Soccer in Sun and Shadow

The 1950 World Cup

Color television was being born, computers were doing a thousand operations a second, and Marilyn Monroe was making her Hollywood debut. A movie by Buñuel, Los Olvidados, was capturing Cannes. Fangio’s Formula One was winning in Monaco. Bertrand Russell was winning the Nobel. Neruda was publishing his Canto General, while Onetti and Octavio Paz were bringing out the first editions of A Brief Life and The Labyrinth of Solitude.

Pedro Albizu Campos, who had fought long and hard for Puerto Rico’s independence, was being sentenced to seventy-nine years in prison in the United States. An informer had squealed on Salvatore Giuliano, the legendary bandit of southern Italy, and he lay dying, riddled by police bullets. In China, Mao’s government was taking its first steps by outlawing polygamy and the sale of children. Wrapped in the flag of the United Nations, U.S. troops were invading the Korean Peninsula with guns blazing, while soccer players were landing in Rio de Janeiro to vie for the fourth Rimet Cup after the long hiatus of the World War.

Taking part in the Brazilian tournament in 1950 were seven countries from the Americas and six from a Europe recently risen from the ashes. FIFA would not let Germany play. For the first time, England joined in the World Cup. Until then, the English had considered such skirmishes to be beneath them. The British side was defeated by the United States, believe it or not, and the goal that put the Americans over the top was the work not of George Washington but of an immigrant from Haiti, a black center forward named Larry Gaetjens.

Brazil and Uruguay waged the final in Maracanã, the home team’s new stadium, the largest in the world. Brazil was a sure winner, the final was going to be a party. Before the match began, the Brazilian players, who had crushed all comers with goal after goal, were given gold watches with FOR THE WORLD CHAMPIONS engraved on the back. The front pages of the papers had been printed up in advance, the immense carnival float that would lead the victory parade was all set to go, half a million T-shirts with slogans celebrating the inevitable victory had already been sold.

When the Brazilian Friaça scored the first goal, the thunder of two hundred thousand voices and at least as many firecrackers shook the monumental stadium. But then Schiaffino rammed in the equalizer and a shot from the wing by Ghiggia gave Uruguay the championship with a 2–1 victory. When Ghiggia scored, the silence in Maracanã was deafening, the most raucous silence in the history of soccer, and Ary Barroso, the musician and composer of “Acuarela do Brasil,” who was providing commentary on the match for the entire country, swore off broadcasting for good.

After the final whistle, Brazilian commentators called the defeat “the worst tragedy in Brazil’s history.” Jules Rimet wandered about the field like a lost soul, hugging the cup that bore his name: “I found myself alone with the cup in my arms and not knowing what to do. I finally found Uruguay’s captain, Obdulio Varela, and I gave it to him practically without letting anyone else see. I held out my hand without saying a word.”

In his pocket, Rimet had a speech he had written to congratulate the victorious Brazilians.

Uruguay had won cleanly: they committed eleven fouls to the Brazilians’ twenty-one.

Third place went to Sweden, fourth to Spain. Brazil’s Ademir led the list of scorers with nine goals, followed by the Uruguayan Schiaffino and the Spaniard Zarra with five apiece.