The Football Tragic

 "Good morning, Professor!"

The 23-year-old being addressed in these terms by his new charges, the members of a national football team, didn't know what to say. He was no professor. He had never been a coach before, let alone a national team coach. He had never even played competitive football himself, at any level. And last but not least, he was over 5,000 kilometres from home.

Yet some fifty years later, perhaps no-one in football would deserve the title of "Professor" more than he. By that time, Carlos Alberto Parreira had taken five separate national teams to the World Cup, and had won the ultimate prize with one of them. Furthermore, he had been part of the backroom team that had fostered the success of the most memorable World Cup winners of all, the Brazilians of 1970. He had saved the club he supported as a boy from relegation (his proudest achievement, or so he claimed). And he had left a legacy of football professionalism and knowledge that made him a hero in many countries throughout the world.

But every journey has to start somewhere. And this is the story of Carlos Alberto Parreira's early steps in the world of jogo bonito.

It goes without saying that Brazil's World Cup wins in 1958 and 1962, and the style in which they were achieved, made them a cynosure for all developing football nations. And the part of the world that was the most anxious to develop as rapidly and impressively as possible, in those days of decolonization, was Africa.

Ghana, formerly known as the Gold Coast, was one of the first African nations to become independent, in 1957. Its charismatic leader, Kwame Nkrumah, saw the country as a potential beacon for the rest of the continent; a prosperous, successful modern nation in hock to neither of the Cold War superpowers. As with so many other charismatic leaders of the era, he looked to sport as a potential symbol of the country's progress. Following Brazil's second successive stylish World Cup victory in 1962, Nkrumah sent the new national coach, Charles Kumi ("C.K.") Gyamfi, to Brazil's national team camp, on a mission to study their tactics and training methods. 

Gyamfi was a pioneer himself. One of the first Africans to play professional football in Europe (at Fortuna Dusseldorf), he was perhaps Africa's finest player throughout the 1950s, and his professional experience made him a natural choice to be the national coach upon his retirement. And Nkrumah's plan came to fruition when, following Gyamfi's return from observing the world champions' preparations, Ghana won the nascent African Nations Cup in 1963 and 1965.

But the Ghanaians' ambitions didn't stop there. Impressed by the Brazilians' thoroughness in preparing their players physically as well as tactically for the big tournaments, the Ghanaians decided to recruit a trainer who could enable their players to compete with hardened professionals at the top level. 1970 was to be the first World Cup with an assured qualifying place for the African confederation, and various old and new African nations had a covetous eye on it. Ghana was no exception.

So it was back to Brazil, this time in search of a fitness trainer, preferably one with real expertise, plus the energy of youth. The Brazilians at the Foreign Ministry, known as Itamaraty, consulted a respected trainer called Admildo Chirol, who was attached to the Botafogo club and had taught at the renowned Physical Education school in Rio (an offshoot of the Brazilian army). Were there any good young physical trainers around? Yes, said Chirol. There was his star pupil of a few years before, a certain Carlos Alberto Parreira, who was working as a physical trainer at the Sao Cristovao club at the time. What's more, Parreira spoke tolerably good English - and Ghana was a former British colony.

Parreira was duly approached. Would he like to work in Africa? Yes, replied the adventurous youngster. Could he go more or less immediately? Yes.

Within less than a fortnight, armed with a diplomatic passport and a self-confidence which belied his years, Carlos Alberto Parreira stepped into the unknown.

More in Part 2.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 11:06 AM 0 comments

Things seemed to be looking up for Andras Torocsik in the summer of 1985. No longer the tearaway of Hungarian football, he had recently married and had a son, and despite his relatively advanced age a western European club had finally decided to take a chance on him. But his sojourn in Montpellier was not a happy one. "I signed for Montpellier only for the money," he recalled many years afterwards. "I felt like an exile there."

He was not the only Hungarian signed by Montpellier at the time; he was accompanied by the 1982 hat-trick substitute Laszlo Kiss. But the two had never been close friends, and the strains of an unfamiliar environment and unfamiliar team-mates, plus the stress of raising a young family, put the always sensitive "Toro" under great pressure. The breakdown of his marriage began at that time, according to his sister Eva. "All I can say is that he returned from France a completely different person."

So began his period of wandering. He went back to Hungary after a year in France (Kiss remained), tried unsuccessfully to find another club, drifted to Canada, had a crack at indoor football...and was unable to settle.

Finally, in 1989, he landed at Budapest's MTK club. Pundits wondered whether Torocsik, now 33 and long out of top-level football, would cope with a return to first-division action. But in his first game, at home to Gyor, he delighted the fans after coming on as a second-half substitute, setting up a goal with all his old craft and providing some memorable moments of skill.

In MTK's next game, he was on from the start. But after only 19 minutes, the second of two dreadful fouls by the Tatabanya defender Endre Udvardi left Torocsik with a fractured tibia. The veteran star's old team-mate Sandor Zombori reported the incident in the press with deep anger, and the unfortunate Udvardi had to suffer cries of "Butcher! Butcher!" for many months afterwards.

Torocsik duly underwent an operation, but when MTK representatives came to see him at his apartment, he wouldn't let them in. By the end of the year he was ready to play again, but he simply didn't turn up to training. His time at MTK was over. There were half-hearted attempts to continue his career at other clubs, and the fans still hoped to see just a bit more of their idol before his retirement. But it all came to nothing. 

There came a period when various sinecures were found for the ailing former star at various clubs, including his old stamping ground of Ujpest. It might have been possible for Torocsik to gradually pull his life together. But his demons continued to follow him. In 1992, he had another serious car accident, and again, he was drunk at the time. There were even reports that he might face a prison sentence, but these proved to be premature.

Gradually, as the nineties wore on, Torocsik found some semblance of steadiness, producing trenchant ghostwritten articles on the state of Hungarian football for a well-known daily newspaper and making tentative moves towards coaching. (He did enrol in a UEFA B Licence coaching course, but only lasted a week.) 

When he turned 50 in 2005, the Ujpest club arranged a gala match in his honour, and Torocsik seemed in fine spirits. He took part in the exhibition match, scored a couple of goals, and his former colleagues were left feeling cautiously optimistic.

But money began to dry up, and his struggles with the bottle continued. In 2010 he suffered a fall at home and hit his head. With only his aged mother living with him, there was no-one to help, and the hematoma that had formed was removed only in the nick of time.

When his living conditions became more widely known, a number of old friends offered to help, including his former international partner-in-crime Tibor Nyilasi and the Ujpest club director Zoltan Kovacs. The latter eventually found him a job as a youth coach, and Torocsik swore not to drop off the wagon again. But he suffered a double tragedy the following year when his mother passed away, and new management at Ujpest pushed Kovacs out the door...and Torocsik with him.

There was another fall in 2014 after a period of heavy drinking, and this time Torocsik did not fully recover. When his friends saw him on his exit from the hospital after the inevitable operation, it was clear to them that "Toro" would not be able to live independently again.

His sister Eva extended his life by a few years, caring for him devotedly, but Andras Torocsik eventually passed away on July 9, 2022.

He never became a Maradona; not even a George Best. But to this day, pace Dominik Szoboszlai, Torocsik is widely viewed as the last genius of Hungarian football. Others could shoot, tackle, or put in powerful headers, but "Toro" could dance around the opposition - and the fans adored him for it.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:04 AM 0 comments

June 17, 1979. The Ujpest Dozsa team, champions of Hungary again, have just played their last league match of the season: an away game against Zalaegerszeg, a club from the west of the country near the Austrian border. Andras Torocsik, ever the individualist, has somehow managed to convince the coach Pal Varhidi to let him travel back to the capital in a friend's car, rather than on the team coach.

The friends had barely begun their journey when they skidded off the road into a ditch near the village of Zalacsany, and crashed into a tree. Their Fiat 500 was wrecked, and the Ujpest striker was badly injured. Consigned to crutches for the next three months, he was so badly hurt that there were initially fears that he wouldn't play again. The invitation from Enzo Bearzot to join his World XI team in Argentina was, quite literally, in his pocket when the accident occurred. The chance to play alongside the likes of Michel Platini, Zico, Paolo Rossi, Zbigniew Boniek and other stars of the era was suddenly gone.

Why was he allowed to go home by car at all? To this day the question is asked. But essentially, it was probably the old story of the prima donna: the star player sometimes gets to play by his own rules. The more serious aspect of the incident was that it was the first of many occasions on which Torocsik's fondness for alcohol got him into serious trouble.

It says something for Torocsik's character and determination that he not only recovered, but was prepared to alter his playing style to accommodate the fact that he was no longer as physically powerful as before. He dropped a little deeper and wider, becoming a creator as much as a scorer of goals. Many people noted that his goalscoring record declined sharply after the accident, but compensating attributes emerged. 

He was still playing well enough to return to the national side prior to the 1982 World Cup, although there had been another brief ban in the meantime - due to another car accident, in which Torocsik, again the worse for liquor, had collided with a car which (unluckily for him) was being driven by the wife of a Communist party official. Torocsik's reputation was certainly well enough known by the time the Hungarians embarked on a pre-World Cup visit to Australia. "Soccer rates behind wine, women, pop stars and fast cars among the Ujpest Dozsa player's priorities," was the introduction to a profile piece in the local Soccer Action newspaper.

The World Cup in Spain was not quite the same sort of shop-window opportunity for Torocsik that Argentina had been, but he was still hoping to catch the eye of the scouts - a large late-career paycheck from a western European club was a tempting prospect. Alas, the 1982 tournament was to be another disappointment. Although "Toro" started in Hungary's astonishing 10-1 victory over El Salvador, he was not one of the scorers, and the player who substituted him, future clubmate Laszlo Kiss, promptly scored a hat-trick.

Torocsik was left out for the next game, the rematch against Argentina. Perhaps this was for the best as far as he was concerned; Diego Maradona had his best game of the tournament, running rings around the Hungarian defence, and Argentina won 4-1. Torocsik returned for the group decider against Belgium, but he had little impact on a tight, niggly game. Alex Czerniatynski's late equaliser for the Belgians condemned the Magyars to go home early again. The scouts moved on.

There were still moments of high quality at club level, often in international cup-ties; soon after the World Cup, he scored a lovely goal and set up two more in classy style against the Swedish side Goteborg. Ujpest fans were left with another moment to savour in October 1983 when Torocsik, in his role as creator, twice elegantly left the Cologne defender Paul Steiner flailing before sending in a perfect cross for his clubmate Sandor Kiss (no relation to Laszlo) to open the scoring. As one Ujpest fan later commented, when musing on Torocsik's decline, "We'll always have Steiner." Their man still knew how to dance.

But the chance of a move beyond the Iron Curtain was becoming more distant. Torocsik's international career was over by 1985, and he was approaching 30 when a lifeline appeared: there was interest from the French club Montpellier. The first Ujpest game which the president of the French club watched ended up being a repeat of Buenos Aires in 1978: things weren't going Torocsik's way, and as sometimes happened in such situations, he saw red, kicked out at an opponent and was sent off. It was perhaps only the crowd's obvious affection for him (and the fact that Montpellier's assistant coach was Sandor Zombori, his old international colleague) that convinced Montpellier to give him a try.

Finally "Toro" was off to the west. But it was not to be a happy ending.

To be concluded in Part 4.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:15 AM 0 comments

Andras Torocsik's ban from the Hungarian national side following his indiscretions in Argentina proved to be a temporary one, with national team coach Lajos Baroti successfully arguing his case at the highest levels. By way of celebrating his return to the fold, Torocsik scored what is still spoken of as one of the finest goals ever scored in Hungary, in a UEFA Cup tie for Ujpest Dozsa against Athletic Bilbao. Starting from near the left touchline, some 40 yards from goal, he danced his way past three defenders before sending a sublimely cheeky chipped lob over the keeper José Iribar. Even the Bilbao club magazine described it as "a goal you could watch 300 times over".

With Torocsik restored to the Hungarian side in late 1977 for the World Cup playoff against Bolivia, the Magyars simply stormed past their South American opponents. Torocsik scored a classic off-the-shoulder striker's goal in the first leg in Budapest, and gave a repeat performance in the second leg as well as setting up the second goal beautifully for Istvan Halasz. With his new strike partner Bela Varady in commanding form as well, and Tibor Nyilasi a constant danger from midfield, the Hungarians won the tie by 9-2, and were off to the World Cup for the first time in twelve years.

They landed in an extremely tough group. Facing hosts Argentina, Enzo Bearzot's talented young Italian side and a Platini-inspired France, the Magyars were not favoured to qualify for the second round. Much would depend on their first-up encounter with the hosts in Buenos Aires; would the Argentinian side, most of whom lacked prior World Cup experience, suffer an attack of opening-night nerves?

It was a pivotal match in Andras Torocsik's life and career. The chance to shine on the biggest stage of all, with European club scouts present in droves, may have been just as important a spur as the opportunity to pull off a memorable result for his country. True, the rules in Eastern bloc countries prevented a move to a western club until a player was already in his declining years, but the rules could be bent sometimes (as they were for Zbigniew Boniek a few years later). But the match ended in bitter disappointment, in more ways than one.

Many fans in Hungary have blamed the Portuguese referee Antonio Garrido for the harsh treatment meted out to Torocsik in the course of the match, but this is not the whole story. Garrido was certainly a weak referee who was far too indulgent with the cynical fouling which was a constant feature of the game. But much of this fouling, particularly in the first half, was perpetrated by the Hungarians. They had clearly decided to rattle the young Argentine players, especially the fragile-looking Osvaldo Ardiles, from the outset. By way of retaliation, the albiceleste did their share of deliberate body-checking and tripping as well. And Torocsik, as the lone man up front, bore the brunt of it.

Significantly, Bela Varady, who had formed a promising attacking partnership with Torocsik during the playoffs, was injured, leaving the Ujpest Dozsa man an isolated figure. Torocsik's reputation as a dangerman had clearly preceded him as well, with the result that he often found himself surrounded by three opposition players whenever he received the ball. 

There was an early goal for each side, Karoly Csapo's neat finish on the rebound being answered by a scrambled goal from Leopoldo Luque following a thumping free kick from Mario Kempes. The rest of the first half was goalless and indecisive: if Argentina were the more fluent side in attack, Hungary often posed danger on the break. But Torocsik was being policed with extreme diligence. In one significant moment, Garrido offered him a hand to help him get back up after another foul, and Torocsik rebuffed him with obvious hostility.

Early in the second half, perhaps frustrated at his peripheral role, he pounded the ball angrily against the turf when denied a throw-in, and Garrido issued him with a yellow card. It's not only in the present day that referees are more inclined to give a caution for petty rather than substantial reasons; several sly and even violent tackles had gone without punishment prior to Torocsik's minor act of petulance.

Argentina gradually assumed the upper hand, but they only broke through seven minutes from the close, when the battling Luque made a goal out of relatively little for the substitute, Daniel Bertoni. It was a fair reflection of the balance of the contest, but all was not lost for the Hungarians. There were still Italy and France to come. Sadly, though, they would be deprived of their most dangerous player for the following game...and it was so unnecessary.

With five minutes to go and Andras Torocsik deeply frustrated, the midfielder Americo Gallego beat him to a ball in the middle of the park. Torocsik angrily applied a kick to him on the way through, and he was off. And suspended for the next game, which the Hungarians had to win. To make matters even worse, Nyilasi also got himself dismissed in the very last minute for a high tackle on Alberto Tarantini; now Baroti would be without Nyilasi's drive in midfield and penalty-box prowess as well.

The rest of the tournament was an anti-climax for Hungary. Well beaten in the following game by Italy, who would have put far more than three goals past them had Roberto Bettega been in better form, they lost their last, meaningless game to France in an entertaining dead rubber which became well-known for somewhat comical reasons. Torocsik was back for this game, but he was plainly depressed and played well below his usual level.

The World Cup had been, in a word, disastrous both for country and player. But life went on, and the following year, charged with putting together a World XI to play against Argentina in Buenos Aires, Italy manager Enzo Bearzot invited Torocsik, whom he had long admired, to be a part of the side.

It was a precious opportunity. But another of the "incidents" which dotted Torocsik's life got in the way. More in Part 3.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:04 AM 0 comments

He had more talent than Maradona, according to Gyorgy Mezey, the man who coached him as a raw youngster. Enzo Bearzot chose him in his World XI in 1979. The legendary Hungarian coach Lajos Baroti asserted that although he'd known "just about everyone who'd kicked a ball", no-one had his degree of talent. According to almost everyone who saw him play, he was the last great genius of Hungarian football, a throwback to the glorious days of Puskas, Czibor, Hidegkuti and co.

Yet Andras Torocsik never made the most of his talent. A series of largely self-inflicted "incidents" hampered his playing career at every turn, and his life after football was a long, slow tale of alcoholic self-destruction.

Torocsik was born on May 1, 1955 in Budapest at the height of the Hungarian golden era, just before the 1956 revolution which would see so many of their star players become reluctant exiles. As with most players of his generation, it was the street which provided his initial football education. He and his friends played all day long in front of the church on Kassai Square, in the Zuglo area of Budapest. "We would have played all night as well," he later recalled.

Scouts from the local BVSC team discovered him in 1965, and he spent his teenage years at the second division club, learning from the aforementioned Mezey and others. News of his talent gradually spread, and by 1974 he was the hottest young prospect in the country, with the major clubs involved in a tussle for his services.

In Cold War-era Hungary, of course, it was not about who could offer the most handsome fee, but who had the superior political connections. The young Torocsik had hoped to join Ferencvaros, who he had supported since childhood, but it looked for a while as if he would be snatched by the army team, Honved - an eventuality which the decidedly non-military youngster dreaded. But at the eleventh hour, an intervention by the Ministry of the Interior saw him transferred to the most successful Hungarian club of the era, Ujpest Dozsa.

Based in the suburbs of the city, Ujpest had gone from being a poor relation to acting as the standard-bearer of Hungarian football by the early seventies. Regular league title winners, the club were mainstays in the European Cup in this period as well, reaching the semi-finals in the year of Torocsik's arrival. Based around the world-class forward Ferenc Bene, scorer of a famous goal at the 1966 World Cup, the team featured a frontline full of internationals, including the classy playmaker Antal Dunai and the energetic wingers Laszlo Fazekas and Sandor Zambo.

It looked like Torocsik would have trouble breaking into the first team, in other words. But with Bene now over 30 and easing towards retirement, the 19-year-old Torocsik established himself in the side almost immediately, and quickly became a fan favourite. His fleet-footed evasion of defenders became the spur for a cry which would accompany him throughout his time at Ujpest: "Táncolj, Törő!" Dance, Toro!

This balletic style, remarked upon by many contemporary pundits, along with his pop-star good looks, drew inevitable comparisons with George Best. Sadly, this was not the only way in which Torocsik's career trajectory was to resemble that of the Manchester United legend.

Within a couple of years, Torocsik was a member of the national team as well, making his debut in a friendly against neighbours and rivals Austria in 1976. In early 1977, with the World Cup qualifiers beckoning, Torocsik went on a South American tour with the national side, and scored his first international goal against Peru. The last game of the tour was against the hosts of the following year's World Cup, in which a 17-year-old Diego Maradona made his debut for Argentina. 

On arrival at the airport back home, Torocsik had his first major run-in with the authorities. The youngster was already no fan of life behind the Iron Curtain, and his luggage on his return from Latin America was replete with various proscribed western goods. He was promptly banned from the national side for a year, along with his close friend Zoltan Ebedli. The veteran coach, Lajos Baroti, pleaded with the authorities to release at least one of them (Torocsik, in other words) for the upcoming qualifiers. But the commissars remained firm initially, and Hungary fought its way through a qualifying group against Greece and the USSR with Torocsik's place up front going to the powerful young Vasas striker Bela Varady.

With another young star, the midfield aerial maestro Tibor Nyilasi, in magnificent form, Hungary topped the group. But there was a final step to be negotiated before they could book their tickets to Argentina: a two-leg playoff against Bolivia. Again Baroti pressed the claims of the young Ujpest star, and this time he got his way. "Toro" would be part of the last leg of the qualifying journey.

To be continued in Part 2.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 11:47 AM 0 comments

January 9, 1988. The former Magdeburg captain Wolfgang Seguin is at a luncheon reception in the West German town of Saarbrücken, where his old club colleagues have come to take part in a veterans' tournament. He suddenly notices that two of his compatriots are missing: the old attacking duo of Martin Hoffmann and Jürgen Sparwasser.

In the case of Hoffmann, the mystery is readily solved; the notoriously absent-minded "little Martin" got lost on the way, and trudges in a quarter of an hour late. But Sparwasser does not appear.

Seguin goes to Sparwasser's hotel room, along with the club masseur. There, he finds a letter from the former international, addressed to his club colleagues. Seguin reads the letter, and then turns sadly to the masseur. "We won't see him again," he says.

It had been no snap decision, no Alec Leamas-style climb over the Berlin Wall. Sparwasser's defection had taken a good deal of planning, and nearly came unstuck at various stages.

In 1987, in the wake of glasnost, the rules governing visits by GDR citizens to relations in the West had been slightly relaxed, and Christa Sparwasser was invited to a family reunion in the West German town of Lüneburg. By chance, a veterans' tournament was taking place in Saarbrücken at the same time. The Sparwassers sensed an opportunity.

Things almost went wrong immediately, when a district officer refused Christa permission for the trip. An enraged Jürgen gave the functionary a piece of his mind, adding some frank comments about the GDR in the process.

They thought they had blown it, but gave it another try. This time, a more pliant official treated them with unexpected courtesy, and the request was approved. Part One successfully accomplished.

Part Two was fraught with worry. A two-hour delay on the Magdeburg players' bus journey to West Germany understandably had Sparwasser in a panic. Had their plans been discovered? (They had discussed them on nature walks - the only safe way to do so in East Germany.) Seguin remembered in hindsight that his old teammate was unusually nervous at the time. But there was no official car to drag Sparwasser back to some distant location for interrogation; his passport was waved through along with the others.

On arrival at his hotel, Jürgen Sparwasser called his wife, using the agreed password. All was ready.

The next morning, the Magdeburg players went on a stroll through the city. Sparwasser pretended to have left some money behind in the hotel. Back he went, to be met there by an acquaintance from the town. After writing the letter - an attempt to explain his act to some of his closest friends, who he might never see again - he hopped into the acquaintance's car, and they were off to Frankfurt and freedom.

The next day, a grim paragraph appeared in the GDR official media. "The presence of a veteran team from 1.FC Magdeburg in Saarbrücken was used by anti-sports forces to poach Jürgen Sparwasser, who betrayed his team."

Sparwasser was long retired, and his defection caused few ripples; he was no Rudolf Nureyev or Viktor Korchnoi. But it was still a decision involving considerable sacrifice; the Sparwassers' daughter, then pregnant, was unable to accompany them to the West, but they obtained her blessing before taking the fateful step. They were not to know that within less than two years the Wall would be down, and the Sparwassers could be reunited after all.

Today, Jürgen and Christa Sparwasser live only a few miles away from both their daughter Silke and their grandson Philipp. After a dispiriting spell in management, the 1974 East German hero was able to pursue his interest in youth development, working in various academies and writing his own football primer for young players (which can be seen on his website). "When I'm on the pitch with children, I'm in my element," he remarked in an interview a few years ago.

He used to play in charity games with fellow luminaries of the past, but physically it's getting a bit difficult now. In his last match, he relates, he scored a very nice goal but almost injured himself in the course of the goal celebration (!). "That was a sign, that it was enough." 

At least he finished with a goal. Perhaps not as famous as the one in 1974, but, as he put it, the technique was still there.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:01 AM 0 comments

With the 1974 World Cup over, the players got back to the grind of club competition. For many of the winning West German side, that also meant a defence of the European Cup with Bayern Munich.

The Bavarians had, in most critics' estimation, been very lucky to win the competition in 1974. They had needed penalties to get past modest Atvidaberg of Sweden in the first round, before being given a rough ride by their East German neighbours Dynamo Dresden in the second. To top it off, they needed a last-minute equaliser to take the final to a replay, which they duly won.

Their first opponents in the 1974/75 competition would be the East German champions Magdeburg, featuring many of the players who had inflicted West Germany's only defeat on the road to World Cup triumph - including the goalscorer in that game, Jürgen Sparwasser.

The first leg, in Munich, began with a shock. In the very first minute, the lively Martin Hoffmann advanced down the left and fired in a cross which deflected off the Bayern fullback Johnny Hansen into his own net. A stunned Bayern failed to make headway against a determined Magdeburg for the rest of the half, and just before the interval Magdeburg scored a second, in fine style. When Klaus Wunder got himself tackled trying to dribble out of defence, the ball ultimately broke to Sparwasser on the left. One-on-one with the famous Beckenbauer, he utterly embarrassed Der Kaiser with a deft turn which left him sprawling, before firing the ball home with his right foot.

The defending champions looked down and out. But, as countless teams have had cause to reflect over the years, the Germans are never so dangerous as when they are two goals down. In this case, however, their recovery was aided by two highly dubious goals in reply.

Beckenbauer came forward with more regularity and purpose after the break, and Bayern started to look more dangerous. Six minutes after the restart, Uli Hoeness collided with the Magdeburg captain Manfred Zapf in the box. It looked a 50-50 challenge, with Hoeness in the wrong if anyone was. But the Bayern player writhed theatrically, and a penalty was given, Gerd Muller dispatching it neatly.

Then Beckenbauer, coming forward again - as the East German commentator remarked, it was remiss of Magdeburg not to have detailed a man to mark him on his forays upfield - played in Muller, who pivoted to beat his man and score. "Typical Muller-goal," remarked the commentator. It was indeed, but for one important detail: Der Bomber quite clearly controlled the ball with his arm when turning his man.

The momentum was now with the home side, and they scored a third six minutes later, a fine run and cross from Hoeness being turned into his own net by the unfortunate Detlef Enge. Sparwasser headed against the post near the close, while Beckenbauer, still being given the run of the country, forced a fine save out of the Magdeburg keeper Ulrich Schulze with a long-range shot.

A painful defeat for Magdeburg, and their heads still appeared to be down for the home leg. This time, alert to the danger posed by Sparwasser, Bayern left nothing to chance, giving the job of tight-marking him to their dependable hatchet man, Hans-Georg Schwarzenbeck. Bayern went 2-0 up with a pair of superb goals, Muller as always providing the finishing touch to the lead-up work, in this case mostly from Hoeness. Again it was the Hoffmann-Sparwasser pairing that provided Magdeburg with their consolation, Hoffmann's fine shot rebounding off the bar for Sparwasser to head in. 

A tie that had begun so brightly for Magdeburg had ended with a whimper. Yet Magdeburg had proven that they could fight their corner at this level. And with plenty of young players in their ranks, the future looked bright for East Germany's first European trophy winners.

Magdeburg's golden days didn't last, however. Crucial to their success had been their much-loved coach, Heinz Krügel. Gradually, Krügel began to fall foul of the officials of the East German Communist Party, who considered him a political liability. Eventually, in 1976, he was removed by party fiat from his position as Magdeburg head coach. It was a lesson in GDR sporting politics which Sparwasser would not forget.

As his club and international career drew to a close, Sparwasser qualified as a sporting trainer and was engaged as an assistant coach at Magdeburg. He had no love for the communist authorities, and had decided to fly under the political radar as much as possible, particularly with the example of Krügel in mind. He became more and more interested in youth development, and planned to undertake a doctoral thesis in sports science, with an interest in reforming the GDR's school sports system. 

But the authorities had other ideas: they wanted him to take charge of Magdeburg. He refused several times, and each time his political situation became more difficult. In his 2010 autobiography, he wrote bitterly of the district commissioner who had also been his old coach Krügel's nemesis. "[He] unscrupulously destroyed the professional career of my coach, and now my own, and this ultimately meant an uncertain future for me and my family."

Family, indeed, was central to Sparwasser's life. He was devoted to his wife Christa, a childhood sweetheart, and their daughter had already run into trouble with the authorities as well. 

The Sparwassers began to talk about escaping to the West. And the chance presented itself in unexpected fashion. To be concluded in Part 4.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:59 AM 1 comments

The early 1970s were heady days for East German football. World Cup qualification, a fine performance by the national team at the Munich Olympics, and increasing club success in Europe. Dynamo Dresden had caught the eye by knocking 1973 finalists Juventus out of the 1973/74 European Cup, before going out narrowly to eventual champions Bayern Munich in a wonderfully exciting tie which yielded 13 goals. At the end of the same season, it was the turn of Jürgen Sparwasser's Magdeburg, who became the first club from East Germany to gain a European title with victory in the Cup-Winners' Cup final.

Their opponents, AC Milan, were the defending champions and firm favourites. Still directed from midfield by the elegant Gianni Rivera, they were thought to have too much experience and quality for their opponents, who had enjoyed a relatively easy passage to the final.

But the match, held in Rotterdam's De Kuip stadium, in some ways presaged Italy's - and Rivera's - unimpressive performance at the upcoming World Cup. The Italians found themselves unable to find their rhythm against the hard running and tackling of the fast Magdeburg side, and they conceded an unfortunate own goal late in the first half when Enrico Lanzi deflected young Detlef Raugust's cutback past his own goalkeeper. Milan's attempts to get back into the game thereafter were smothered by the rugged Magdeburg defending, and sixteen minutes from the end, Wolfgang Seguin snuck in cleverly at the back post to score a second.

Sparwasser had an excellent game, combining his typical pace and enthusiasm with intelligence and unselfish teamwork. Near the end, he almost scored a superb goal on the turn, only a fine save from his angled shot preventing the score from becoming embarrassing for the rossoneri. 

Sparwasser and his youthful colleague in the Magdeburg forward line, the quick winger Martin Hoffmann, were to have an excellent World Cup too. Starting with a 2-0 win over Australia, with Sparwasser to the fore and Hoffmann making a vital contribution from the bench, they were held 1-1 by Chile in a very lively game in which the European side kept the upper hand for most of the 90 minutes. "How this man [Sparwasser] has grown in his recent appearances for the national team," was the remark of an East German commentator prior to the crunch match against the West Germans. "Enormously!"

Oddly enough, the game which was to make Jürgen Sparwasser famous was, on the whole, not one of his best. Although the East Germans had set out to attack their other group opponents, the manager Georg Buschner wisely pursued a policy of tight man-marking and counter-attack against the feared hosts. As a result, the West Germans dominated the game territorially, and Sparwasser in attack was a peripheral figure. The true heroes of the game for Buschner's side were the tireless fullbacks, Siegmar Wätzlich and Lothar Kurbjuweit, who completely stifled the effectiveness of Jürgen Grabowski and Uli Hoeness respectively.

The West German defence, as the late Rale Rasic observed after their game against Australia, was vulnerable. With Franz Beckenbauer a little too cavalier in his "attacking sweeper" role, Helmut Schoen's team gifted the East Germans a number of chances on the break in the first half. The best of them fell to the midfielder Hans-Jürgen Kreische, who contrived to miss an open goal when Reinhard Lauck hit the byline and pulled the ball back. 

The hosts continued to press after the break, but their shots from distance (often the only option against the packed East German defence) were poor, and their key attacking men were being snuffed out by the terrier-like marking of the Easterners. The West German cause was not helped by two bizarre substitutions, Wolfgang Overath making way for a plainly out-of-form Günter Netzer, and Hans-Georg Schwarzenbeck being inexplicably replaced by the veteran defender Horst-Dieter Höttges, a veteran of the 1966 World Cup final. With the East Germans dangerously quick on the breakaway, Höttges was the very last player the West Germans needed on the pitch.

And sure enough, when Sparwasser received the ball in an advanced position some thirteen minutes from the close, he treated Höttges like the proverbial witches' hat before finishing smartly past Sepp Maier. The East Germans had pulled off a famous upset.

There were rumours after the tournament that Sparwasser had been showered with unheard-of rewards by the GDR government following his deciding goal - a house, a car, etc. - but in an interview in the West many years later, he dismissed these claims as nonsense. 

The rest of the tournament was to be anti-climactic for the East Germans. Defeat in a tight match against Brazil was followed by a 2-0 loss to the rampant Dutch, and although Buschner's men changed back to an attacking posture for their final, meaningless match against Argentina, they could only manage a 1-1 draw.

In Part 3: Sparwasser's club fortunes following the memorable World Cup appearance - including a return meeting with Beckenbauer, in which Sparwasser did not come off worse.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 2:30 PM 0 comments

It was football's ultimate Cold War encounter. West Germany versus East Germany, at the 1974 World Cup. Some 150 miles northwest of the Berlin Wall, the communist and capitalist Germanies spent 90 minutes slugging it out in the quintessential match-as-metaphor. And despite home advantage and the presence of such luminaries as Franz Beckenbauer, Gerd Muller and Sepp Maier in the West German side, it was the Easterners who triumphed, thanks to a well-taken goal by the Magdeburg star Jürgen Sparwasser.

The rest of the tournament saw Beckenbauer and co. pulling themselves up by their bootstraps to return to form and ultimately claim the title, while East Germany went out with a whimper in the second stage. But no matter: the point had been made, the bragging rights were gained. And Sparwasser quickly became an idol in the communist "half" of the divided country.

But thirteen years later, there was a wry twist to the tale, one which attracted little notice outside of the two Germanies. Jürgen Sparwasser, the hero of Hamburg, defected to the West.

The reasons why he did so were complex, and indicative of the manifold ways in which sport became tangled up with politics behind the Iron Curtain.

Born in 1948 in the small industrial town of Halberstadt, Sparwasser began his career at the local club under the watchful eye of the coach, who also happened to be his father. His talent was quickly recognised, and he was recruited to the region's most prestigious club, Magdeburg, where he would stay for the next sixteen years.

At international level, his career began with a bang: scoring in his first youth international, against Bulgaria, he also played a key role in the East German youth team's surprise victory in the 1965 UEFA youth championship in West Germany, scoring two goals in the final against England. Along the way, the Easterners also thrashed a Netherlands side which included a teenage Johan Cruyff. (In a curious foretaste of the future, West Germany beat the Dutch 2-1 at the event, with a young Berti Vogts marking Cruyff...)

Eventually Sparwasser became a part of the senior national team as well, and won a bronze medal with the East Germans at the 1972 Olympics - again, an event held in West Germany - scoring five goals along the way. This success was followed by a first-ever World Cup qualification in 1974, with a prolific new striker, Hansa Rostock's Joachim Streich, forming a dangerous partnership with Sparwasser.

At club level, he remained with Magdeburg despite relegation in the late sixties, helped to bring them back up to the Oberliga, and became part of the core group of players who were to make the club a force not only at home but in Europe in the seventies.

Magdeburg, and Sparwasser, came to wider notice when they pulled off a considerable shock by beating AC Milan in the final of the 1974 Cup-Winners Cup. That match, and more, in Part 2.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:17 AM 0 comments

Marseille's success in the first two seasons of the 1970s fired the ambitions of its charismatic chairman Marcel Leclerc, and he went in search of fresh recruits. Josip Skoblar had topped the French goalscoring charts in Marseille's two championship-winning seasons, but the Malian striker Salif Keita, of St. Etienne, had come a close second on both occasions. What better way to create a strike-force that would frighten all of Europe than by signing Keita as well?

It proved to be a terrible mistake, and no-one felt the effect of it more than Roger Magnusson.

The reason, once again, was the league's restriction on foreign players. Only two were allowed to play for a French club at any one time, and with Skoblar and Magnusson already at the Stade Vélodrome, Keita made three.

The truth was that Marseille, and the French federation as well, were desperately hoping that Keita would agree to become a naturalised Frenchman, as many players of African origin had already done. But they had misunderstood their man badly.

Salif Keita was an extraordinary figure. A revelation in his native country as a teenager, he was spotted by a St. Etienne scout and brought to France for a trial. The picaresque story of his journey to France is worth an article in itself, but suffice it to say that when he eventually got to St. Etienne and began representing the Stéphanois in Ligue 1, he hit French football like a bullet. A fast, powerful, technically adept striker who played in a refreshingly fearless manner, he immediately became one of the most prolific scorers on the continent.

Ever since the late sixties, with French football somewhat in the doldrums, the FFF had been keen to see Keita don the rooster jersey. What, after all, could he achieve playing for Mali? The transfer to Marseille, and the issue of the presence of two foreigners at the club already, seemed likely to tip the balance.

But Keita was a proud African, and a man of determination and resolve as well. He angrily rebuffed the blandishments of both the Marseille management and the French federation, and remained a Malian. He later became president of the Malian football federation, and his famous nephews, Seydou Keita and Mohamed Sissoko, both represented Mali when they could have played for France.

Keita's principled stand put Marseille in an awkward position. The Skoblar-Magnusson partnership had blossomed, but if the new star recruit was to appear, one of them had to be jettisoned. In the event, it was Magnusson who regularly found himself on the outer. In desperation, the club tried to convince Magnusson too to naturalise, but he was having none of it. "I'm a Swede, I'll always be a Swede."

Chaos followed at l'OM both in the boardroom and on the bench. Leclerc was overthrown, the club went through four coaches in 1973 alone (Marseille remains a world leader in manager recycling to this day), Keita left the club in a huff, and Magnusson followed shortly afterwards. Needing to recruit some big names to replace these two, Marseille signed Brazil's 1970 hero Jairzinho, and his compatriot and friend Paulo Cesar. Alas, Jairzinho was made of different stuff to the gentle Magnusson: within his first season, he received a lengthy ban for assaulting a linesman, and was quickly out the door. Marseille's fortunes in the seventies plummeted: in France, the decade was to belong to Keita's old club St. Etienne.

Then there was the matter of Sweden. Magnusson's club troubles again affected his fortunes with the national team, and by the time Sweden had squeaked through to the 1974 World Cup, he was out of the picture. Instead, it was his younger brother Benno Magnusson who took to the field in Germany, in a tournament in which the Swedes, inspired by the young forward Ralf Edström, did surprisingly well.

Magnusson moved on to Red Star of Paris, but a knee injury hampered his career thereafter. He spent two uneventful seasons in Paris, then returned to Sweden and amateur football. He qualified as a high school PE teacher, settled down with his family in the town of Kristianstad, and Planet Football largely forgot him. His great promise had been only very partially fulfilled.

And Magnusson today?

"I go for walks, I get out a bit, I do the shopping," he told an interviewer from the Marseille newspaper La Provence, who came to interview him on the occasion of his 75th birthday in 2020. The article was adorned with a photo of a beaming Magnusson surrounded by his five grandchildren. "One day, they'll understand what Magnusson meant to us [in Marseille]," the journalist commented at the end of the article.

A voracious reader who spends plenty of time in the local library, Magnusson still keenly follows the news from the part of the world that took him to its heart. He still speaks excellent French - with, touchingly, a distinct Provencal twang. He was prevented by illness from attending the opening of the new Stade Vélodrome in 2014, an occasion to which a panoply of former l'OM stars were invited. But he always makes sure to watch Marseille's games on TV when he can.

"75! Yes, I'm really old now. Josip [Skoblar] was 79 on the 11th of March. L'Équipe got that wrong, you know, they said the 12th, but it's actually the 11th..."

"I'm old, but life goes on. Thanks again for thinking of me..."

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:00 AM 0 comments

Despite his burgeoning cult status at Marseille, for his first two seasons at the club Roger Magnusson was still "owned" by Juventus. By 1970, however, with Serie A's foreigner ban still in place, the bianconeri had abandoned any hopes of luring him back to Turin for a handful of European matches per season. They decided to cut their losses.

Magnusson's compatriot Ove Kindvall, whose goals had helped propel his club Feyenoord to a European Cup win earlier in the year, was keen to bring the now 25-year-old winger to Holland. And the reigning European club champions did put in an impressive bid. But Magnusson had by now found a home and an adoring fanbase in Marseille, and he was only too happy to stay. On 12 July 1970, for the comparatively modest sum of 630,000 francs, Magnusson was sold to Marseille.

His partnership with the Croatian goal machine Josip Skoblar, begun in the 1969/70 season, continued to blossom. With their two foreign recruits leading the line, Marseille surged to their first league title in 23 years in the 1970/71 season, thanks largely to Skoblar's magnificent haul of 44 goals. Magnusson had been the supplier for many of these.

The following season proved to be the zenith of this first great l'OM side since the war. They won a league and cup double, the first in their history. It perhaps helped their cause that their involvement in the European Cup was brief - they were overpowered by Johan Cruyff's rampant Ajax in the second round. 

The French Cup final of 1972 was probably the highlight of Magnusson's career, in more ways than one. Held at the newly refurbished Parc des Princes (where the competition showpiece would stay until the 1998 World Cup), it attracted the largest crowd which that venue had ever seen, most of whom had travelled up from the south coast to cheer their heroes to a historic double.

Marseille's opponents in the final, Bastia, were no slouches. They had beaten Marseille twice in the league that season; two months earlier, at the Stade Velodrome, they had dented l'OM's championship run with a shock 2-0 home defeat. Up against the rugged Bastia left-back Jean-Claude Tosi, Magnusson admitted that he had barely touched the ball.

Now, in Paris, all was different. In the first half of the Cup final, with Marseille dominant in all sectors of the pitch, Magnusson was imperious. Beating Tosi and the other defenders at will, he essentially did what he pleased, and laid on the first goal for his left-wing partner Didier Couécou with an insidious cross from the right.

The second half saw Marseille go into their shell somewhat, with Bastia launching plenty of attacks of their own, driven on by their New Caledonian forward Marc-Kanyan Case. On 73 minutes, however, came a moment which has gone down in l'OM folklore.

Receiving the ball from Jacques Novi, Magnusson provided ten seconds of pure brilliance, bamboozling Tosi and the Bastia captain Georges Franceschetti before sending in a cross for his colleague, Skoblar, to head the ball in for Marseille's second. It was the apotheosis of the celebrated Skoblar-Magnusson partnership.

Franceschetti scored an excellent headed goal five minutes from the close, but it was too late for the Corsicans: Marseille had their coveted double.

The future looked bright for both club and player. Still only 27, Magnusson could look forward to another crack at the European Cup, and perhaps a renewal of his national team career, as Sweden headed into the 1974 qualifying series.

But the Swede-abroad curse struck again when a greedy, short-sighted decision by the Marseille management put an end to the club's early-seventies success. To be concluded in Part 5.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:41 AM 0 comments