Soccer in Sun and Shadow

Pears from an Elm

Alain Giresse, along with Platini, Tigana, and Genghini, made up the most spectacular midfield of the ’82 Cup and in the entire history of French soccer. Giresse was so small that on the TV screen he always appeared to be far away.

The Hungarian Puskás was short and fat like the German Seeler. The Dutchman Cruyff and the Italian Gianni Rivera were skinny. Pelé had flat feet, as did Néstor Rossi, Argentina’s solid center half. The Brazilian Rivelino scored worst on the Cooper test, but on the field no one could catch him. His countryman Sócrates had the body of a heron, long bony legs and small feet that tired easily, but he was such a master of the backheel he even used it for penalty kicks.

Whoever believes physical size and tests of speed or strength have anything to do with a soccer player’s prowess is sorely mistaken. Just as mistaken as those who believe that IQ tests have anything to do with talent or that there is a relationship between penis size and sexual pleasure. Good soccer players need not be titans sculpted by Michelangelo. In soccer, ability is much more important than shape, and in many cases skill is the art of turning limitations into virtues.

The Colombian Carlos Valderrama has warped feet, and the curvature helps him hide the ball. It’s the same story with Garrincha’s twisted feet. Where is the ball? In his ear? Inside his shoe? Where did it go? The Uruguayan “Cococho” Alvarez, who walked with a limp, had one foot pointing toward the other, and he was one of the few defenders who could stop Pelé without punching or kicking him.

Two short, chubby players, Romario and Maradona, were the stars of the ’94 World Cup. And two Uruguayan strikers who later on became stars in Italy, Ruben Sosa and Carlos Aguilera, have a similar physique. Thanks to their diminutive size, the Brazilian Leônidas, the Englishman Kevin Keegan, the Irishman George Best, and the Dane Allan Simonsen, known as “The Flea,” all managed to slip through impenetrable defenses and scurry easily by huge fullbacks who hit them with all they had but could not stop them. Also tiny but well armored was Félix Loustau, left winger for River Plate’s “Machine.” They called him “The Ventilator” because he was the one who allowed the rest of the squad to catch their breath by making the opposing players chase him. Lilliputians can change speed and accelerate brusquely without falling because they aren’t built like skyscrapers.