Leave Hatzi alone 
The All-time Auction Draft
- Thread starter Annahnomoss
- Start date
What/Who are we waiting for? Everyone has minimum 11, I see.
MDFC
Stob
Crappy
Sjor
I think these are the ones still looking for players.
Stob
Crappy
Sjor
I think these are the ones still looking for players.
im finished as long as no one outbids in my current bids.
Just looked at the rosters and outstanding bids. Is it me or @Stobzilla is like a kid in a candy shop?
Lorenzo Fernández
May I suggest a fourth Peruvian winger? Or his partner in crime who has been horrendously overlooked here? Top scorer in the Copa Libertadores' history apparently counts for nothing if you just happen to be born in Ecuador. No, let's pick Henrik Larsson instead because, you know, the Scottish Premier League is in Europe and the Libertadores isn't. Yes, great strikers around, no constraints and most looking at playing with just one, but he still improves at least three if not five of the teams out there.
Lorenzo Fernández
May I suggest a fourth Peruvian winger? Or his partner in crime who has been horrendously overlooked here? Top scorer in the Copa Libertadores' history apparently counts for nothing if you just happen to be born in Ecuador. No, let's pick Henrik Larsson instead because, you know, the Scottish Premier League is in Europe and the Libertadores isn't. Yes, great strikers around, no constraints and most looking at playing with just one, but he still improves at least three if not five of the teams out there.
Not yet and, in any case, you can't announce the draw until it's over. It's precisely after player 11 that you may want to look at tactical variations, let alone if you knew who you were facing!
Draw Draw Draw!
Just looked at the rosters and outstanding bids. Is it me or @Stobzilla is like a kid in a candy shop?
Lorenzo Fernández
May I suggest a fourth Peruvian winger? Or his partner in crime who has been horrendously overlooked here? Top scorer in the Copa Libertadores' history apparently counts for nothing if you just happen to be born in Ecuador. No, let's pick Henrik Larsson instead because, you know, the Scottish Premier League is in Europe and the Libertadores isn't. Yes, great strikers around, no constraints and most looking at playing with just one, but he still improves at least three if not five of the teams out there.
Dont be running larsson down because he played in scottish league.. he played for barcelona was fantastic, his few games with us he was very good rooney said he best strike partner hes had at one stage. And on international stage larsson scored for fun too..
There are much better strikers still out there that are 100 times better than Larsson though...
Wouldnt say 100 times. Still a quality quality striker. I picked players I am familiar with as well to make it easier to debate and fit them into certain systems.
I figured that was the case, but there's absolutely no doubt there are better players available who can do everything he did and fit into the systems he would, and do it better. I've strongly considered Larsson in other drafts and do rate him, but he doesn't really belong here. I would get it if it were a budget thing, but truckloads of football greats are going for 10M a pop.
There were a few strikers I had in mind but if I was to bid on them a war starts.. I just wanted a decent striker who could play in a two if necessary..
im just curious how will you debate about Duncan
As for Larsson, he is fine....you could probably do better but as you say, you are familiar with him so its a logic choice. Not sure why are they picking on you as there are few players who are much worse then Larsson and nobody said a word
Being a red.. knowing and watching duncan edwards is easy.. spent most my life watching old united games lol.. @Šjor Bepo
im just curious how will you debate about Duncan
As for Larsson, he is fine....you could probably do better but as you say, you are familiar with him so its a logic choice. Not sure why are they picking on you as there are few players who are much worse then Larsson and nobody said a word
There are all sorts of ridiculous inclusions, not at striker though, which is what I was referring to there. Still, it's 3-5 teams I said could do better with XXXX, not just one.
Osvaldo Ardiles - 10m - MDFC manager - 17:01
I m done with bidding. Do the draw
The 10m squad
.......Shevchenko....Vieri............
...................Kopa...................
....Seedorf................Coluna.......
..............Blanchflower.................
Cole..Schwarzenbeck..McGrath..Irwin
....................Maier.......................
.......Shevchenko....Vieri............
...................Kopa...................
....Seedorf................Coluna.......
..............Blanchflower.................
Cole..Schwarzenbeck..McGrath..Irwin
....................Maier.......................
We're done as well
Managers who are done with bidding :
1. Aldo
2. Rpitroda
3. Berbasloth4
4. Raees
5. green_smiley
6. joga bonito
7. ChrisG11
8. Cal?
9. Marty1968
10. EAP. Kocsis is the last I need
11. Crappy
12. Skizzo
1. Aldo
2. Rpitroda
3. Berbasloth4
4. Raees
5. green_smiley
6. joga bonito
7. ChrisG11
8. Cal?
9. Marty1968
10. EAP. Kocsis is the last I need
11. Crappy
12. Skizzo
13. Sjor was done as long as his current bids were not disturbed.
Still awaiting:
14. Theon
15. MDFC
16. Stobzilla
Sorry been away guys - Done with bidding
Thanks
Thanks
So, while you guys wait, I'll do a bit of legwork for @Stobzilla as I doubt he can read Spanish at all.
Lorenzo Fernández, aka "El Patrón de la Cancha" (The Master of the Pitch) or, for anyone in Uruguay, Lorenzo. As with Obdulio, nobody will ask "Lorenzo Who?" or "Which Lorenzo?", to this day Lorenzo is Lorenzo Fernández, any other Lorenzo needs a surname. The Master of the Pitch isn't just a cool nickname, from 1930-1935 the Centenario Stadium, the largest in the world at the time, was referred to as "Lorenzo's Digs" for consistency.
A dockworker (longshoreman) by trade, he was strong and tough as nails even by the usual centre-half standards of those days. The Uruguayan team's masseusse once commented that giving him a massage was like trying to massage a lampost. Even after becoming an Olympic and World Champion he carried on working in the docks until 1932, when the professional era started.
Over the course of eight years, he won 5 Uruguayan titles with Peñarol, against a Nacional which actually had more key players in the NT but, cruciallly, not what was really called the "Iron Curtain": Peñarol's Silva-Fernández-Gestido midfield, with Andrade replacing Silva for the NT. He also won a Copa América and 4 out of 6 Lipton/Newton Cups (an yearly event with Uruguay and Argentina facing each other). Both him and Uruguay would have probably won more had the Argies not thrown their toys out of the pram after losing in 1930, deciding to pass on continental tournos until that generation was gone (1930-1935).
An indefatigable and courageous centre-half, Lorenzo also had a knack for scoring important goals, including the first one Peñarol scored in the professional era against their eternal rivals Nacional. With a key forward injured, he was once switched to inside left for a Copa América game and bagged a hat-trick. But it wasn't his goals but his competitiveness and sheer will to win which set him apart. He simply couldn't lose, at anything.
In the days before the World Cup, a bunch of players decided to have a game of volleyball with the loser paying for the afternoon biscuits for everyone. Lorenzo's teammates, Cea and Anselmo, decided to have a laugh and agreed they would throw the game. They just stood there, arms raised, going through the motions but not being much use. Lorenzo didn't give up, he was all over the place, ranting and raving at his partners who in turn kept commenting on what a poor game he was having. Once the game was inevitably lost, Lorenzo paid his dues, walked into his room at the training camp, packed his bags and left. At the door he came across the President of the Uruguayan FA, who asked him where he was going: "I'm going home. These guys can't even win a game of volleyball for the biscuits, no chance they can win a World Cup". He ranted on for half an hour with Mr. Narancio feeling he had been transported to a parallel universe of irrational behaviour, then run out of steam and Mr. Narancio managed to talk him back into the camp.
Another time in 1935, prior to the Copa America in Perú the players went to the dog races. A local tipster approached him and talked him into a bet, which Lorenzo won. Thrifty as he was, he banked half his winnings every turn and bet the other half, so he was well in the money after the tips proving good seven times in a row. It still didn't stop him chasing the tipster down the stand, over the fence, and around the racecourse, after the eighth tip went south.
Like Obdulio, he had a major influence in the dressing room. At half-time during the Final, with the scoreline 1-2 to the Argies, Lorenzo tells the players "If we lose this I'm going to kill each and every one of you", to which Nasazzi added "He kills you, and I bury you". Pedro Cea would later say he really would have been capable of doing it. Four years later the Italians would receive a similar threat, not from Fernández obviously, or Monti, but from Il Duce himself.
A familiar trait/pattern with such players
Again, like Obdulio (who organised the first player strike), Lorenzo was quite vocal about the rights of his fellow professionals. In an episode which very much reminds me of Keane's final days with us, he took on the Peñarol Board after they didn't pay their wages for a couple of months. Peñarol had lost the league in 1934 and there was talk of the end of an era with many players on their last legs. Lorenzo was at the tail end of his career, 35 and making up for it with his sheer bloody-mindedness. He took on the Peñarol Board publicly, with the support of players and the fans who idolised him, in a tirade not too different to Keane's reference to prawn sandwich brigades and people who know nothing about footballl interfering with it.
A newspaper owned by the deposed previous Peñarol President latched onto it and kept adding fuel to the fire and a General Assembly was called. A few weeks prior the Peñarol Board paid up the wages, so when the Assembly came the players weren't that bothered any more but Lorenzo tore into each and every one of the Board members. Finding no backing from his fellow professionals, he tore into them as well, callling them spineless and saying it was no wonder they had lost the title...
It was so shocking that no one was surprised when he got suspended indefinitely without pay. The opposition media carried on with their political agenda and kept putting pressure on the Board calling for another Assembly for the club members to decide who stayed: the Board or Fernández. In the meantime, a crucial event: Peñarol started winning and regained the top of the table, became champions by the time the Assembly came... and fans being a fickle bunch they supported the Board, who sacked Lorenzo the next day.
It's interesting that all the way back in the 30s, the post mortem of the case (written by my grandad, a Nacional fan so quite happy to stick it in
) was: "Football players... We build them up to be superhumans above us mere mortals, it gets to their head, and they forget how vulnerable they are to the fickle nature of fans and the greater political nous of their masters. Here lies Lorenzo Fernández, his reputation in tatters for displaying the same pig-headedness that always served him so well in a different arena". Some things never change.
Lorenzo Fernández, aka "El Patrón de la Cancha" (The Master of the Pitch) or, for anyone in Uruguay, Lorenzo. As with Obdulio, nobody will ask "Lorenzo Who?" or "Which Lorenzo?", to this day Lorenzo is Lorenzo Fernández, any other Lorenzo needs a surname. The Master of the Pitch isn't just a cool nickname, from 1930-1935 the Centenario Stadium, the largest in the world at the time, was referred to as "Lorenzo's Digs" for consistency.
A dockworker (longshoreman) by trade, he was strong and tough as nails even by the usual centre-half standards of those days. The Uruguayan team's masseusse once commented that giving him a massage was like trying to massage a lampost. Even after becoming an Olympic and World Champion he carried on working in the docks until 1932, when the professional era started.
Over the course of eight years, he won 5 Uruguayan titles with Peñarol, against a Nacional which actually had more key players in the NT but, cruciallly, not what was really called the "Iron Curtain": Peñarol's Silva-Fernández-Gestido midfield, with Andrade replacing Silva for the NT. He also won a Copa América and 4 out of 6 Lipton/Newton Cups (an yearly event with Uruguay and Argentina facing each other). Both him and Uruguay would have probably won more had the Argies not thrown their toys out of the pram after losing in 1930, deciding to pass on continental tournos until that generation was gone (1930-1935
).An indefatigable and courageous centre-half, Lorenzo also had a knack for scoring important goals, including the first one Peñarol scored in the professional era against their eternal rivals Nacional. With a key forward injured, he was once switched to inside left for a Copa América game and bagged a hat-trick. But it wasn't his goals but his competitiveness and sheer will to win which set him apart. He simply couldn't lose, at anything.
In the days before the World Cup, a bunch of players decided to have a game of volleyball with the loser paying for the afternoon biscuits for everyone. Lorenzo's teammates, Cea and Anselmo, decided to have a laugh and agreed they would throw the game. They just stood there, arms raised, going through the motions but not being much use. Lorenzo didn't give up, he was all over the place, ranting and raving at his partners who in turn kept commenting on what a poor game he was having. Once the game was inevitably lost, Lorenzo paid his dues, walked into his room at the training camp, packed his bags and left. At the door he came across the President of the Uruguayan FA, who asked him where he was going: "I'm going home. These guys can't even win a game of volleyball for the biscuits, no chance they can win a World Cup". He ranted on for half an hour with Mr. Narancio feeling he had been transported to a parallel universe of irrational behaviour, then run out of steam and Mr. Narancio managed to talk him back into the camp.
Another time in 1935, prior to the Copa America in Perú the players went to the dog races. A local tipster approached him and talked him into a bet, which Lorenzo won. Thrifty as he was, he banked half his winnings every turn and bet the other half, so he was well in the money after the tips proving good seven times in a row. It still didn't stop him chasing the tipster down the stand, over the fence, and around the racecourse, after the eighth tip went south.
Like Obdulio, he had a major influence in the dressing room. At half-time during the Final, with the scoreline 1-2 to the Argies, Lorenzo tells the players "If we lose this I'm going to kill each and every one of you", to which Nasazzi added "He kills you, and I bury you". Pedro Cea would later say he really would have been capable of doing it. Four years later the Italians would receive a similar threat, not from Fernández obviously, or Monti, but from Il Duce himself.
A familiar trait/pattern with such players
Again, like Obdulio (who organised the first player strike), Lorenzo was quite vocal about the rights of his fellow professionals. In an episode which very much reminds me of Keane's final days with us, he took on the Peñarol Board after they didn't pay their wages for a couple of months. Peñarol had lost the league in 1934 and there was talk of the end of an era with many players on their last legs. Lorenzo was at the tail end of his career, 35 and making up for it with his sheer bloody-mindedness. He took on the Peñarol Board publicly, with the support of players and the fans who idolised him, in a tirade not too different to Keane's reference to prawn sandwich brigades and people who know nothing about footballl interfering with it.
A newspaper owned by the deposed previous Peñarol President latched onto it and kept adding fuel to the fire and a General Assembly was called. A few weeks prior the Peñarol Board paid up the wages, so when the Assembly came the players weren't that bothered any more but Lorenzo tore into each and every one of the Board members. Finding no backing from his fellow professionals, he tore into them as well, callling them spineless and saying it was no wonder they had lost the title...
It was so shocking that no one was surprised when he got suspended indefinitely without pay. The opposition media carried on with their political agenda and kept putting pressure on the Board calling for another Assembly for the club members to decide who stayed: the Board or Fernández. In the meantime, a crucial event: Peñarol started winning and regained the top of the table, became champions by the time the Assembly came... and fans being a fickle bunch they supported the Board, who sacked Lorenzo the next day.
It's interesting that all the way back in the 30s, the post mortem of the case (written by my grandad, a Nacional fan so quite happy to stick it in
) was: "Football players... We build them up to be superhumans above us mere mortals, it gets to their head, and they forget how vulnerable they are to the fickle nature of fans and the greater political nous of their masters. Here lies Lorenzo Fernández, his reputation in tatters for displaying the same pig-headedness that always served him so well in a different arena". Some things never change.
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Nice read there, anto!
Also let's wrap it up lads. @MDFC Manager @Stobzilla if you don't intend to bid on each other's players (and Sjor's) then we can get this over.
Also let's wrap it up lads. @MDFC Manager @Stobzilla if you don't intend to bid on each other's players (and Sjor's) then we can get this over.
GK
Chilavert - 10m - Stobzilla - 10:28
DF
Tassotti - 10m - Sjor - 13:05
MF
Lorenzo Fernandez - 10m - Stobzilla - 10:28
Hatzipanagis - 10m - Stobzilla - 10:28
Osvaldo Ardiles - 10m - MDFC manager - 17:01
FW
Albert - 10m - Sjor - 13:05
Chilavert - 10m - Stobzilla - 10:28
DF
Tassotti - 10m - Sjor - 13:05
MF
Lorenzo Fernandez - 10m - Stobzilla - 10:28
Hatzipanagis - 10m - Stobzilla - 10:28
Osvaldo Ardiles - 10m - MDFC manager - 17:01
FW
Albert - 10m - Sjor - 13:05
Good write up @antohan The little story about the world cup was awesome
Brilliant write up anto!
@antohan Great story mate, a lot of work for the benefit of the rest of us. Well in particular Stobzilla.
Alcides Ghiggia was worn out. His team-mates kept sending the ball long and the man on the wing was growing frustrated. Half-time arrived, with time for rest and refreshment – and some advice. “Tell Julio Perez to play the ball to my feet,” Ghiggia asked Juan Lopez.
The coach duly spoke up and it was not long before a precisely weighted pass brought a run and a lay-off for Schiaffino to level the scores. Next, with the ball played to feet once again, another run and a low drive made it 2-1 to silence some 200,000 stunned Brazilians. And back in Uruguay, thousands of new-born boys were soon to be proudly named after the country’s latest hero: Alcides Edgardo.
Ghiggia, who was just 23 and had only been wearing the iconic Celeste jersey for four months, helped bring about one of the most spectacular feats in the history of the FIFA World Cup™: El Maracanazo. Thus became known Uruguay’s victory in the final game of the 1950 tournament over firm favourites and hosts Brazil, who had gone 1-0 up and needed just a draw to be crowned champions - only to end up defeated and in despair.
In a team full of talent and tenacity in equal measures, featuring Odbulio Varela, Roque Maspoli and Juan Schiaffino, among others, Ghiggia was the shining star. Indeed, when newspaper El Observador once asked Schiaffino what had been the determining factor against the Brazilians, “Ghiggia”, came the reply. “He was brilliant, his play was decisive.” Uruguay played four matches in that World Cup and El Fantasma (The Ghost), as he has been dubbed in Brazil, scored in each one.
Hold on right there Mr Juan... Let's not forget THE decisive player of the 1950 tournament and the mastermind behind the victorious final match - the one who truly broke the spirit of the Maracanã and spat on it for good measure.
The inimitable El Negro Jefe.
****
Brazil started the 1950 World Cup in ominous fashion – slaying every opponent in front of them. Their exuberant displays highlighted their class and their crazily individualistic performances became the talk of the nation. Zizinho, Barbosa, Bigode, Ademir – names of these players spread far and wide as their dominating displays shocked opponents. Introducing a new format which was used only once in the World Cup history, four teams qualified for the final group – Brazil, Uruguay, Sweden and Spain. From then on, it became a two-horse race.
Uruguay stuttered in their approach to the opening two games, as they clawed their way back in both times against Spain, requiring a late goal to draw level, and then against Sweden, with 2 late goals needed to eke out a 3-2 win. Interestingly, Ghiggia was on target for Uruguay in every single match. Elsewhere, Brazil were having fun and toying against the same opponents. After defeating Sweden 7-1, they pumped six goals past a hapless Spain; 13 goals scored, only two conceded. It all came down to the last match of the group stage – a stand-off between Brazil and Uruguay which was going to determine the winner of the 1950 World Cup.
The Uruguayan party weren’t just wary. They were petrified. The odds couldn't be further stacked against them.
On the morning of the 1950 World Cup deciding match against Brazil, members of the country’s FA apparently told the squad “four is acceptable”.
The Brazilians had, after all, put seven past Sweden and six past Spain in their last two games. And there was high expectation that the hosts would do the same to Uruguay. That day’s Rio papers had printed a photo of the side with the headline “Today, Brazil wins the World Cup”.
The O Mundo ran the headline 'Estes sao as Campeoes do Mundo!' (These are the champions of the world) with a photograph of Brazil's seleção - the national team heroes resplendent in their crisp white shirts.
The stadium has been packed with approximately 210 000 fans in attendance, the highest ever in the history of the game, with under a paltry 100 Uruguayans in the crowd. The house band in the stadium, has been rehearsing a specially commissioned samba entitled 'Brazil the Victors', which they plan to strike up on the sounding of the final whistle.
And the mayor of Rio has done his bit to whip up the crowd too: 'You, players, who in less than a few hours will be hailed as champions by millions of compatriots! You, who have no rivals in the entire hemisphere! You, who will overcome any other competitor! You, who I already salute as victors!
Blimey. No pressure, then.
And, so intimidated was Uruguayan coach Juan Lopez that he instructed the team to play a defensive game and keep it as tight as possibly.
But there was one exception to all of this anxiety. The captain Obdulio Varela.
Earlier in the day, he had collected every one of those newspapers he could and got his teammates to urinate on them. And now, as soon as Lopez had left the room, Varela gathered the team together again.
“Juan is a good man, but if we do defend then we will suffer the same fate of Sweden and Spain… Put that crowd out of your minds, don’t look up. The game is played down on the pitch.”
Over the previous decade, Varela had been an inspirational captain for both club and country. He drove Penarol to a series of titles and Uruguay to the 1942 South American Championships.
But, in the highly intimidating surroundings of a packed Maracanã, Varela’s influence went beyond mere instruction and inspiration. There’s arguably never been a single player that has so dominated a World Cup final. Obdulio had a huge psychological effect on his team.
FIRST PIVOTAL MOMENT
For most of the first half, Ghiggia is struggling to get the better of Bigode who has been testing the limits of the laws, as he pins down the tricky winger with rough-house tactics. In the 28th min, Obdulio has had enough.
O TAPA DE OBDULIO!!!
Bigode has been tussling with Ghiggia down the right and he nudges the willowy winger in the back with the ball out for a throw in. Varela takes a step towards Bigode and reaches to pat the opponent on the head, as he often does in matches. This time, however, he gives Bigode a right smack on the side of the head. Bigode - the literal translation is Moustache - bristles at this. He's shaken at Varela's slap, as are the crowd. The referee demands the two players embrace, which they reluctantly do. Varela struts off talking loudly to himself, pulling at the front of his light-blue shirt with his fist, every inch the victor of that little spat, or should I say, precision psychological terrorism.
Just imagine being in poor Bigode's boots just there, with Varela - a man with biblical willpower and a face made of granite - approaching you, arm cocked, ready to clip you round the lug. Imagine the chill that would shoot down your spine as you cower against that mighty frame.
This would prove to be the turning point of the match with Varela's action putting down a marker and naturally, Bigode didn't come close to fouling Ghiggia again, with Ghiggia running rampant - a WC winning goal and an assist for the opener. Poor Bigode was ripped apart and looked like he aged 20 years after that encounter with Obdulio Varela - a man who could put the fear of god into Jesus himself.
SECOND PIVOTAL MOMENT
Even when Brazil eventually went ahead two minutes into the second half, Varela realised the importance of calming things down. With the 200,000 crowd having gone into rapture, Brazil could well have been carried along by the wave and destroyed Uruguay. So Varela intentionally holds up the restart by remonstrating vociferously with the referee over a non-existent offside. The Maracanã is still bouncing but a little heat has been taken out of the air as the initial crackle of the 200 000 strong celebration dies down a little.
Varela turns to Andrade and mouths "Let them shout. In five minutes the stadium will seem like a graveyard and then only one voice will be heard : MINE."
“I took the discussion as far as it would go,” Varela later said. “To the point they had to get an interpreter. The stadium fell silent and that’s when I knew we could win the game.”
Certainly, Varela was winning the battle and it proved to be a masterful stroke of genius. As Brian Glanville wrote “it was now Varela who bestrode the field, nonchalant and indomitable, masterfully breaking up and launching attacks, the old-school centre-half par excellence.”
The coach duly spoke up and it was not long before a precisely weighted pass brought a run and a lay-off for Schiaffino to level the scores. Next, with the ball played to feet once again, another run and a low drive made it 2-1 to silence some 200,000 stunned Brazilians. And back in Uruguay, thousands of new-born boys were soon to be proudly named after the country’s latest hero: Alcides Edgardo.
Ghiggia, who was just 23 and had only been wearing the iconic Celeste jersey for four months, helped bring about one of the most spectacular feats in the history of the FIFA World Cup™: El Maracanazo. Thus became known Uruguay’s victory in the final game of the 1950 tournament over firm favourites and hosts Brazil, who had gone 1-0 up and needed just a draw to be crowned champions - only to end up defeated and in despair.
In a team full of talent and tenacity in equal measures, featuring Odbulio Varela, Roque Maspoli and Juan Schiaffino, among others, Ghiggia was the shining star. Indeed, when newspaper El Observador once asked Schiaffino what had been the determining factor against the Brazilians, “Ghiggia”, came the reply. “He was brilliant, his play was decisive.” Uruguay played four matches in that World Cup and El Fantasma (The Ghost), as he has been dubbed in Brazil, scored in each one.
Hold on right there Mr Juan... Let's not forget THE decisive player of the 1950 tournament and the mastermind behind the victorious final match - the one who truly broke the spirit of the Maracanã and spat on it for good measure.
The inimitable El Negro Jefe.
****
Brazil started the 1950 World Cup in ominous fashion – slaying every opponent in front of them. Their exuberant displays highlighted their class and their crazily individualistic performances became the talk of the nation. Zizinho, Barbosa, Bigode, Ademir – names of these players spread far and wide as their dominating displays shocked opponents. Introducing a new format which was used only once in the World Cup history, four teams qualified for the final group – Brazil, Uruguay, Sweden and Spain. From then on, it became a two-horse race.
Uruguay stuttered in their approach to the opening two games, as they clawed their way back in both times against Spain, requiring a late goal to draw level, and then against Sweden, with 2 late goals needed to eke out a 3-2 win. Interestingly, Ghiggia was on target for Uruguay in every single match. Elsewhere, Brazil were having fun and toying against the same opponents. After defeating Sweden 7-1, they pumped six goals past a hapless Spain; 13 goals scored, only two conceded. It all came down to the last match of the group stage – a stand-off between Brazil and Uruguay which was going to determine the winner of the 1950 World Cup.
The Uruguayan party weren’t just wary. They were petrified. The odds couldn't be further stacked against them.
On the morning of the 1950 World Cup deciding match against Brazil, members of the country’s FA apparently told the squad “four is acceptable”.
The Brazilians had, after all, put seven past Sweden and six past Spain in their last two games. And there was high expectation that the hosts would do the same to Uruguay. That day’s Rio papers had printed a photo of the side with the headline “Today, Brazil wins the World Cup”.
The O Mundo ran the headline 'Estes sao as Campeoes do Mundo!' (These are the champions of the world) with a photograph of Brazil's seleção - the national team heroes resplendent in their crisp white shirts.
The stadium has been packed with approximately 210 000 fans in attendance, the highest ever in the history of the game, with under a paltry 100 Uruguayans in the crowd. The house band in the stadium, has been rehearsing a specially commissioned samba entitled 'Brazil the Victors', which they plan to strike up on the sounding of the final whistle.
And the mayor of Rio has done his bit to whip up the crowd too: 'You, players, who in less than a few hours will be hailed as champions by millions of compatriots! You, who have no rivals in the entire hemisphere! You, who will overcome any other competitor! You, who I already salute as victors!
Blimey. No pressure, then.
And, so intimidated was Uruguayan coach Juan Lopez that he instructed the team to play a defensive game and keep it as tight as possibly.
But there was one exception to all of this anxiety. The captain Obdulio Varela.
Earlier in the day, he had collected every one of those newspapers he could and got his teammates to urinate on them. And now, as soon as Lopez had left the room, Varela gathered the team together again.
“Juan is a good man, but if we do defend then we will suffer the same fate of Sweden and Spain… Put that crowd out of your minds, don’t look up. The game is played down on the pitch.”
Over the previous decade, Varela had been an inspirational captain for both club and country. He drove Penarol to a series of titles and Uruguay to the 1942 South American Championships.
But, in the highly intimidating surroundings of a packed Maracanã, Varela’s influence went beyond mere instruction and inspiration. There’s arguably never been a single player that has so dominated a World Cup final. Obdulio had a huge psychological effect on his team.
FIRST PIVOTAL MOMENT
For most of the first half, Ghiggia is struggling to get the better of Bigode who has been testing the limits of the laws, as he pins down the tricky winger with rough-house tactics. In the 28th min, Obdulio has had enough.
O TAPA DE OBDULIO!!!
Bigode has been tussling with Ghiggia down the right and he nudges the willowy winger in the back with the ball out for a throw in. Varela takes a step towards Bigode and reaches to pat the opponent on the head, as he often does in matches. This time, however, he gives Bigode a right smack on the side of the head. Bigode - the literal translation is Moustache - bristles at this. He's shaken at Varela's slap, as are the crowd. The referee demands the two players embrace, which they reluctantly do. Varela struts off talking loudly to himself, pulling at the front of his light-blue shirt with his fist, every inch the victor of that little spat, or should I say, precision psychological terrorism
.Just imagine being in poor Bigode's boots just there, with Varela - a man with biblical willpower and a face made of granite - approaching you, arm cocked, ready to clip you round the lug. Imagine the chill that would shoot down your spine as you cower against that mighty frame.
This would prove to be the turning point of the match with Varela's action putting down a marker and naturally, Bigode didn't come close to fouling Ghiggia again, with Ghiggia running rampant - a WC winning goal and an assist for the opener. Poor Bigode was ripped apart and looked like he aged 20 years after that encounter with Obdulio Varela - a man who could put the fear of god into Jesus himself.
SECOND PIVOTAL MOMENT
Even when Brazil eventually went ahead two minutes into the second half, Varela realised the importance of calming things down. With the 200,000 crowd having gone into rapture, Brazil could well have been carried along by the wave and destroyed Uruguay. So Varela intentionally holds up the restart by remonstrating vociferously with the referee over a non-existent offside. The Maracanã is still bouncing but a little heat has been taken out of the air as the initial crackle of the 200 000 strong celebration dies down a little.
Varela turns to Andrade and mouths "Let them shout. In five minutes the stadium will seem like a graveyard and then only one voice will be heard : MINE."
“I took the discussion as far as it would go,” Varela later said. “To the point they had to get an interpreter. The stadium fell silent and that’s when I knew we could win the game.”
Certainly, Varela was winning the battle and it proved to be a masterful stroke of genius. As Brian Glanville wrote “it was now Varela who bestrode the field, nonchalant and indomitable, masterfully breaking up and launching attacks, the old-school centre-half par excellence.”
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Because that was the most important aspect of Varela’s career. He took his speech before the final very personally.
The nominal centre-half didn’t just give a master-class in defending (completely shitting on Danilo Alvim), he could also pass the ball around. On 66 minutes, it was Varela who spreads the ball out to Alcides Ghiggia, with the winger then crossing for Juan Schiaffino to sweep home the equaliser. The crowd haven't fallen silent, but all of a sudden they are pretty damn quiet, 200 000 men and women asking themselves: how has it come to this? Varela, meanwhile, is in the centre circle once again pulling the front of his shirt with his fist, screaming to his teammates: ONE LAST PUSH. Suddenly, Uruguay believe they can win this! There's also a box-fresh understanding that Brazil can lose, with clear beads of cold sweat appearing on the foreheads and necks of a couple of the Brazilian players.
Thirteen minutes later, Ghiggia scores the winner. The commentator on Radio Globo, Luiz Mendes, took leave of his sense when Ghiggia's goal went in. He entered into a conversation with himself, first stating 'Gol do Uruguay,' then asking himself how - 'Gol do Uruguay??' before responding with an affirmative but forlorn 'Gol do Uruguay'. From the almighty hush in the stadium, it's already clear that nobody in Brazil seriously countenanced defeat.
In the 85th minute Bigode timidly challenges Varela, the ball clanks off the Uruguayan captain and out for a Brazil throw. Varela simply laughs in Bigode's face.
6 minutes later the final whistle blows and the World Cup is El Jefe's. The presentation ceremony is a farce, nobody considered that alternative arrangements should be made and that Uruguay could have actually won the bloody game.
Varela seeks out the Jules Rimet and is briefly allowed to get his hands on the trophy but is not permitted to raise it in front of a grieving Maracanã and it's shoved back in its wooden box within seconds. The only concession to congratulation and celebration is a brief, firm handshake.
Like Varela cares: he's out on the lash tonight, the king of Rio, the king of the world.
The nominal centre-half didn’t just give a master-class in defending (completely shitting on Danilo Alvim), he could also pass the ball around. On 66 minutes, it was Varela who spreads the ball out to Alcides Ghiggia, with the winger then crossing for Juan Schiaffino to sweep home the equaliser. The crowd haven't fallen silent, but all of a sudden they are pretty damn quiet, 200 000 men and women asking themselves: how has it come to this? Varela, meanwhile, is in the centre circle once again pulling the front of his shirt with his fist, screaming to his teammates: ONE LAST PUSH. Suddenly, Uruguay believe they can win this! There's also a box-fresh understanding that Brazil can lose, with clear beads of cold sweat appearing on the foreheads and necks of a couple of the Brazilian players.
Thirteen minutes later, Ghiggia scores the winner. The commentator on Radio Globo, Luiz Mendes, took leave of his sense when Ghiggia's goal went in. He entered into a conversation with himself, first stating 'Gol do Uruguay,' then asking himself how - 'Gol do Uruguay??' before responding with an affirmative but forlorn 'Gol do Uruguay'.
From the almighty hush in the stadium, it's already clear that nobody in Brazil seriously countenanced defeat. In the 85th minute Bigode timidly challenges Varela, the ball clanks off the Uruguayan captain and out for a Brazil throw. Varela simply laughs in Bigode's face
.6 minutes later the final whistle blows and the World Cup is El Jefe's. The presentation ceremony is a farce, nobody considered that alternative arrangements should be made and that Uruguay could have actually won the bloody game.
Varela seeks out the Jules Rimet and is briefly allowed to get his hands on the trophy but is not permitted to raise it in front of a grieving Maracanã and it's shoved back in its wooden box within seconds. The only concession to congratulation and celebration is a brief, firm handshake.
Like Varela cares: he's out on the lash tonight, the king of Rio, the king of the world.
All these great write ups...then I'll come in.
"Yeah Gullit, he was a bit of alright".
"Yeah Gullit, he was a bit of alright".
Just make it up man.
An anecdote from Ghiggia I remembered whilst on the subject of Maracanazo:
Spring 2000. While he travels to Brazil, Alcides Ghiggia present his passport in Rio de Janeiro airport. Facing him, a young woman of twenty years. She looks at the paper, staring at his interlocutor. "There is a problem," he asks? "Are you THE Ghiggia?" Questioned the girl. "Yes, it's me, he said, surprised. But 1950 was there a long time." Then, hand on chest, she launched her: "In Brazil, we feel in our hearts every day."
Nuts!
Spring 2000. While he travels to Brazil, Alcides Ghiggia present his passport in Rio de Janeiro airport. Facing him, a young woman of twenty years. She looks at the paper, staring at his interlocutor. "There is a problem," he asks? "Are you THE Ghiggia?" Questioned the girl. "Yes, it's me, he said, surprised. But 1950 was there a long time." Then, hand on chest, she launched her: "In Brazil, we feel in our hearts every day."
Nuts!
I'm done if no one wants to bid on my guys.
While double-checking some facts on Lorenzo today I came across a pretty good article which I'll transcribe in spoilers while providing context.
In 1921, when Jules Rimet becomes FIFA's President, he determines that a World Championship is needed. Faced with a monumental task, he decides to rely upon the existing Football Tournament at the Olympics to start giving shape to the idea. The Olympics would be the World Championship until a separate tourno could be organised* and, in order to ensure it was truly a World Championship, the Federations outside Europe are invited to put forward a participant: there weren't that many outside Europe so it was United States for North America, Turkey for Asia, Egypt for Africa and the winner of the Copa América for South America.
So Uruguay qualified as South American Champions, much to the chagrin of the Argies. What followed revolutionised football: those South American randomers showed up, played a completely different brand of football, demolished every team before them, and had the audacity to be the first to field black players to boot.
The Uruguayans were a sight to behold. They played a brand of soccer unknown in the Old World—a ball-controlling game with quick passes and long runs up the field that put shame to the long-ball and aerial game that was prevalent at the time. Los Celestes were spectacularly successful, winning all five Olympic matches they played by an aggregate score of 20-2.
The biggest star was Andrade, a midfielder who wowed the crowds with his artistic dribbling and precise body control. Off the field, he took to boulevardier attire and became something of a dandy. The Parisians loved him—or fetishized him, maybe. In Uruguay he was known as La Perla Negra; the French dubbed him the Black Marvel. Not that Andrade was always serious, he particularly enjoyed playing on the curiosity displayed by the locals, who had last shown such interest in Uruguayans when the last of the Charrúa Indians had been shipped there for anthropological study. The Uruguayos practiced dribbling in overlapping figure eights they called moñas. When Andrade was asked about the moñas by a journalist at the Olympics, he answered that they had developed that running style through constantly chasing chicken. I wonder how many contemporary European managers started having their players doing chicken runs.
The squad returned home heroes; but in Argentina, there was much tooth gnashing at the Celestes’ accomplishments. A home-and-away, unofficial South American championship was organized to settle matters. After a 1-1 tie in Montevideo, the Buenos Aires match was marred by fans throwing stones at Andrade. Down 2-1, the Uruguayans started throwing the stones back. Police stormed the field. Scarone kicked an officer and got arrested—the rest of the team abandoned the game and the Argentines declared themselves the victors. Typical.
Come 1928, and on the back of Uruguay's success, FIFA had increased the South and North American quotas: 1.5 for South America and two for North America, economics ruled FIFA even back then. Since Uruguay had won the last tourno it was two and a half, with Chile having a playoff with Portugal, the half European team after another 9. Same shit, 90 years earlier.
The IOC and FIFA—two bloated sports bureaucracies – have been dominated from their beginnings by Europeans and have sunk to the depths of cronyism and corruption. But the World Cup, unlike the Olympics, has been hosted many times in Latin America, Africa and Asia—a distinction that may be the most enduring legacy of Srs. Andrade, Petrone, Scarone, Cea and Nasazzi who put the rest of the world on the map.
Once again, they showed Europe what they were missing in 1928. Uruguay beat Netherlands 2-0, Germany 4-1 and Italy 3-2. Meanwhile, Argentina had their familiar lucky draw beating the US, Belgium and Egypt, securing the top scorer in the process. The final was a deadlock 1-1 after ET so had to be replayed and Uruguay won it, to the eternal chagrin of the Argies. Two years later, they go ahead in the Final, 1-2 at HT, you can imagine them cumming with excitement. Full time 4-2.
Which takes me to the note (*). In the early days, FIFA recognised the Olympics as World Championships, so much so that Rimet himself congratulated the Uruguayan FA on their fourth title (thus the four stars on the badge). The point being, if you ever want to piss off an Argie in a football discussion (almost as enjoyable as trolling Theon), tell them Uruguay won it twice as many times as them, and that it could have been different had they not lost two finals against us. After much spontaneous combustion, they will eventually get to "bah, ancient history, we've won it more recently". True, so let's go to "recent history" which necessarily needs to start before 1986 (30 years ago) and all the way back to 1978... Since then Argentina won two Copa Américas and Uruguay won four, two of them played in Argentina, and in the process managed to overtake them as the NT with most Copas. Get ready to run before that though.
Sorry for the spamming, I'm in a foul mood with this idiotic FIFA bollocks about taking us down to 4 instead of 4.5. With Suárez likely suspended for half the qualifiers it's probably bye bye Russia 2018.
In 1921, when Jules Rimet becomes FIFA's President, he determines that a World Championship is needed. Faced with a monumental task, he decides to rely upon the existing Football Tournament at the Olympics to start giving shape to the idea. The Olympics would be the World Championship until a separate tourno could be organised* and, in order to ensure it was truly a World Championship, the Federations outside Europe are invited to put forward a participant: there weren't that many outside Europe so it was United States for North America, Turkey for Asia, Egypt for Africa and the winner of the Copa América for South America.
So Uruguay qualified as South American Champions, much to the chagrin of the Argies. What followed revolutionised football: those South American randomers showed up, played a completely different brand of football, demolished every team before them, and had the audacity to be the first to field black players to boot.
They were meat packers and ice salesmen, marble cutters and carnival musicians. Most came from Italian stock and bore names like Nasazzi, Scarone and Petrone. One, José Leandro Andrade, was the son of a 98-year-old runaway Brazilian slave who was said to have magic abilities.
Most were born penniless, and many of them died that way, too. But together, over the course of seven years, they would revolutionize soccer and dominate the game at its highest stages.
The beginning, as beginnings usually are, were humble.
The Uruguayan team, whose core players were all 25 or younger, qualified for the 1924 Olympics by beating archrival Argentina in the South American Championship. Back then, few nations bothered to spend the money for trans-Atlantic trips for their athletes, so when Los Celestes took third-class steerage to Europe and played a series of exhibition matches in Spain (winning all nine), it was the first time any Europeans had witnessed a South American squad in action.
In many ways, the soccer landscape still shows the marks of those dynastic Uruguayan squads. It isn’t an overstatement to suggest that what we think of today as the Spanish and French style of play was modeled on that of the 1924 Uruguayan team.
Most were born penniless, and many of them died that way, too. But together, over the course of seven years, they would revolutionize soccer and dominate the game at its highest stages.
The beginning, as beginnings usually are, were humble.
The Uruguayan team, whose core players were all 25 or younger, qualified for the 1924 Olympics by beating archrival Argentina in the South American Championship. Back then, few nations bothered to spend the money for trans-Atlantic trips for their athletes, so when Los Celestes took third-class steerage to Europe and played a series of exhibition matches in Spain (winning all nine), it was the first time any Europeans had witnessed a South American squad in action.
In many ways, the soccer landscape still shows the marks of those dynastic Uruguayan squads. It isn’t an overstatement to suggest that what we think of today as the Spanish and French style of play was modeled on that of the 1924 Uruguayan team.
The Uruguayans were a sight to behold. They played a brand of soccer unknown in the Old World—a ball-controlling game with quick passes and long runs up the field that put shame to the long-ball and aerial game that was prevalent at the time. Los Celestes were spectacularly successful, winning all five Olympic matches they played by an aggregate score of 20-2.
The biggest star was Andrade, a midfielder who wowed the crowds with his artistic dribbling and precise body control. Off the field, he took to boulevardier attire and became something of a dandy. The Parisians loved him—or fetishized him, maybe. In Uruguay he was known as La Perla Negra; the French dubbed him the Black Marvel. Not that Andrade was always serious, he particularly enjoyed playing on the curiosity displayed by the locals, who had last shown such interest in Uruguayans when the last of the Charrúa Indians had been shipped there for anthropological study. The Uruguayos practiced dribbling in overlapping figure eights they called moñas. When Andrade was asked about the moñas by a journalist at the Olympics, he answered that they had developed that running style through constantly chasing chicken
. I wonder how many contemporary European managers started having their players doing chicken runs.L'Equipe Editor Gabriel Hanot said:
The squad returned home heroes; but in Argentina, there was much tooth gnashing at the Celestes’ accomplishments. A home-and-away, unofficial South American championship was organized to settle matters. After a 1-1 tie in Montevideo, the Buenos Aires match was marred by fans throwing stones at Andrade. Down 2-1, the Uruguayans started throwing the stones back. Police stormed the field. Scarone kicked an officer and got arrested—the rest of the team abandoned the game and the Argentines declared themselves the victors. Typical.
Come 1928, and on the back of Uruguay's success, FIFA had increased the South and North American quotas: 1.5 for South America and two for North America, economics ruled FIFA even back then. Since Uruguay had won the last tourno it was two and a half, with Chile having a playoff with Portugal, the half European team after another 9. Same shit, 90 years earlier.
The IOC and FIFA—two bloated sports bureaucracies – have been dominated from their beginnings by Europeans and have sunk to the depths of cronyism and corruption. But the World Cup, unlike the Olympics, has been hosted many times in Latin America, Africa and Asia—a distinction that may be the most enduring legacy of Srs. Andrade, Petrone, Scarone, Cea and Nasazzi who put the rest of the world on the map.
Once again, they showed Europe what they were missing in 1928. Uruguay beat Netherlands 2-0, Germany 4-1 and Italy 3-2. Meanwhile, Argentina had their familiar lucky draw beating the US, Belgium and Egypt, securing the top scorer in the process. The final was a deadlock 1-1 after ET so had to be replayed and Uruguay won it, to the eternal chagrin of the Argies. Two years later, they go ahead in the Final, 1-2 at HT, you can imagine them cumming with excitement. Full time 4-2.
Which takes me to the note (*). In the early days, FIFA recognised the Olympics as World Championships, so much so that Rimet himself congratulated the Uruguayan FA on their fourth title (thus the four stars on the badge). The point being, if you ever want to piss off an Argie in a football discussion (almost as enjoyable as trolling Theon), tell them Uruguay won it twice as many times as them, and that it could have been different had they not lost two finals against us. After much spontaneous combustion, they will eventually get to "bah, ancient history, we've won it more recently". True, so let's go to "recent history" which necessarily needs to start before 1986 (30 years ago) and all the way back to 1978... Since then Argentina won two Copa Américas and Uruguay won four, two of them played in Argentina, and in the process managed to overtake them as the NT with most Copas. Get ready to run before that though.
Sorry for the spamming, I'm in a foul mood with this idiotic FIFA bollocks about taking us down to 4 instead of 4.5. With Suárez likely suspended for half the qualifiers it's probably bye bye Russia 2018.
You think that's nuts? Brazil's most famous actor made a short film about a Brazilian inventing a time machine and obviously choosing to go back to 16 July 1950 to invade the pitch and tackle Ghiggia, thus stopping him from scoring and breaking the heart of his 9-year old self.
Then he has trouble with the stewards and is running late as Ghiggia advances down the wing, so he shouts at Barbosa and distracts him, which results in the goal. Overall: the goal had been provoked by him messing with the space-time continuum and distracting the keeper.
True story, that's how mindfecked they still are. Or were, I'm sure 7-1 will play on their minds for quite some time now.
Strange to register some of the omissions here. There had to be omissions, don't get me wrong, there are a lot of great footballers out there in that all-time pool and 12 X 16 or thereabouts ain't all that many.
But given what people have actually picked up, there are some names which I just can't fathom nobody has been keen on.
One in particular who struck me earlier today – I was sure I had simply missed him, glancing over the rosters...but no. He ain't there.
Another one too – easy as hell to sell on here of all places, and undoubtedly better in every respect than several players who have been picked in his position.
And then there's...feckin' hell, that's just...insane...
But given what people have actually picked up, there are some names which I just can't fathom nobody has been keen on.
One in particular who struck me earlier today – I was sure I had simply missed him, glancing over the rosters...but no. He ain't there.
Another one too – easy as hell to sell on here of all places, and undoubtedly better in every respect than several players who have been picked in his position.
And then there's...feckin' hell, that's just...insane...
This is always one of my favourite parts of the drafting. ...The mentions of those forgotten or overlooked.
Let's hear 'em
Also @Annahnomoss are we ready for the draw?