by Nick Holt
In the dying minutes Pelé sprinted onto a pass from Tostão with Mazurkiewicz hurtling off his line to meet him. Pelé instinctively knew that if he touched the ball the goalkeeper would tackle him, and if he touched it any harder the backtracking defender would intercept. So he left it; he dummied the ’keeper and ran round the back of him to retrieve the ball, just missing the far post with an instant shot. It doesn’t look much on video until you stop and contemplate the football brain that worked out those angles in a split second while running at full pelt. That is the hallmark of genius – to do things no others can do; even simple things.
WORLD CUP CLASSIC No.8
17 June 1970, Azteca, Mexico City; 102,444
Referee: Arturo Yamasaki (Mexico – but he used to be Peruvian!)
Coaches: Ferruccio Valcareggi (Italy) & Helmut Schön (West Germany)
West Germany (3–1–3–3): Sepp Maier (Bayern Munich); Berti Vogts (Borussia Mönchengladbach), Willi Schulz (Cologne), Karl-Heinz Schnellinger (AC Milan): Bernd Patzke (Hertha Berlin); Franz Beckenbauer (Bayern Munich); Uwe Seeler (Cpt, Hamburg), Wolfgang Overath (Cologne); Jürgen Grabowski (Eintracht Frankfurt), Gerd Müller (Bayern Munich), Hannes Löhr (Cologne). Subs: Siggi Held (Dortmund) 65m for Patzke; Reinhard Libuda (Schalke 04) 51m for Löhr
Italy (4–4–2): Enrico Albertosi (Cagliari); Tarcisio Burgnich (Inter), Roberto Rosato (Milan), Pierluigi Cera (Cagliari), Giacinto Facchetti (Cpt, Inter); Angelo Domenghini (Cagliari), Mario Bertini (Inter), Sandro Mazzola (Inter), Picchio De Sisti (Fiorentina); Roberto Boninsegna (Inter), Gigi Riva (Cagliari). Subs: Gianni Rivera (Milan) 45m for Mazzola; Fabrizio Poletti (Torino) 90m, for Rosato
Cautioned: Rosato (Ita) 36m, Müller (WGer) 66m, Albertosi (Ita) 73m, De Sisti (Ita) 104m, Domenghini (Ita) 114m
This has won polls as the best World Cup match of all time, which is stretching the point. It’s a fan favourite because of the excitement and changeable nature of the game, rather than a critics’ favourite because of the quality of the football. They both have a point; maybe it had the best half-hour of all time as the excitement was crammed into extra-time. Italy scored too early for the ninety minutes to be pulsating. It wasn’t their way to go for the jugular, rather let the opponent bleed to death slowly, which is what West Germany did for ninety minutes until they conjured an unlikely equaliser from an unlikely source.
Mazzola was back in the side for Rivera, which surprised some, as Rivera had been highly influential in Italy’s excellent second half against Mexico. It supports the theory Valcareggi was playing by numbers, especially when he swapped the two play-makers at half-time again.
It is fascinating to read the way in which this game is viewed with the benefit of hindsight in Italy and West Germany. The Italians, often so self-deprecating, have it as one of their great victories, coming through after a heartbreaking late equaliser and then going behind in extra-time. The Germans, normally pretty good at accepting defeat (except during their “posturing years” in the eighties and nineties), see it as a hard-luck story, a brave effort thwarted by Italian dark arts and a weak referee.
The last doesn’t hold water. Yamasaki was a seasoned official – it was his third World Cup – and he did fine here with the exception of one call. West Germany claimed they should have had three penalties. In the first half Beckenbauer and Facchetti came together as Beckenbauer surged into the area; contact was minimal and Beckenbauer looked for the tumble; another surge later was stopped by a trip from Cera, but the TV footage shows the offence was a fraction outside the box – excellent decision. It did cost West Germany though, for Beckenbauer was injured as he tumbled and spent the rest of the game with his shoulder strapped, at first loosely and then actually held to his chest during extra-time. The one Yamasaki got wrong was when Seeler was held back chasing a rebound after Rosato made an excellent goal-line clearance.
Rosato had an exceptional game on Müller, but chances came elsewhere. Seeler missed a good chance, as did Grabowski, and Overath smashed a shot against the bar when he should have been on target with the ’keeper stranded. West Germany brought on a second winger in Libuda, for Löhr, who was nondescript, but he made little impact against Facchetti.
There was a lot of fuss made about Italian time-wasting and it was excessive and childish, but Yamasaki kept a lid on it and booked two players for taking the mickey, one of them goalkeeper Albertosi. And Germans complaining about play-acting is too rich. Albertosi nearly paid for his slow-timing; forced to kick from his hand quickly, he hoofed one against the back of Siggi Held and the ball bounced slowly back towards the goal-line. Albertosi sprinted back while the predatory Müller sprinted forwards, and the Italian goalkeeper just got his toe in first to poke the ball past the post – good recovery.
Libuda’s introduction allowed Grabowski to play on the left against Burgnich, slower than Facchetti, and it was his cross deep into injury-time that found the centre-half Karl-Heinz Schnellinger in unfamiliar territory. Schnellinger stretched and just got a toe to the ball – it was enough. There were suggestions he was insulted and threatened after scoring the goal (Schnellinger played in Italy for AC Milan) but that sounds a bit like tabloid tittle-tattle. The Italians protested about the extra-time played, but that, too, was a little rich.
The Germans, understandably, started extra-time a little more eagerly and got the first breakthrough. A cross from Libuda looked harmless enough until Poletti, on for Rosato, chested it down and Müller nipped in to scramble the ball past a furious Albertosi – the goalkeeper and Poletti got in each other’s way trying to get to the ball as it crept over the line at a funereal pace. The lead lasted four minutes until Held mimicked Poletti’s error, chesting a free-kick that Rivera tossed into the box straight into the path of Burgnich. Players were tired and marking slack, and Burgnich had time to let the ball sit at the right height to hammer home.
Now Italy were in the ascendancy, Rivera enjoying the extra space in midfield – Beckenbauer was a peripheral figure in his makeshift sling and the most defensive player, Patzke, had been substituted. Just before the break in extra-time he picked the ball up in space and threaded a pass to Domenghini, who had risked a sprint down the left. The winger curled in a first-time pass to Riva, lurking on the edge of the penalty area. He controlled the ball with his chest, pushed it outside the incoming Schnellinger with his next touch, balanced himself and hit a precise low shot beyond Maier. Quality finishing.
The Germans weren’t done. Held tried to redeem himself with a surging run, and it started a spell of pressure. Italy cleared a free-kick and from the corner Seeler’s downward header forced Albertosi to tip over. Seeler won the second corner, too – the Italians lacked height in the middle without Rosato – and headed across for Müller, who diverted the ball away from the goalkeeper into the corner. Much was made of Rivera’s rather feeble attempt to stop it, but his only chance really was to handle the ball and give away a penalty. All-square again.
Not for long. West Germany didn’t touch the ball before Italy were back in front. The kick-off went to Facchetti, who squirted a pass out to Boninsegna. The centre-forward ran past the tiring Schultz (a weak link for West Germany), looked up and cut the ball back into space. Rivera strolled into the German box and passed the ball into the corner.
The Germans didn’t have anything left. They pressed forward wearily but the equally weary Italians didn’t have to run now, and they were able to soak up the crosses and quash Libuda and Grabowski with numbers.
Italy certainly had the rub of the green and there was a lot of time-wasting, but I’ve seen Italian and German sides behave much worse without widespread censure. Fun game, especially the last half-hour. Best game ever? Not by a long chalk (see Ten Best World Cup Matches).
WORLD CUP FINAL No.9
21 June 1970, Azteca Stadium; 107,412
Referee: Rudi Glöckner (East Germany)
Coaches: Mário Zagallo (Brazil) & Ferruccio Valcareggi (Italy)
Brazil (4–4–1–1): Félix (Fluminen
se); Carlos Alberto (Cpt, Santos), Everaldo (Grêmio), Wilson Piazza (Cruzeiro), Hercules Brito (Flamengo); Jairzinho (Botafogo), Clodoaldo (Santos), Gérson (São Paulo), Roberto Rivelino (Corinthians); Pelé (Santos); Tostão (Cruzeiro)
Italy (4–4–2): Enrico Albertosi (Cagliari*); Tarcisio Burgnich (Inter), Roberto Rosato (Milan), Pierluigi Cera (Cagliari), Giacinto Facchetti (Cpt, Inter); Angelo Domenghini (Cagliari), Mario Bertini (Inter), Sandro Mazzola (Inter), Picchio De Sisti (Fiorentina); Roberto Boninsegna (Inter), Gigi Riva (Cagliari). Subs: Antonio Juliano (Napoli) 74m for Bertini; Gianni Rivera (Milan) 84m for Boninsegna
This was a brilliant Brazilian side and they were fully into their stride. They played well in this match – though perhaps not quite so well as is remembered – but really they didn’t have to play that well. Italy were a good side, but not by any means a great one (the second-best team in this tournament was England), and they were tired. Brazil had no extra rest but their semi-final against Uruguay lasted thirty minutes less and was played at a noticeably more measured pace. The Italy victory was emotionally and mentally exhausting too, as much a test of will as of ability, and they were playing the redoubtable Germans.
Brazil were awesome up front – it has to be repeated and re-emphasised, this was the best forward line ever put into the field, pressed close only by the 1958 version of Brazil. Pelé was the best player the game had ever seen and he was in imperious form, vision and leadership added to the multiple skills. There was no weakness; he was physically strong, deceptively quick for a player who strolled for most of a game, superb in the air, imaginative and a sharp finisher. Gérson, too, was so much more than the player seen in England in 1966; his ability to dictate the pace of the game and pick a pass were crucial to Brazil’s ball retention, and he was always prepared to drop in deeper if he felt his colleagues were over-committed. A great player with good team discipline – I can’t say player without ego, because he was a conceited so-and-so. Rivelino, too, was a hard-working player as well as a gifted one. Everyone remembers those vicious free-kicks, struck with the inside or outside of the boot, that swerved and dipped menacingly in the thin air, but his passing was a joy, too, and he could tackle better than expected. Tostão was a jewel, another player who played a role for the team and made things easier for those around him. Not really a centre-forward – his initial success at club level was as a ball-carrying playmaker – but prepared to adapt to the position, and he offered pace, movement and persistence rather than a towering presence of especially lethal finishing. The last member of the famous five, Jairzinho, definitely could finish. Strong and quick, he was an intimidating opponent running with the ball, but he could overplay sometimes – he was the least intelligent footballer of the five. He thrived in 1970 on Pelé’s ability to draw defenders and then play him in with a simple pass.
I don’t know how much it is. My father told me that when you’re working, don’t stop to count your money.
Pelé, on being asked what he thought his
transfer value might have been. Times change.
Or maybe he really was just a special one.
Four of these players were in the 1966 squad (Rivelino was the odd man out), but it took the appointment of Saldanho to blend them together, and the calm of Zagallo to give them the right framework to express themselves. The most remarkable aspect of this victory, from a personnel point of view, was that it was achieved with a quite awful goalkeeper.
It’s easy to say Italy were the opposite of Brazil, all defence and no attack, but the Italians have never been that straightforward. The defensive mindset is a (football) cultural thing started in the 1960s, that the way to win games was to stop the opposition scoring, and that became paramount if the team was in the lead. It didn’t mean they were short of attacking players – Riva, Mazzola and Domeghini were all established international players of the highest calibre – just that they were expected to put their creative urges to one side for the good of the system.
So, after an initial flurry from Italy saw Riva force a save (miracles never cease) out of Félix, the game of cat and mouse commenced. It was Italy’s way – a quick start to try to force a lead, as against West Germany, then retreat to the trenches and prepare to repel the bombardment. But this wasn’t an ageing Seeler, the finisher Müller and the lifeless Löhr, it was Brazil, and Brazil with a tactically astute coach. Zagallo knew how good Pelé was in the air, and with the impressive Rosato marking Tostão, they agreed the No.10 would target Burgnich on the far post. Brazil’s first and third goals came from this ploy, the first an emphatic header from Rivelino’s improvised cross.
Brazil would not have been Brazil without the odd shocker at the back and this time it was Clodoaldo, showboating even before half-time. His attempted back-heeled pass was cut out by Boninsegna – not a player to mess with, he was full of running and had a great attitude – who went straight at the heart of the defence, crashed through two tackles and beat his team-mate Riva to the loose ball to put Italy level. Félix was floundering around ten feet away, having committed ridiculously early. A really bad goal to concede.
Brazil controlled the ball superbly thereafter and drove Italy deeper and deeper, but at 1–1 there was always the sneaky feeling that their defence might just have another catastrophic error in it somewhere along the line. Mazzola was playing well – he stayed on after half-time – and Boninsegna ran as willingly as ever. Riva was quiet – Carlos Alberto, the Brazilian captain, had a good day all round. Brazil had chances – Rivelino proved he wasn’t a one-trick pony by hitting the bar from a free-kick with his wrong foot.
It took twenty minutes of the second half to come and it was from a most deserving source. Gérson was the only one of the front five yet to score in the tournament, but the timing of his first was immense. Yet another Jairzinho run foundered against Facchetti’s strength and athleticism, but the ball skewed off to Gérson, who stepped around another defender and shot into the corner from twenty yards. The game was effectively over five minutes later when Pelé beat Burgnich in the air again and Jairzinho forced the ball over the line through brute strength.
If Valcareggi could be forgiven for not bringing Rivera on at half-time, well as Mazzola was doing in keeping the ball for spells and stemming the tide towards his own goal, he surely erred in not bringing him on now for Bertini or De Sisti. Instead, he waited nearly ten minutes and brought on Juliano of Napoli for his first game of the tournament. Rivera got his “chance” with six minutes remaining, coming on for the exhausted Boninsegna.
There remained only the most famous goal in the history of football – don’t shout it out loud but it was a bit meaningless in the context of the match. Bit of showboating from Clodoaldo (a little keepie-uppie dribble to get things moving), a little run from Jairzinho, slipped pass inside to Pelé, slide-rule ball inside the defence to Carlos Alberto – bang! Thank you very much, world champions again and we’ll take that trophy for keeps now as it’s our third time if you don’t mind . . .
If you’re too young to have seen these Brazilians, get some videos – the England game, Uruguay, the final, Peru if you want a giggle at some comical defending – they really did play some sublime stuff.
World Cup Heroes No.14
Mário Zagallo (1931–)
Brazil
The first man to win the World Cup as player and coach. After making his international debut as a twenty-seven-year-old in early 1958, Zagallo became a key player for Brazil in the 1958 and 1962 World Cup tournaments, a deep-lying winger who could augment both the midfield and attack. He was the kind of player Brazilian coach Feola liked, one who would listen to tactics and play to a system. Zagallo possessed a wicked left foot and his curling crosses for Vavá and Pelé were a rich source of goals for Brazil.
Injuries forced Zagallo to retire in 1964 and he quit club football with Botafogo the following year. It was only a couple of years before he was back in charge of the club, the first of five spells as Botafogo manager; he also had three s
pells in charge of Flamengo, the club with which he made his name as a player.
But it was at international level his coaching name was really made. When Saldanho’s regular outbursts became too unpalatable for the Brazilian football authorities in 1970, Zagallo was drafted in as a safe pair of hands for the World Cup Finals. He didn’t tinker too much with the personnel, just dropped a little more team ethic into a marvellous pool of talent. Zagallo was a mild-mannered man for the most part, and unfailingly courteous, but tales are told of a fearsome Fergie-esque blast the players suffered after their listless first half against Uruguay. Zagallo was still in charge four years later but there was no Pelé, no Gérson and no Tostão, and their replacements tried to play a more cautious game to release Jairzinho and co, but they simply weren’t good enough.
Zagallo returned to the Brazilian squad in the early 1990s under Carlos Alberto Parreira, and was there when the 1994 trophy was won; he took full charge four years later when Brazil appeared to be coasting to another title until they misfired in the final.
In between, Zagallo helped the United Arab Emirates qualify for the Finals for the first time and helped develop football in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia.
1970 Team of the Tournament:
Banks (England)
Schnellinger (West Germany) Ubiña (Uruguay) Rosato (Italy) Facchetti (Italy)
Mullery (England) Pelé (Brazil) Gérson (Brazil)
