because Leonardo was very properly suspended. Branco had given fair warning when one of his left-footed specialities from a free kick was turned over the top by De Goey. With nine minutes left, he tried again from thirty yards: a veritable missile which flew by De Goey, and put Brazil into the semi-finals. ‘This will shut up the people who don’t believe in me,’ said Branco. ‘I’ve played in three World Cups, and I think I deserved more respect.’

  Sweden, in Pasadena before 84,569 fans, proved far less trouble. The Swedish players, after that extra-time against Romania, looked dead on their feet. To make matters worse, Jonas Thern, replacing the suspended Schwarz in midfield, was also sent off, after 18 minutes of the second half. Though Sweden had been under endless pressure, and had time and again narrowly escaped, there was still no score by then.

  The Swedes owed a great deal to Ravelli, in his record-breaking 116th international, making saves from Bebeto, one of Branco’s dreaded free kicks, and Romario, after Dunga’s fine pass and Bebeto’s cross. Many other chances were missed. ‘We’ll fly over the heads of the Brazilian defenders,’ tall Kennet Andersson had promised, encouraged by the success of the Dutch attackers. But it didn’t happen. Neither he nor an obviously weary Dahlin, ill-served throughout, could exploit their notable heading powers.

  So, after the break, Parreira ‘amnestied’ the lanky Rai, who replaced the man who’d displaced him on the right of midfield—Mazinho. Scarcely had the second half begun than Rai was through, and Ravelli had to dive at his feet. It was again virtually a question of Brazil v. Ravelli. Thern’s expulsion, for kicking at Dunga, was decisive.

  Not till the 80th minute, however, did the Swedish citadel fall. Bebeto launched his attacking right-back, Jorginho, over came the cross, and little Romario somehow managed to drift away from the Swedish defenders, jump at the far post and head the winner.

  From the Italian camp the news was that Beppe Signori would not start the semi-final against Bulgaria. A mortified Signori heard this from a reporter, rather than straight from Sacchi himself. It was a wound which would take some time to heal, and made him the second star to resent the ways of Sacchi—Roberto Baggio being emphatically the other.

  The Bulgarians that afternoon at Giants Stadium bore no comparison with the team which had triumphed there against the Germans. They could do little or nothing about Baggio, ‘The Divine Ponytail’, as the Italians nicknamed him. From the start, Bulgaria’s defenders were chasing shadows, clutching at straws. When the sweeper, Petar Houbtchev, made a pathetically maladroit attempt to tackle Baggio, advancing on him from an inside-left position, Baggio glided past, curling his shot exquisitely around another defender, Ivanov, and into the far corner of the goal. Borislav Mikhailov, the goalkeeper, had no hope at all.

  Nor had he four minutes later. He and Bulgaria were delighted to escape when Baggio neatly moved the ball on to Albertini. The young Milan midfielder thumped a shot which canoned back from the foot of a post. Albertini was rampant. Receiving once more from the Divine Ponytail, he drove in a shot which Mikhailov turned over the bar. Next minute he would return the compliment with a perfect chip which sent Baggio himself through, to score his and the Italians’ second goal.

  Bulgaria were being overrun, and it was a surprise when they suddenly came back from the dead with a 44th minute penalty. Siriakov was brought down from behind by Costacurta and Stoichkov put away the penalty. Costacurta was booked, which meant he’d miss the Final. Finally, in that crippling heat, the Bulgarians began to play like international footballers rather than struggling mediocrities, while the Italians, by Sacchi’s own admission, grew increasingly tired.

  But justice was done. For twenty minutes or so, the Italians had played outstandingly good football, with Benarrivo and another new full-back, Roberto Mussi, constantly raiding down the wings. A large shadow hung over the Italian success: Baggio was obliged to go off with a strained hamstring. On top
of that, he had broken a tooth. Would he, could he, possibly be fit in time? And what of Franco Baresi, indestructible veteran, making astonishingly fast progress after his knee operation?

  ITALIAN TORMENT: WILL ROBY PLAY? was the headline on the front page of Rome’s Corriere Dello Sport on the Friday. ‘I hope to make it,’ declared Baggio. ‘I can’t miss the Final of this World Cup, a World Cup which means more to me than ever.’

  ‘Italy,’ said Parreira, ‘has grown with the days. It’s not just Baggio. We’ve earned the right to play the Final through our consistency. Italy have earned it with their last, brilliant performances.’ But by no means all Brazilians were as enthusiastic about his team as Parreira. Chico Maia, a radio reporter from Belo Horizonte, said he hoped Brazil would lose, and sounded an old, embittered song: ‘We journalists consider it an error to Europeanise the play of our national team. We have a tradition, a credibility, and we’re not disposed to sell it off or bargain it away.’

  That day, there was the third-place match to be got out of the way, in Pasadena. The Swedes walked all over an utterly spent Bulgarian team which had flown 3,000 miles to meet them. The Bulgarians resisted for about half an hour. Then Brolin, advancing from midfield, headed in Ingesson’s cross on the bounce. Thomas Ravelli then turned aside a tremendous shot by Stoichkov from outside the box. But on the half hour, the Swedes scored their second, Brolin’s quick free kick being easily exploited by Mild. Seven minutes more, and Larsson, who was running riot, took another of Brolin’s jewelled passes, danced on, evaded the keeper and scored Sweden’s third. Kennet Andersson headed in Stefan Schwarz’s cross to make it 4–0; a Swedish World Cup record.

  So, a repeat of the 1970 Final, in which Brazil had brushed the Italians casually aside.

  A strangely morose Sacchi had promised that he wouldn’t on any account risk picking both Baggio and Baresi for the Final. Then, after fevered speculation all that Saturday, what did he do but pick both. Daniele Massaro, the Milan opportunist, who had been on the bench in the 1982 World Cup Final, would play up front. No place for a deeply disappointed Gianfranco Zola. He’d not had enough games, said Sacchi.

  From the Brazilian camp, there were whispers that Romario, feeling a lingering groin strain, might not make the cut. He and Bebeto held the key, no one disputed that. This would be their 33rd international as a partnership, and they’d so far scored 57 goals for Brazil.

  The teams were announced. Sacchi had gambled. Roberto Baggio and Franco Baresi would both be playing, Baresi just twenty-four hours after his operation. Brazil restored Mazinho to midfield, where Rai had replaced him in the second half against Sweden. Romario was there.

  It was a game which never really got off the ground. Sacchi seemed not to have any real ambition to win it. Surely at some point in this protracted, debilitating game, Signori and his legendary left foot should have been brought on. And had Parreira only had the courage to bring on the big Corinthians’ striker Viola earlier in the game, extra time might not have been necessary.

  As for the midfield, Mauro Silva was the pick of them all. Solid, active, decisive and intelligent, rather than inspired, he was certainly the pivot of his team. And he was terribly unlucky not to score, 15 minutes from the end of normal time, with a right-footed cross-shot which Pagliuca fumbled piteously. The Fates looked after him, for the ball flew on to hit the post, then rebounded into his grateful arms.

  It was a day on which Daniele Massaro’s renowned finishing skills alas deserted him. So much so that you could almost, at the end, lay money on him missing his penalty—which he duly did. Franco Baresi, of all people, slipped him beautifully between Mauro Silva and Aldair after just 17 minutes—he shot straight at Taffarel. Taffarel would thwart the Italians twice again in extra time: once with a spectacular tip over the bar, when Roberto Baggio spun and shot from 25 yards; and from Baggio again, after a clever, quick exchange with Massaro. You might say that Sacchi could justify the choice of Baggio, despite the fact that he was so clearly walking—or trotting—wounded.

  Dunga, known simply as a tackler, destroyer and grafter, had perhaps his most creative match for Brazil. In the absence of a Gerson or a Didì, somebody had to supply the attack; this he tried constantly to do, and not without success. There was, of course, always Branco and his free kicks. After 25 minutes, he banged one in hard and low. Pagliuca couldn’t hold it, but Mazinho stumbled. Three minutes before the break, Branco struck another low, ferocious free kick, but this time Pagliuca held it capably.

  Romario and Bebeto were always a threat, but could never quite make it count. Romario missed a fine chance to score after only 12 minutes, when Dunga crossed accurately from the right, but the little man could only head into Pagliuca’s hands. In the second half, Pagliuca rushed out to kick away to safety a dangerous one-two between Romario and Bebeto. And just three minutes into injury time, Cafu crossed, Pagliuca made no contact, but Bebeto’s attempt on the far post was so unusually weak that the keeper gathered with ease.

  So, for all Viola’s left-wing incursions, penalties it would be—a dire, disgraceful and dishonourable conclusion to the game’s greatest competition, but one which sooner or later was surely bound to come.

  Taffarel and Pagliuca wished each other luck. Baresi took the first kick—and shot over Tafferel’s bar. Marcio Santos took the second—and Pagliuca stopped it. Albertini put his penalty away for Italy, Romario replied for Brazil. Evani, an Italian substitute, scored on his turn. More than 94,000 fans watched breathlessly and waited.

  Now it was Branco’s turn: who could imagine that left foot missing? Now, Daniele Massaro. And Taffarel saves. Dunga scores: Roberto Baggio must score to keep the shoot-out alive. Alas, the Divine Ponytail puts his shot high over the bar. Brazil have regained the World Cup—after 24 years. The samba beat is triumphant.

  ‘I missed because I tried a powerful shot,’ said Baggio. ‘I went against my own nature. I shot towards Taffarel’s right-hand corner, but I was worn out, I made a bad run-up to the ball, with my body too far backwards. Out of it there came a wretched shot; rubbish.’

  But who could blame Baggio?

  RESULTS: USA 1994

  First Round

  Group A

  Detroit, Los Angeles, San Francisco

  USA 1, Switzerland 1

  Romania 3, Colombia 1

  USA 2, Colombia 1

  Switzerland 4, Romania 1

  Romania 1 USA 0

  Colombia 2, Switzerland 0

  GOALS

  P W D L F A Pts

  Romania 3 2 0 1 5 5 6

  Switzerland 3 1 1 1 5 4 4

  USA 3 1 1 1 3 3 4

  Colombia 3 1 0 2 4 5 3

  Group B

  Los Angeles, San Francisco, Detroit

  Cameroon 2, Sweden 2

  Brazil 2, Russia 0

  Brazil 3, Cameroon 0

  Sweden 3, Russia 1

  Brazil 1, Sweden 1

  Russia 6, Cameroon 1

  GOALS

  P W D L F A Pts

  Brazil 3 2 1 0 6 1 7

  Sweden 3 1 2 0 6 4 5

  Russia 3 1 0 2 7 6 3

  Cameroon 3 0 1 2 3 11 1

  Group C

  Chicago, Boston, Dallas

  Germany 1, Bolivia 0

  Spain 2, South Korea 2

  Germany 1, Spain 1

  Bolivia 0, South Korea 0

  Germany 3, South Korea 2

  Bolivia 1, Spain 3

  GOALS

  P W D L F A Pts

  Germany 3 2 1 0 5 3 7

  Spain 3 1 2 0 6 4 5

  South Korea 3 0 2 1 4 5 2

  Bolivia 3 0 1 2 1 4 1

  Group D

  Boston, Dallas, Detroit, Chicago

  Argentina 4, Greece 0

  Nigeria 3, Bulgaria 0

  Argentina 2, Nigeria 1

  Bulgaria 4, Greece 0

  Argentina 0, Bulgaria 2

  Greece 0, Nigeria 2

  GOALS

  P W D L F A Pts

  Nigeria 3 2 0 1
6 2 6

  Bulgaria 3 2 0 1 6 3 6

  Argentina 3 2 0 1 6 3 6

  Greece 3 0 0 3 0 10 0

  Group E

  New York, Orlando

  Ireland 1, Italy 0

  Norway 1, Mexico 0

  Italy 1, Norway 0

  Mexico 2, Ireland 1

  Italy 1, Mexico 1

  Ireland 0, Norway 0

  GOALS

  P W D L F A Pts

  Mexico 3 1 1 1 3 3 4

  Ireland 3 1 1 1 2 2 4

  Italy 3 1 1 1 2 2 4

  Norway 3 1 1 1 1 1 4

  Group F

  Chicago, Orlando, Washington

  Belgium 1, Morocco 0

  Holland 2, Saudi Arabia 1

  Belgium 1, Holland 0

  Saudi Arabia 2, Morocco 1

  Belgium 0, Saudi Arabia 1

  Morocco 1, Holland 2

  GOALS

  P W D L F A Pts

  Holland 3 2 0 1 4 3 6

  Saudi Arabia 3 2 0 1 4 3 6

  Belgium 3 2 0 1 2 1 6

  Morocco 3 0 0 3 2 5 0

  Second Round

  Chicago

  Germany 3, Belgium 2

  Los Angeles

  Romania 3, Argentina 2

  Orlando

  Holland 2, Ireland 0

  San Francisco

  Brazil 1, USA 0

  Boston

  Italy 2, Nigeria 1

  after extra time

  New York