Saturday, January 10, 2026
And It's Three, Part 2
For Italians, it is still the partita del secolo. The Germans call it the Jahrhundertspiel. In the Azteca Stadium in Mexico City, where the game was played, there is a plaque commemorating the partido del siglo. All of these phrases mean the same thing: Match of the Century. The semi-final of the 1970 World Cup, between Italy and West Germany. A game whose frantic, incident-packed extra time period provided one of the most memorable periods of footballing drama ever seen.
It was a match which certainly demanded grace under pressure from the commentators. And Nando Martellini, who wasn't even supposed to be calling the Italy matches at the 1970 tournament, offered that...and then some.
The legendary status of the game somewhat obscures the fact that, for long periods, the football wasn't all that great. After Roberto Boninsegna's early (and somewhat fortunate) goal, Italy fell back in typical catenaccio style, seeking to wait out the ninety minutes. Dangerous indulgence against a German side with many fine attackers. But for a long time the strategy appeared to be working. The tight marking of the veteran defender Tarcisio Burgnich was keeping the prolific Gerd Muller quiet, and the other Italian defenders were at their best as well; Roberto Rosato's magnificent acrobatic clearance from the goal-line in the second half was indicative of the Italian determination to keep the sheet clean.
And Martellini? Apart from his usual crystal-clear, deadpan play-by-play commentary, he was anxiously counting down the minutes, as much for his own benefit as the viewers' in the second half. Not 70 minutes gone: 20 minutes to go. Never hiding his partiality despite his (relative) objectivity, Martellini trod the fine line between commentator and fan expertly.
Martellini's countdown began to consist of smaller units of time ("53 seconds until the end!"). Italy were still 1-0 ahead. But then the clock ticked over to 90 minutes...and the game went on. Added time in those days was a rarity. Now slipping gently over the line into fandom, Martellini reminded viewers regularly of the amount of time that had been added. Amazingly, however, he continued to narrate the play-by-play impeccably.
When nearly two minutes of added time had elapsed, the veteran German defender Karlheinz Schnellinger popped up in the Italian box to drive home the equaliser.
A moment of fury for Italian fans everywhere...and for Martellini. Despite his continued calm delivery, his anger was well and truly manifest in the lead-up to extra time. He harped on the theme of the added time, he insinuated injustice, he subtly excoriated the Mexican referee Arturo Yamasaki (who had in fact refereed appallingly). But extra time it was to be.
Despite his evident cold fury and the waves of drama over the next 30 minutes, Martellini kept his nerve. "Muller has scored. Germany ahead." "Equaliser from Burgnich! A payback for Schnellinger's goal (i.e. coming from a defender)." "Riva! 3-2! A dramatic and unbelievable match." "Seeler has equalised. 3-3." (Actually it was Muller - but his small deflection from Uwe Seeler's magnificent header was difficult to spot in real time.) "Rivera - 4-3! Goal from Rivera! What a marvellous game, Italian viewers." And then, a phrase which became legendary: "We will never be able to give sufficient thanks to our players for the emotions they are providing us with."
When the final whistle sounded, Martellini again had just the right summary, after twenty years of Italian frustration in football's showpiece tournament. "Italian viewers, after two hours of suffering and joy, we can finally announce to you: Italy is in the final of the World Cup."
Martellini, of course, called the final as well, which ended in a heavy defeat for the azzurri. But as he was quick to point out in his astute, reasoned summary at the end, they had resisted well until twenty minutes into the second half. Brazil, he said, had certainly deserved it - but he pointed out that some of their players were not able to frolic as they had in previous rounds, until the Italians ran out of steam in the second half. I think he was quite right.
Italy would have to wait twelve years before another appearance in the final - one which would exorcise all the demons of the past, and provide Martellini with his most iconic moment of all behind the microphone. More in Part 3.
Friday, January 09, 2026
And It's Three, Part 1
The English-speaking world has been blessed with some splendid television commentators over the years, and some less-than-splendid ones in more recent times. The voices of John Motson, Brian Moore, Barry Davies and others still conjure up plenty of memories for those of us who grew up watching English football in the 1980s; the polished BBC voice of Kenneth Wolstenholme does the same for those whose football journey started somewhat earlier. But none of these really became a national icon as a result of their off-the-cuff chronicling of the fortunes of their national team. Unlike probably the finest TV football commentator of them all: Nando Martellini. (Absurdly, he isn't accorded a Wikipedia entry in English, and perhaps this series of posts might encourage someone to remedy that defect).
I have been known to joke to football friends that it is worth learning Italian if only to enjoy Martellini's legendary commentary on memorable football matches of days past. At once warm and level-headed, dignified and witty, shrewd and modest, Martellini set a standard which has, in my view, never been reached since.
Although his coverage of everything, and I mean everything, that was happening on the field was admirably comprehensive, he never appeared either rushed or fussy. He could produce several minutes of steady, utterly factual and objective commentary before coming out with one of the countless tongue-in-cheek bons mots with which he sprinkled his calls. Not that these were delivered with any smugness or pride; Martellini, like Richie Benaud, raised deadpan to an art form.
And although his beautifully-phrased delivery (my Italian is far from excellent, but I never have any trouble understanding Martellini) bore the stamp of an old-style education, he never affected the slight schoolmasterish pomposity of a Kenneth Wolstenholme. Martellini always treated his viewers as equals, not students.
Fernando Martellini was born in the village of Priverno, an hour's drive south-east of Rome, in 1921. Coming of age in Italian football's pre-war glory days, his lifelong love of the game was assured. Although he originally studied to be an agronomist at Perugia University, becoming a lifelong Perugia fan in the process, he switched to journalism towards the end of the war, and was taken on by the Italian public radio broadcaster (later RAI) in 1944. He was initially assigned to foreign affairs, and rose quickly through the ranks. But he eventually became involved with his beloved calcio.
He was first assigned to football commentary by the director of radio, Vittorio Veltroni, in the late 1950s. By the mid-1960s, as Italian club football reached its apogee, he was a seasoned radio commentator and was gaining experience in television as well. Commentary was only one of his roles; a regular presenter, he once had the rare opportunity to interview a frail but still forthright Vittorio Pozzo, the architect of Italy's two pre-war World Cup victories.
Although he later owed much of his fame to his commentary on Italy's most memorable World Cup matches - much more on that later - Martellini's first major "international" assignment was Italy's somewhat laboured victory in the 1968 Nations Cup. Come the 1970 World Cup, however, the commentary was once again entrusted to the legendary Nicolò Carosio, whose career in broadcasting stretched back to those glory days of the 1930s. The donnish Carosio was the undisputed, and much-respected, father figure of Italian football commentary. But an obscure incident gave Martellini the chance to call perhaps the most unforgettable match that the azzurri ever played.
In Italy's frustrating 0-0 draw against Israel from the first round of the 1970 World Cup, Carosio opined forcefully (and rightly) that Luigi Riva had been denied a clear goal by a poor call from the Ethiopian linesman, Sajum Tarekegn. Unfortunately, Carosio was later accused of having used a racially-loaded epithet to describe Tarekegn in a conversation the next day, and a diplomatic row ensued. Later, it was determined that Carosio was quite innocent of this "charge", but the damage had been done, and Martellini was behind the microphone as Italy faced West Germany in the semi-final at the Azteca Stadium.
It was to be quite an afternoon. More in Part 2.
