The Football Tragic

In 1982, Atlante FC in Mexico City became the club home of the top-scorer from the 1974 World Cup, Grzegorz Lato. His opponent in the Poles' first match from that tournament, Ruben Ayala, was already at the club. 

The two foreign recruits naturally struck up a friendship, and one day Ayala innocently asked Lato if he'd appreciated the gift provided by the Argentinians in return for the Poles' crucial win over Italy, which allowed Argentina to progress to the second round. Oh, the $40 and the apples, said Lato. No, the other gift.

What other gift?

The veteran Argentinian then told a story that left Lato shocked. Prior to the game, Ayala had delivered, to an intermediary, a gift of a thousand US dollars per player, to further encourage them to give their all against Italy (it should be remembered that the Poles were safely in the second round whatever happened in that game). Actually, it ended up being a little less than a thousand each, since Ayala had pocketed six thousand himself, "for his trouble". 

The money was delivered by this intermediary to his contact in the Polish team - Robert Gadocha. It was then to be distributed to the players. But Lato and his team-mates never knew about this arrangement. The horrible realization dawned: Gadocha had kept the money himself. All of it.

Lato kept this secret for twenty years. After finishing his playing career, he went into management for a while before entering Polish politics, and by 2004 he was a respected senator. It was then that he gave an interview to a sports magazine, in which he finally revealed the sordid story. Lato was careful not to name the guilty party, but Polish fans and journalists were quick to put two and two together. 

The intermediary was a certain Iggy Bocwinski, born in Argentina of Polish parents, who had gone to work with Pan Am in Poland in the 1960s. A football fanatic, he became familiar with a number of players, notably Gadocha, and was attached to the Polish staff at the 1974 event.

Before the game against Argentina, he had heard from certain Argentinian journalists that, well, an inducement might be on the cards, given the importance of the result. Approaching the Argentine squad, he was initially met with a cold shoulder: they would need some proof of his bona fides, they said. Perhaps a letter of introduction from one of the players? Bocwinski's friend Gadocha duly supplied one.

And so it was, apparently, that the "gift" was handed over by Ayala to Bocwinski, and by Bocwinski to Gadocha. But the winger intimated even then that he had no intention of sharing the spoils. "Don't tell the boys," he told a stunned Bocwinski.

The story was quickly corroborated. In Argentina, a journalist confirmed that it had been an open secret for a long time. And yes, it was known that Lato's mystery man was Gadocha. Even Gadocha's ex-wife got in on the act, stating that she had subsequently received the money.

Gadocha, to this day, denies it. His ex-wife was acting out of spite, Bocwinski was lying...why would he deceive his team-mates in this way? But his team-mates no longer visit him, nor he them. 

Jan Tomaszewski, Poland's eccentric but inspirational keeper, expressed his bitterness in an interview some years later. "I told him I would never shake his hand again. I bear a huge grudge against him not just for the money, but because he couldn't concentrate properly on the game because of it. After all, he had to think all the time: what would happen if they caught him?"

It was a sad, sordid footnote to the story of one of the finest World Cup teams of the seventies. The temptations associated with being a star footballer in the Communist bloc - when one patently did not receive the sort of recompense for one's talent and industry that was normal in the west - should not be underestimated. Gadocha's reputation as a player remains. But for those who shared the pitch with him in Germany, the memories of the event are permanently sullied.

Once they had reached the second round, Argentina's fortunes at the 1974 World Cup fell away. Thrashed by the all-conquering Dutch, they went out of contention for good by losing 2-1 to their South American neighbours Brazil. The Poles, on the other hand, remained very much in the hunt for the grand prize. A somewhat fortunate 1-0 win over Sweden was followed by their fifth successive win, over Yugoslavia, another team who found their technical finesse overcome by the Poles' physical superiority. Our central character, Robert Gadocha, not only laid on the winning goal for Grzegorz Lato, but almost scored a goal which would have been mentioned in the same breath as Diego Maradona's 1986 masterpiece; a dazzling, sustained run through the Yugoslav defence which ended with a shot into the side netting.

In the "semi-final" against the German hosts, played on a rain-drenched pitch in Frankfurt, Poland looked the better side for considerable periods but failed to score, despite forcing Sepp Maier into some good saves. The legendary Gerd Muller scored a classic opportunist's goal, and despite the Poles' frantic efforts thereafter, it ended 1-0, and they were out of the final. Yet they would not go home empty-handed; in the third-place match, their opponents Brazil wasted a number of good chances, and another impressive burst of acceleration from Lato late in the second half brought the only goal of the game. Poland had snatched the bronze medal.

One consequence of their World Cup efforts was that the top Polish players were now very much in demand. Overseas clubs lined up to acquire the likes of Lato, Gadocha and the impressive midfield general Kazimierz Deyna. The Polish authorities, however, were not in a hurry to allow their stars to find postings abroad; the rule was, not until they turned 30. So it was that Lato and Deyna had to wait...but not Gadocha. As we shall see, he was a man with connections.

It was through one of those connections that he secured a move to Nantes, in France, and thus became the first of the 1974 Poles to experience professional football beyond the Communist bloc. Others were to follow: Lato, despite offers from the United States (including, apparently, a personal invitation from Pelé), moved to Lokeren in Belgium. Deyna had an injury-prone period with Manchester City, and, a few short years later, Zbigniew Boniek was one of the hottest properties on the continent, eventually forming a memorable partnership with Michel Platini at Juventus.

Gadocha's time at Nantes was not easy. French footballers were not lavishly paid, and his generous contract - based, so the complaints went, on "being on TV for three weeks" in 1974 - made him persona non grata. Henri Michel, one of the club's stalwarts, admitted later that the players could have treated him more warmly. The Canaris did win the French league with Gadocha in the squad, although his contribution was limited. There were mysterious "injuries", long absences from the team, and after two unhappy seasons Gadocha joined the exodus to the United States, joining the Chicago Sting.

Now 32, he failed to make much of an impression in his new surroundings, and soon limited himself to amateur and indoor football. He subsequently settled in America, although he visited his native Poland frequently.

But now back to Gadocha's 1974 comrade, Grzegorz Lato. After two years in Belgium, he moved to Atlante in Mexico. There, one of his team-mates was a first-round opponent from the 1974 World Cup - the Argentina winger Ruben Ayala, winding down his career after a long, successful stint with Atlético Madrid.

One day, the two new clubmates fell into conversation. To be concluded in Part 4.

The first half of the encounter between Poland and Argentina at the 1974 World Cup was, in a word, one-sided. The Poles looked superior in almost every department, but particularly in the physical stakes. A nervous Argentina side, perhaps anxious to make a good impression after the controversies of their 1966 exit, were outmuscled by Kazimierz Gorski's men at every turn. The Polish midfield trio of Kazimierz Deyna, Henryk Kasperczak and Zygmunt Maszczyk dictated the pace of the game almost contemptuously. The first Polish goal came from a trivial goalkeeping error, but the second was a fine team effort, and Argentina never looked like reducing the deficit prior to the half-time whistle. And when it came to Grzegorz Lato's frightening pace, they appeared not to have done their homework.

In the history of World Cup "surprise packages", the Polish team of 1974 occupies a very high place. They may not have been total unknowns; after all, they had eliminated England in the qualifiers, and had won the Olympic gold medal in 1972 as well (albeit in the period of Communist-bloc domination of the tournament, due to the "amateur" fiction). But they had not appeared in the World Cup since before the war, and yet they defeated Brazil, Argentina, Italy, Sweden and Yugoslavia on the way to third place. In the opinion of many, including West Germany's Paul Breitner, they would have won their "semi-final" against the hosts had the pitch been in better condition. 

Cameroon 1990, Senegal 2002 or Costa Rica 2014 may have scored higher in the "minnow" stakes, but in terms of impact on the tournament, it's hard to go past the Poles of 1974.

They were a tight-knit, cohesive unit; all based at home, all in their twenties, they had formed a bond which would last through the decades to come. Reunions were regular, and memories golden. But thirty years after the event, there was a bombshell. A revelation which ensured that one member of the squad - one of its brightest stars, who had contributed enormously to their success - was shunned and publicly excoriated by his former team-mates.

That player was Robert Gadocha, and the story is a deeply sad one.

Gadocha was, by the time of the 1974 tournament, one of the team's senior figures. A short, stocky winger with fine ball control and an impressive "engine", he was also the team's dead-ball specialist. His forward-line companion Grzegorz Lato may have stolen the headlines in Germany with his seven goals, but Gadocha was the provider for many of them.

Along with his clubmate Kazimierz Deyna, Gadocha had been at the forefront of Legia Warsaw's notable runs in the European Cup in the late 60s and early 70s. With Gornik Zabrze reaching the final of the Cup-Winnters Cup in the same era, it appeared that Polish club football was making serious progress. But this was, on the whole, a flash in the pan.

So when they beat England at home in the qualifying tournament for 1974, it was something of a surprise. Most pundits still believed England would progress, partly because the Poles had lost their most celebrated player, Wlodzimierz Lubanski, to a long-term injury during the match. But, in a famous encounter at Wembley, Poland shocked Alf Ramsey's men with an early goal, and despite pressing madly for much of the evening, the home side could only manage an equalising goal in return. Poland had made it to Germany.

They landed in a tough group. Their opponents would be Italy, beaten finalists from 1970, and Argentina, along with unfancied Haiti. Chiefly for reasons of pedigree, Italy were the group favourites, and therefore the first-up encounter between Poland and Argentina was widely seen as the crunch game. The star player in the Argentina side was the long-haired Atlético Madrid winger Ruben Ayala...who plays an important role in this tale.

To be continued in Part 2.

In the final of Euro 1976, Czechoslovakia met the reigning champions West Germany.

Helmut Schoen's team, like the Czechs, had reached the final with some difficulty. In the Total Football spirit, the Germans had started their semi-final against Yugoslavia without a single recognized striker in the team; it was all about clever midfield interplay and taking turns to break forward. Alas, it didn't work too well. Yugoslavia scored two early goals, and Schoen must have been wondering if he could quickly put Gerd Muller on a plane heading south. Eventually, after the Germans pulled a lucky goal back, a striker did arrive, in the shape of young Dieter Muller of Köln. He equalised almost immediately, and then scored twice more in extra time. The lesson had been learnt.

Germany's new Muller, needless to say, started the final. The Czechs made one necessary change in midfield, where Jan Svehlik, yet another Slovan Bratislava man, replaced the suspended Jaroslav Pollak. If the sweeper Anton Ondrus had been the key man in the semi-final, the hero of the final was unquestionably the veteran keeper Ivo Viktor, who had a proverbial blinder.

As in the semi-final, Czechoslovakia were anything but overawed by their renowned opponents, and looked the better team from the outset. Within only eight minutes, they were ahead. An attack begun by Ondrus, in the spirit of his opposite number Franz Beckenbauer, ended in a shot by Svehlik which was pushed aside by Maier. Zdenek Nehoda, always there when it mattered, pulled it back across the goalmouth, and this time Svehlik fired the ball home.

And so began the assault on Viktor's goal. The Germans were stung into action, with the powerful Rainer Bonhof at the heart of things. But Viktor was equal to everything the Germans threw at him: a fine save from Bonhof, making a driving run through the middle, was followed by an even better save from Bernd Holzenbein, soon after Bonhof had sent a free kick just wide of goal.

The Germans were in control, and the Czechs' second goal came very much against the run of play. The left-back Koloman Gogh was fouled on a run upfield, and Marian Masny's free kick was headed out to Karol Dobias, fullback turned holding midfielder. He pivoted and sent a thumping left-footed volley past Maier, partially unsighted. The shocked Germans almost conceded another straight afterwards, when Masny slipped surprisingly easily away from his marker Berti Vogts and shot just wide.

A goal of high quality brought the Germans back into the game, and inevitably Bonhof was centrally involved. Herbert Wimmer, a hero of the previous Nations Cup final in 1972, went on a storming run down the right and found Bonhof, whose cross was volleyed home by an unmarked Muller. Bonhof produced the first half's final shot of note, a whack from distance which forced Viktor into another good save.

The Germans pressed steadily for much of the vibrant second half, but were unable to break through. Viktor was forced into action often, once making a superb double save from Uli Hoeness and Erich Beer, a recent addition to the team. With the momentum favouring his side, Franz Beckenbauer was now striding forward more frequently, and one of his typically fluent runs ended in a powerful shot which Viktor, who must have felt nine feet tall by this stage, saved with aplomb. Things were not entirely quiet at the other end, either; Sepp Maier was forced into a brilliant save from the midfielder Jozef Moder, and Nehoda very nearly sealed the win for his side with a header against the post late in the second half.

If the Czechs had been lucky with their second goal in the semi-final, karma caught up with them now. A free kick by Beckenbauer was headed over the byline, inamidst a crowd of Czechs, by the German fullback Bernard Dietz. The Italian referee Sergio Gonella, having an excellent game up to that point, gave a German corner. As Bonhof swung it over from the left, Holzenbein "led with his arm" to take Viktor out of the picture, and headed in. On the balance of play, perhaps the Germans deserved to be level, but this was a manifest injustice.

Extra time saw a number of half-chances for both sides; Antonin Panenka, soon to have his immortal moment, forced a save from Maier from a free kick, and Muller almost surprised Viktor right at the end with a scissor kick that flew past the far post.

Penalties it was to be, for the first time in a major international competition. Masny, Beckenbauer, Nehoda and the substitute Heinz Flohe all banged the ball home. Ondrus, capping a fine tournament performance, tucked the ball into the corner. Another German substitute, Hannes Bongartz, sent Viktor the wrong way cleverly. Ladislav Jurkemik, a Czech sub, nearly broke the back of the net. The penalty curse alighted on poor Uli Hoeness, who, Baggio-like, failed to get his head over the ball, and sent it flying over the bar. The stage was set for Panenka's party piece, which earned him a place in every footballer's vocabulary.

Czechoslovakia's victory was deserved. But did it have any broader significance?

I think it did. In many ways, it marked the beginning of the end of Total Football. Holland and West Germany had been the standard-bearers, at both club and international level, of the new trend. Now they had both been defeated, albeit narrowly, by a side which was rather more traditional in its tactical approach, however much flexibility they showed at times.

And in 1978, the World Cup would be won (quite fairly, despite all the long-standing rumours) by a side whose tactical approach was a throwback to the old days of twin wingers and a big, traditional No.9.

But that's another story.

To say that the Dutch were the favourites prior to the opening match of Euro 1976, the semi-final against Czechoslovakia in Zagreb, would be an understatement. "Dutch set to dazzle Europe", proclaimed the Liverpool Echo. David Lacey, in his preview in the Guardian, eulogised the Dutch while damning the Czechs with faint praise. It is noticeable that in the previews of the tournament in the English press, Czechoslovakia seemed to be worthy of respect for one reason only: they had knocked out England. 

It was a night of pounding rain in Zagreb, a factor which should, in theory, have favoured the more physically robust Dutch side. But the de facto semi-final at the recent World Cup between West Germany and Poland, played in similarly dire conditions in Frankfurt, had been a very watchable encounter in which neither side resorted to crude aerial tactics. In this game, too, both sides would attempt to "play football"...when they weren't getting into trouble with the referee.

Any suspicion that the Dutch would physically overwhelm the Czechs from the outset, as the Oranje appeared determined to do, were dispelled in the opening minutes. Czechoslovakia kept pace with their celebrated opponents and gave as good as they got in the tackle, with Jaroslav Pollak in particular letting the opposition know he was there, so to speak.

With Johan Cruyff and Rob Rensenbrink taking their time to get into gear, Vaclav Jezek's team gradually assumed the initiative, and a goal duly came on 19 minutes. The battling Zdenek Nehoda won a free kick on the left, and up came the sweeper Anton Ondrus, to head Antonin Panenka's accurate floated ball into the far corner of Piet Schrijvers' net.

Holland's wheels still wouldn't go round. They failed to create a chance of note in the period following the goal, while Czechoslovakia might have added a second on two occasions; once when Marian Masny hit the by-line and pulled the ball back for Nehoda, and once when Jozef Moder, bane of the Soviets, was gifted an excellent chance thanks to some slackness in the Dutch defence. But the score remained at 1-0 when the teams went off at half-time.

There were further shades of the World Cup final when Wim Rijsbergen, who had clearly been struggling, was replaced by the veteran Wim van Hanegem at the interval. This meant that someone needed to drop back into defence to handle Rijsbergen's stopper role: very surprisingly, it was Johan Neeskens who was given the job. But these were the days of Total Football; every Dutch player could slot into any position, couldn't they?

In any event, the Czechs found their rhythm and their passing deserting them in the second half, and the Dutch took control, winning a number of free kicks. At one of these, Pollak encroached blatantly, to be punished both by a rude shove from an enraged Cruyff, and a yellow card from the fussy, self-important referee, Clive Thomas. Alas for the Czechs, soon afterwards Pollak was guilty of a nasty foul on Neeskens, leaving his defensive position for a run up the wing. Off he went, and the Dutch now had the numerical advantage as well as the momentum.

They made it tell seventeen minutes from the close. A disappointing Johnny Rep had been replaced by Ruud Geels, and the blond Ajax striker provided some welcome mobility and drive in attack. When Wim Jansen picked him out on the right, he delivered a dangerous low cross into the goalmouth; Ondrus, attempting to clear with Cruyff lurking behind him, sliced the ball nightmarishly into his own net. "A wonder-goal from Cruyff!" enthused the German commentator, before sheepishly correcting himself on seeing the replay.

All the omens now appeared to favour the Dutch. And yet one of those inexplicable, fateful acts which sometimes take place in tense matches suddenly turned the scales. Three minutes after the goal, Neeskens launched himself into a horrible, completely unnecessary studs-up lunge on Nehoda by the touchline. The Czech striker was, to be frank, going nowhere. Was Neeskens frustrated by his new defensive role? Had there been some off-the-ball niggle to make him see red? In any event, the Barcelona star joined Pollak in the sheds, and it was 10 v. 10. And yet again, a positional change was required; this time it was the muscular Willy van de Kerkhof who moved into central defence.

The Dutch were not recumbent, however. With the Czechs looking tired, and finding it difficult to break out of their own half in sufficient numbers, crosses sailed into Ivo Viktor's goalmouth, and time and again it was Ondrus who came to the rescue, impeccable in the air and combative on the ground. He was making up for his costly miskick, and then some. Viktor too was called into action towards the end of the game, making two smart saves in the final minutes of normal time.

It was still 1-1 at the whistle, and crucially, Jezek had yet to make any substitutions. At the start of extra time, on came the veteran striker Frantisek Vesely in place of Moder, and the game shifted once more; Czechoslovakia were now taking the game to the Dutch, who were themselves tiring. Vesely, surprisingly lively, was proving a shrewd addition. In the end, however, the game turned on a fateful refereeing error, which may have had its origins in Neeskens' dismissal. 

In the aftermath of that earlier sendoff, Cruyff - badgering the referee, as was his custom - was booked for dissent, ensuring that he would miss the final. Thus incensed, he continued his "commentary", and the haughty Thomas probably conceived a certain ill-will towards the Dutch maestro. "There's Cruyff, explaining the rules to me again," the Welsh referee remarked many years later, watching a recording of the match.

This is about the only explanation for why the referee waved the play on after a blatant foul on Cruyff by Panenka six minutes from the end, just as the former was embarking on one of his fluent runs. The ball broke to Vesely, who advanced on the right, sent in a curling cross, and Nehoda was there to head the ball in. 

Dutch protests were, in a word, vocal, and there followed the third dismissal of the game, in confusing circumstances. Objecting to some comments by van Hanegem prior to the restart, Thomas gave the big midfield anchorman his marching orders. Accounts of the incident differ, but the encounter between the referee known in some circles as "The Book" and several intransigent Oranje was never going to end well. It says something for the resilience of the Dutch, and the depth of their squad, that they managed to win the third-place match without Cruyff, Neeskens, van Hanegem and the injured Rijsbergen!

There was time for a third Czech goal: Panenka put the Dutch defence on the wrong foot with a well-timed ball through to Vesely, who rounded Schrijvers expertly and slotted the ball home, van de Kerkhof making a vain attempt to block the shot on the line.

So the Czechs had beaten the book. Cruyff and especially Rensenbrink had been disappointing, and although no Czech player had been outstanding, apart perhaps from Ondrus, it had been a laudable team effort. If they had received a slice of luck late on, perhaps it made up for the tragi-comic own goal.

West Germany, European and World champions, awaited them in the final. More in Part 4.

Prior to their qualification for the 1976 Nations Cup finals, Czechoslovakia had been having a wretched time of it in international football. Their last major tournament had been the 1970 World Cup, at which they had lost all three first-round games. Since then, they had been edged out by Romania in the 1972 Nations Cup qualifiers, and beaten to the punch by Scotland for a place at the 1974 World Cup. At club level, there had been nothing to cheer about since Slovan Bratislava lifted the Cup Winners Cup in 1969. You would be quite justified in saying that their 1976 success seemed to come out of nowhere. 

And yet, even before 1976, there were signs that they were not a side to be taken lightly. The 1972 and 1974 qualification battles both went right down to the wire. Many knowledgeable football writers, notably the well-travelled Eric Batty, had paid generous tribute to the technical qualities of Czech players of the time, notably the midfield general Antonin Panenka. But there was still a sense that the Czechs, long respected for their patient, short-passing game, had been left behind by the new pace and flexibility of the "Total Football" era.

If the Czechs were not much fancied at the start of the 1976 qualifying series, a comprehensive 3-0 defeat at the hands of Don Revie's England side in their first match must have confirmed the general estimation of their chances. Although England were kept scoreless for over an hour, they dominated the play from the outset, and never looked in serious danger of conceding. Yet England were held to a frustrating 0-0 draw at home by a nondescript Portugal in their next game, and the Czechs then got into their stride, notching nine goals without reply in their first two home matches, including five against that same Portuguese side. 

The crucial game in the group was the return match against England in Bratislava. Mike Channon opened the scoring for the visitors, but two fine goals either side of the interval, both set up adroitly by the winger Marian Masny, gave the Czechs the two points and ultimately saw them through to the quarter-finals. It was an impressive performance, and Masny in particular drew rich praise from the British press, with Revie comparing him, perhaps a tad hyperbolically, to George Best. "England beaten on skill," proclaimed the Guardian. 

The Soviet Union, beaten finalists in 1972, awaited the Czechs in the quarter-final tie. In what must have been a particularly sweet victory given the events of 1968, the Czechs prevailed 2-0 at home before holding the Russians to a 2-2 draw in the return fixture in Kiev. The powerful midfielder Jozef Moder was the hero of the tie for the Czechs, scoring two thunderous goals in the away match.

It is somewhat ironic that the shorthand "the Czechs" rolls so easily off the tongue (or the keyboard), since the core of the side that reached the European finals in 1976 was actually made up of Slovakian players. Slovan Bratislava, the club which dominated the Czechoslovakian league at the time, was the home of not only Masny, by now the star of the side, but the entire defensive line. Significantly, both the vital match against England and the quarter-final tie against the Soviets took place in Bratislava, rather than the capital Prague. The coach of Slovan at the time, incidentally, was a gentleman very familiar to Australian football fans...the good doctor Jozef Venglos.

A brief introduction to the rest of the 1976 Czech side (there I go again) seems in order at this point.

Complementing the tricky Masny up front was the centre-forward Zdenek Nehoda, a powerful, tireless figure who played a very important part in the team's success. Moder, the prolific inside-right, would often join these two in attack, with the wily Panenka hanging back and keeping his eye out for a telling pass. Despite the praise heaped on him in the wake of "that penalty", Panenka was actually a relatively peripheral figure in the Czech campaign in Yugoslavia up to that point; his midfield colleagues had shown, on the whole, more energy and enterprise than the side's nominal general.

At the base of the midfield there was a veteran of the 1970 World Cup, Karol Dobias. A fullback in Mexico, he now had the job of screening the back four, and did the job diligently. In the final in Belgrade, he would contribute at the other end as well, in surprising fashion. That left the role of midfield enforcer, which was filled by the blond Jaroslav Pollak, another survivor of 1970. Combative to a fault, he was largely responsible for preventing the Dutch from taking the initiative in the semi-final, although, as we shall see, he eventually took things too far.

The lack of genuine wingers - Masny was always inclined to drift infield - meant that the fullbacks had to be prepared to do plenty of work upfield, and the Slovan Bratislava fullbacks Koloman Gogh and Jan Pivarnik did so. Pivarnik in particular was a marvel of energy, joining in plenty of attacks in addition to his defensive duties.

At the centre of defence, along with the stopper Jan Capkovic - twin brother of another 1970 alumnus - was a player who would become one of the key figures of the event, the Czech captain Anton Ondrus. An inspirational figure at Slovan Bratislava, he was chosen as captain ahead of Panenka for his galvanising qualities, and did not let his coach down. He was to have a truly magnificent game against the Dutch.

In goal, there was the durable Ivo Viktor, who had first played for his country as far back as 1966. Never considered one of the great European keepers up to that point, he was to have a superb tournament, producing a match-winning performance in the final against West Germany. A measure of his performances in Yugoslavia was the fact that this unassuming veteran goalkeeper came third in the voting for Europe's coveted Ballon d'Or - normally the province of outfield players.

The dogma of Total Football had not been adopted fully by the Czechs and their coach Vaclav Jezek, who, interestingly, had spent some time coaching in Holland. The defenders were willing to come forward, and there was a modicum of position-switching in the forward line. Yet there is no doubt that Czechoslovakia were less intent on the new philosophy of constant fluidity than their opponents, and this probably, in fact, worked to their advantage.

In Part 3: the intense, exciting, and occasionally violent semi-final against Holland.

When it comes to fairytale victories by the underdog in international competitions, it's hard to top the achievement of Greece in the European Championship of 2004. No-one would have given Otto Rehhagel's side a prayer at the start of the event, yet by dint of hard work, a little luck, and a straightforward but superbly executed tactical plan, they shocked the continent. 

Yet it has to be admitted in the aftermath: it wasn't that pretty to watch. Yes, there were occasional displays of skill by the elegant Giorgos Karagounis, but by and large the success of the Greeks in Portugal was built on a strategy of containing the opposition, and grabbing a goal from a set-piece or a breakaway. Forty years earlier, their man-marking-and-defensive-sweeper system would have been recognized immediately as classic catenaccio. Their star performers were in defence: the mighty sweeper Traianos Dellas, and above all the unfailingly tenacious Giourkas Seitaridis, who had the honour (if that is the word) of nullifying Thierry Henry, Milan Baros and Cristiano Ronaldo in successive knockout games.

In an earlier European Nations Cup, however, there was an underdog who lifted the trophy despite playing positive, progressive football against the two giants of the day. This was Czechoslovakia, a nation that no longer exists, and they experienced the finest moment in their football history at Euro 1976, in Yugoslavia.

If the tournament is remembered today, it is mainly for the cheeky penalty that secured victory for the Czechs in the historic shootout against West Germany, the defending champions. It is not often that a player's name is added permanently to the lexicon of the game, and Antonin Panenka could not have timed his party trick better. But the Czech triumph was about much more than Panenka.

The line-up for the four-team event in Yugoslavia was formidable. Two years after the 1974 World Cup final, in which the Germans had impressively turned the game around after the shock of Holland's first-minute goal, the Germans and the Dutch would be there to do battle again. The general expectation was that they would meet again in the final in Belgrade; Yugoslavia, the hosts, would present a challenge to Germany in the first of the semi-finals, but few expected the Czechs to give Johan Cruyff's Holland much trouble in the other one.

Before we deal with the Czechs and their road to Yugoslavia, a quick look at the other sides taking part.

Holland looked every inch the favourite going into the event. Forcing their way through a very tough qualifying group, which featured both Italy and Poland, they annihilated their neighbours Belgium 7-1 over two legs in the quarter-finals. It was a sign of the continued improvement in the Dutch side that they had failed to score even once in two games against the same opposition in qualifying for the 1974 World Cup.

And yet there were very few changes in personnel among the Oranje; they had simply gained in confidence and maturity. The solid Piet Schrijvers had returned in goal in place of Jan Jongbloed, the adventurous but hit-and-miss (or rather catch-and-miss) veteran who had filled in at the World Cup. There was a highly effective new attacker in the Ajax forward Ruud Geels, something of a late bloomer. But the core of the side was the same, and Rob Rensenbrink, in superb club form at Anderlecht, had come to rival even Cruyff as an attacking force.

The Germans, too, looked impressive. They came to Yugoslavia with an embarrassment of riches in midfield; the youngsters who had come to prominence at the World Cup - Rainer Bonhof, Heinz Flohe, Uli Hoeness - were now established stars, in their mid-twenties prime. The incomparable Franz Beckenbauer had long made the attacking sweeper position his personal fiefdom, and on the back of Bayern Munich's third straight European Cup, he looked more assured than ever. Sepp Maier was still one of the finest goalkeepers in the world, and Berti Vogts had few equals as a specialist man-marker.

Yet there were three important absentees, all of whom had been highly instrumental in the Germans' World Cup success. Gerd Muller, goal-poacher supreme, had hung up his international boots after scoring the winner against the Dutch in Munich. Wolfgang Overath, of the magisterial left foot, had also decided he had done sufficient work for die Mannschaft. And then there was Paul Breitner, the maverick but supremely talented left-back who had scored so many crucial goals at the World Cup, not least from the penalty spot in the final. At odds with Beckenbauer, he had stated publicly that he wanted nothing more to do with this "shit team", as he characteristically called it, and had rather belied his Marxist principles by moving to Real Madrid. He would be back to play for Germany in later years, however.

The Germans had any number of neat, intelligent, flexible and occasionally incisive players in Yugoslavia. But there was no-one who could finish off a half-chance like Muller, and no-one who could pick a pinpoint pass from deep in midfield like Overath. During the long period where they struggled to break down the Czechs in the final, it was clear just how much these two old warhorses were missed.

Yugoslavia, as hosts, would be no pushover, and they had a point to prove. Disappointing in the 1974 World Cup, apart from a game in which they put nine goals past a chaotic Zaire, they cruised through their qualifying group before disposing of Wales in the quarter-finals. Their major star, the winger Dragan Dzajic, was well past his best, but still capable of providing moments of quality. The team revolved around the sturdy, commanding midfielder Branko Oblak and the tall defender Josip Katalinski, another of the great attacking sweepers of the era, who had been a surprisingly prolific scorer in the qualifiers.

And the Czechs? To be continued in Part 2.