By Gideon Rachman
Published: June 28 2010 23:24
As a commentator on international politics, it is naturally tempting to draw some trite geopolitical lesson from the World Cup. There are those who believe that the unexpected early elimination of France and Italy at this year’s tournament is a parable of the decline of Europe. A commentator in El País, a Spanish paper, claims that England’s loss to Germany over the weekend reflects Thatcherism’s demoralising effects on the English proletariat. (And there was I thinking that it had something to do with lumbering centre-backs and a disallowed goal.)
In fact, the nice thing about international football is that it actually does not track political or economic trends. Instead it provides a sort of parallel universe with its own world order. Brazil is the “sole superpower”. The Security Council of countries that have won the World Cup more than once is completed by Argentina, Germany, Italy and Uruguay. The US is a middle-ranking power, much admired for its sense of fair play. Japan is not in decline, but flourishing. China and India – the rising powers in the real world – are nowhere to be seen, since they have not qualified for this World Cup. On Planet Football, the rising powers are largely from Africa, such as the “Black Stars” of Ghana who saw off the Americans on Saturday.
The World Cup clearly offers a safe way to express nationalism and act out conflict. England-Germany games have an extra edge for reasons we need not dwell on. But, even so, George Orwell’s over-quoted aphorism that “serious sport” is “war minus the shooting” misses the most important point.
As a visitor to this World Cup – and to the three previous tournaments – I know that something much more cheering and healthy is going on. The atmosphere at World Cups is joyous, not hostile; more like a carnival than a war. Opposing fans turn up in fancy dress and pose cheerfully for photos with each other. At a game in Johannesburg on Sunday night, I was surrounded by Mexican fans in sombreros and ponchos, and by Argentines who, for some reason, were waving posters of Che Guevara. In Durban, two nights before, some Brazilian fans had turned up to watch their team in tailor-made suits in their national colours – since these are canary yellow, green and blue, the effect was fairly spectacular. In England, it is standard practice to separate the fans from opposing teams, lest they attack each other: nobody bothers with that at the World Cup.
Football undoubtedly offers an outlet for nationalism. But it also gives countries a chance to attract admiration and respect – and to define and redefine their national brands. If you read only the musings of political and economic commentators, you might have the impression that Japan is a depressed conformist country, populated almost entirely by pensioners and sumo wrestlers. And yet here is the Japanese football team, excelling at the World Cup, full of youthful joie de vivre and with some of the most imaginative football (and hairstyles) on display in South Africa.
The most globally famous citizens of many countries are the stars (and former stars) of their national football teams: Pele of Brazil; Cristiano Ronaldo of Portugal; Johan Cruyff of the Netherlands. The great Dutch team of the 1970s added an extra lustre to the country’s image. No longer was it just another middle-sized European country, vaguely defined by Rembrandt and tulips. Since the 1970s, Holland has also been the nation of dazzlingly stylish football and bright orange jerseys.
The World Cup of 1974, when the Dutch burst on to the scene, is particularly vivid for me, since it was the first one I watched on television. Ever since then, I have measured out my life in World Cups – memories of each tournament remind me of where I was and what I was doing, at four-yearly intervals. I was alone in a bar in Barcelona in 1986, watching Diego Maradona’s “hand of God” goal eliminate England; I was sitting on the end of a bed in Washington in 1990, as England went out on penalties to Germany and the Americans celebrated the fourth of July around me; I was actually in the stadium in Berlin in 2006, watching the final, when Zinedine Zidane of France was sent off for the world’s most infamous head-butt.
It is faintly embarrassing to admit to this level of obsession. But at least I know I am not alone. Even countries that are not actually taking part in the World Cup are following it avidly. Shortly before the tournament started, I was discussing the rising tensions between Israel and Iran with a senior diplomat. “Nothing will happen over the next month,” he proclaimed confidently, “not during the World Cup.” In South Africa, there are those who attribute the drop in crime during the tournament not to better policing, but to the fact that the usual suspects are glued to their televisions.
It is rather cheering to think that, if only briefly, football can help to stop war and crime. Of course, in less than two weeks’ time, the tournament will be over and the normal grim global problems will be back, clamouring for attention. But until July 11, the eyes of the world will be focused on the football stadiums of South Africa – and the world may be a slightly better place as a result.
Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2010.
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