The Football Tragic

Like his close contemporary Andras Torocsik, Stanislaw Terlecki showed impressive determination in regaining his best form after what might have been a career-ending injury. Back in the national team for the 1980 Nations Cup qualifiers, he played perhaps the best game of his life in September 1979, ruling the field and scoring a decisive brace against Switzerland in Lausanne. Poland failed to make it through a very tough qualifying group - they were pipped at the post by the Dutch, as indeed they had been in 1976 - but there was every reason for confidence ahead of the 1982 World Cup.

Again, Terlecki would not be there. And this time it was not fitness but politics which prevented his attendance.

The Okecie airport incident, known as the "Okecie Affair" in Poland, was an event with enormous ramifications. It was perhaps the most serious confrontation between footballers and the authorities that ever occurred behind the old Iron Curtain; the seeds of the rebellion which began with the famous Polish Solidarity movement sprouted with a vengeance on that late November morning in 1980.

The beginning of the story was a tawdry one. The Polish squad was assembled for a trip to Italy, prior to a World Cup qualifier in Malta. The first-choice goalkeeper Josef Mlynarczyk - later a European Cup winner with Porto - had been out on the town with a journalist the night before, and night turned into morning. When the time came for the team to head to the airport, Mlynarczyk was, well, not functioning terribly well. Polish officials ordered the indisposed keeper to stay behind; his team-mates, however, had other ideas.

The incident itself was relatively trivial, but it served as a touchpaper in the midst of a number of frustrations, ranging from the perennial issue of proper remuneration to more mundane concerns (apparently one of the reasons Mlynarczyk escaped for the evening was that the hotel food was inedible). 

Terlecki, the perpetual rebel, was immediately in his element. He promptly drove Mlynarczyk to the airport in his own car, and assumed the leading role in the subsequent confrontation with the Polish officials, which almost turned physical. Not content with stopping there, the young winger also began harassing the reporters covering the team's departure, whose morning had suddenly become a little more interesting. Team-mates later complained that the incident would never have become a scandal of such proportions had Terlecki not indulged in such antics.

In the event, the Polish coach Ryszard Kulesza was eventually persuaded to relent and restore Mlynarczyk to the squad. The establishment press, however, mercilessly attacked the players, and Kulesza found himself under intense pressure. To make matters even worse, Terlecki had organised a meeting in Italy with the stridently anti-communist Pope John Paul II, born Karol Wojtyla in a small Polish town and a hero to Polish Catholics. This was too much for the Polish authorities, and Terlecki and Mlynarczyk, along with Zbigniew Boniek and the veteran defender Wladyslaw Zmuda, were banned from the team for a year. To cap off a perfect trip, the eventual qualifier in Malta was abandoned after locals began throwing stones at the Polish team. (FIFA eventually awarded the match to Poland, who were 2-0 up at the time.)

Kulesza resigned in protest, and it was left to his successor, Antoni Piechniczek, to intercede with the authorities for the lifting of the bans on the "Gang of Four". Mlynarczyk, Boniek and Zmuda were all eventually restored to the side after expressing some suitable remorse, and all made notable contributions to Poland's third-place finish at the 1982 World Cup. But Terlecki was a different matter. He had been a thorn in the commissars' side for too long already. He had earned their ire on a number of previous occasions, firstly with his unapproved transfer from the military-aligned Gwardia Warsaw club to Lodz when he was still a teenager, and later with some barbed comments when he was called in to assist with radio commentary on the 1978 World Cup.

Fired from his club LKS Lodz as well at the start of 1981 after joining in student strikes in the city, Terlecki decided it was time for a new start in football. And where else would a fiery anti-communist go but to the United States of America?

Stay tuned for Part 3.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 10:47 AM 0 comments

A degree in history, with a bit of student activism thrown in. A brief but prominent role in one of the finest international teams of the era. A head-on clash with the Communist authorities. An attempt to re-create the famous Solidarity movement in the football arena. Stardom, and a mountainload of goals, in America. Becoming a team-mate of Franz Beckenbauer and Johan Neeskens, among others. Two on-field encounters with Diego Maradona, in very different circumstances. An autobiography entitled "Pelé, Boniek and Me".

You certainly couldn't say that Stanislaw "Stan" Terlecki had an uneventful life. And yet few remember him nowadays, outside of a proud mining town in America which once boasted an equally proud football team.

The son of two university academics, Stanislaw Terlecki (pronounced "Terletski") was born in Warsaw on November 13, 1955. His father was a history professor and the young Stanislaw followed in his father's footsteps in that respect, gaining a degree in the discipline, and a student's taste for rebellion. He was a dissident from a young age. He came from a family of Kresowiaks - "borderlanders" from the former Polish territories which were subsumed into the Soviet Union after the invasion of 1939 - and his father had vivid memories of the mass deportations that accompanied that very dark period in Polish history.

But young Stanislaw also had a notable talent for football, and was playing in the Polish first division at the tender age of 18. By 1976 he had graduated to the national side; no small feat in an era when Polish football was at its peak. He was that rarity, a footballer with a reputation as a genuine intellectual; in interviews, he would name-check James Joyce in between talking about the game. Apparently his footballing peers considered him a little, well, stuck-up. Not to mention disrespectful towards his elders. But no-one doubted his talent: a left-sided midfielder with superb ball control and a fine shot, he was being lined up as the replacement for the renowned Robert Gadocha. He was tipped to shine at the 1978 World Cup, along with other young Polish stars such as Zbigniew Boniek and Adam Nawalka.

Terlecki scored twice in the qualifying series for 1978, including a memorable goal against Cyprus. Moreover, the new Polish coach, Jacek Gmoch, believed that Terlecki's domination of the highly-rated Benfica fullback Artur was a decisive factor in Poland's crucial win away to Portugal in the qualifiers. Gmoch was well aware that he had a major talent on his hands...but a delicate flower as well. "You had to have a lot of patience with Stas. He liked to be listened to, you had to let him express his opinion. An intellectual, you know..."

Gmoch's patience eventually won the youngster's loyalty, and Terlecki was an integral part of the coach's plans for Argentina in 1978. But he missed out on the tournament itself - and thereby hangs a tale. A tale of the cockiness which went with Terlecki's rebellious nature, and which often got him into trouble.

Playing for his club side LKS Lodz in a late-season dead rubber against Polonia Bytom, Terlecki was, well, making life a misery for his hapless marker Czeslaw Brylka. Unfortunately, he decided to taunt the Bytom defender as well. Incensed, Brylka launched into a horrendous tackle which landed the 22-year-old Terlecki with a serious knee injury, and ended his hopes of going to Argentina. "I cried like a baby, like a boy who'd had his favourite toy taken away," recalled Terlecki many years later. "I'd sacrificed so much for that trip to the World Cup."

Terlecki recovered well from his injury, and quickly found his way back into the national side post-1978. But within a couple of years he was out of reckoning for the national team for good - thanks to his leading role in an infamous incident. More in Part 2.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 2:02 PM 0 comments

Nando Martellini was, of course, most famous as a football commentator. He provided commentary for other sports as well, notably cycling, and in his early days he reported on politics too. But why does he have a moderately substantial entry on IMDB?

With his unmistakable voice and his popularity in the football world and beyond, Martellini was a very frequent cameo guest in films, even early in his career. His deadpan delivery often proved a good fit for comedy; one of his earliest and most lengthy film appearances was in the typically Italian screwball comedy The Twelve-Handed Men of Mars, in which a penalty for Santos in an exhibition game against Lazio turns to farce thanks to the Martian in the crowd. On a less frivolous note, he also lent his voice to the Italian version of the excellent film of the 1966 World Cup, bringing to Italian ears the stylish narration penned by his friend Brian Glanville.

In 1984, he appeared in what one might call the "calciosploitation" film The Coach in a Muddle, which features a clueless journeyman coach suddenly catapulted into Serie A. The film was designed to capitalise on the enormous popularity of the game in Italy following the 1982 World Cup triumph, and featured cameos from a number of players past and present, including Carlo Ancelotti, Francisco Graziani and the venerable Nils Liedholm. But there was a lovely tribute paid to Martellini just after his brief on-screen appearance: the hapless coach's team has just conceded their third goal, and he complains to his assistant, "And it's three! And it's three!" - Martellini's well-known call on the occasion of Italy's third goal, and imminent third world title, in the 1982 World Cup final.

Perhaps the most delightful Martellini cameo of all was in the Italian version of the French animated series Zoo Olympics, which was released to coincide with the Olympic Games in Barcelona in 1992. Martellini played the role of the snake commentator, named Nando Serpentini (of course), giving the viewers a play-by-play account of the animals' various maladroit athletic contests. What could be more Martellini-esque than keeping a straight voice while introducing the Italian pig fencing champion Prosciutto Parmigiano?

Martellini gradually wound down his broadcasting commitments following his health scare in Mexico in 1986, but remained a popular guest on football talk shows. He was happy to spend most of his declining days in the company of his beloved wife Gianna - formerly the secretary of his first radio boss, Vittorio Veltroni - and his children and grandchildren. His daughter Simonetta proved a chip off the old block, becoming a respected volleyball commentator on Italian radio.

Nando Martellini passed away in 2004, aged 82. His funeral was attended by a who's who of not just Italian sport, but Italian politics and entertainment as well. If you visit the Terme di Caracalla region of Rome today, you can find an athletics track which was originally used as a training ground during the 1960 Rome Olympics. It is known as the Nando Martellini Stadium.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:52 AM 0 comments

In the wake of the 1970 World Cup, Nando Martellini succeeded his much-admired colleague Nicolò Carosio as the undisputed voice of Italian football. His was the commentary that accompanied the azzurri's fortunes from then on, from the promise of the early seventies through the lean period in the middle of that decade, as the generation of Riva, Rivera, Mazzola and Facchetti came to a close. Then into the Enzo Bearzot era, with a new crop of young players promising much but falling at the penultimate hurdle in 1978, and disappointing their home fans in the 1980 Nations Cup.

Martellini's bread and butter, of course, was the domestic game and the Italian clubs' forays into Europe, and his commentary in these matches was just as steady, informed, witty and memorable.

Before we get to the triumph of the 1982 World Cup, it's worth quoting a few of the dry witticisms for which Martellini was so well-known. Delivered with barely a quiver in the voice to distinguish the remarks from the ongoing, unfailingly accurate play-by-play, they must have made the viewers doubt their own ears at times. But, as a colleague put it, Martellini always knew what he was doing.

In 1973, in a friendly against Brazil in Rome, Fabio Capello scored the second goal in a 2-0 win for the Italians. The replay showed, however, that the ball had struck the bar and landed well over a foot outside the goalmouth. Martellini: "As you can see from the replay, the goal was not an entirely obvious one."

1978. A Coppa Italia match between Inter and Monza, in which the Inter midfielder Giuseppe Pavone (the surname means "peacock") was replaced by the veteran Claudio Merlo (whose surname means "blackbird"). Martellini: "And Pavone goes off, Merlo comes on. Inter's ornithological situation remains unchanged."

Also 1978. Juventus are struggling to overcome the naggingly effective offside trap of the Belgian side Bruges in the European Cup semi-final. The bianconeri have already been caught offside countless times, and when the Belgians surge forward again and the whistle goes, Martellini has his comment ready. "Offside. Just for a change."

It was the 1982 World Cup, and the final in particular, that turned Martellini from a beloved figure into something of an icon. He had called Italy's games in the first round of the tournament with gently veiled frustration, declaring after the plodding draw with Cameroon that the Italian performances in the second half of the games had been "questionable". It was a regular gripe of Martellini's; after their loss in a Nations Cup qualifier to Holland in late 1974, Martellini pointedly remarked that Italy had only shown "45 minutes' worth of heart and legs".

That was all to change in the second half of the tournament, when Italy suddenly came to life. Beating first Argentina, Maradona and all, then the dazzling Brazilian side, then a surprisingly listless Poland in the semi-final, Italy reached the final against West Germany in Madrid against all predictions.

Martellini began his call of the final by acknowledging that he was in a state of "great emotion", and his commentary was certainly a little more charged than usual. The play-by-play was as accurate and comprehensive as ever. But the pain was quite evident in his voice when Antonio Cabrini sent Italy's first-half penalty wide of the post. 

This time, ironically, it was in the second half that Italy took hold of the game. Paolo Rossi scored another of his poacher's goals; Marco Tardelli lunged to whack a cross-shot past Toni Schumacher, before wheeling away in a famous celebration. And Sandro Altobelli scored on a breakaway to make it...three. More on that in a moment.

At the conclusion of the game, Martellini simply cried "World Champions!" three times. But, as always, he knew what he was doing. It was Italy's third conquest of the World Cup (as he reminded the viewers straight afterwards). Three times World Champions.

Personally, I think that there was even more to it than that. When Altobelli slotted the ball past Schumacher on 81 minutes, the game was clearly beyond the Germans. Martellini could have commemorated the goal in many ways, but he chose to exclaim, "And it's three! And it's three!" Three goals...or three World Cups? I believe the ambiguity was quite deliberate.

What followed his initial celebratory proclamation of Italy's third world crown was pure Martellini. In perfectly rounded phrases, he praised the qualities of every Italian player, explaining why they were worthy of being a world champion. He even included the bit-part players, noting their achievements. He saved his best for the 40-year-old keeper, Dino Zoff; "I don't know whether we should admire him more as a champion or as a man."

It was a long-awaited triumph for Italian football, and the culmination of a wonderful career behind the microphone for Martellini. Perhaps fittingly, it was his last World Cup. At 64, he was all set for duty in Mexico in 1986, but he fell very ill with altitude sickness just prior to the event, and had to head home. He stuck to the domestic scene from then on. But his place in the hearts of Italian fans was never lost.

And that same popularity had an interesting side-effect. More in Part 4.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:08 AM 0 comments

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.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:06 AM 0 comments

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.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 2:36 PM 0 comments

In the two years after Willy Brokamp left, MVV Maastricht suffered a slump. Relegated from the Eredivisie, they were battling away somewhat unconvincingly in the second division when their old hero returned to the club in 1976.

Brokamp was, in short, somewhat unimpressed by the quality of the football on offer. In typical style, he demonstrated his disappointment in a number of idiosyncratic ways. During one particularly depressing MVV performance, he decided to play with his shirt pulled over his head, goal-celebration style, as if to avert his eyes from the mediocre quality of play. In another match, he registered his displeasure at receiving virtually no service during the first half by having the traditional post-game shower...at half-time.

He too, however, was not the force he once was. A former clubmate recalled that Brokamp didn't go through the usual pre-game warm-up, because otherwise he would run out of puff during the match. Still, he managed a very decent goalscoring record during his second stint at MVV, as usual. After a couple of perhaps less-than-committed years, he threw himself into his real love - the hospitality business. With everything that the word "hospitality" implied. And he made a great success of it, managing several establishments and becoming well-known in the region as an entrepreneur of sorts. 

Football? Brokamp still watched the game, but lamented that modern players had become a little too "robotic", and regretted that kids no longer learned the game on the streets, with all the playfulness and improvisation that implied. Johan Cruyff, interestingly enough, expressed similar sentiments before he passed away. Brokamp did eventually produce the inevitable ex-footballer's book, but rather than the ponderous ghostwritten humble-bragging which tends to be the order of the day, he filled a book with funny anecdotes from his playing days - the sort of stories, in other words, that he would have regaled friends with over a coffee or a beer.

In 2017, the main Limburg TV station caught up with Brokamp at one of his establishments, to commemorate his acquisition of the Aux Pays-Bas in 1973. No longer sporting his trademark blond hair, the mellow veteran reflected happily on his playing days and beyond. "Football was never an aim in itself for me. It was just part of a great life."

"I don't drink too much [any more]. I am someone who in the morning likes to have a coffee and read the paper, and go out for dinner at night. I don’t come as often to the café now, I just turned 71. But I do like spending time here, a bit of socialising, chatting with people. I'm someone who likes socialising."

To this day, the story of Brokamp getting to manage a café as the price for his remaining with Maastricht is a perennial favourite in the region. "A café as part of your contract - what sort of player would get away with that?" asked the Limburg TV reporter rhetorically. "Yes, that's right - Willy Brokamp."

# posted by Mike Salter @ 4:11 PM 0 comments

Was Willy Brokamp missed in Germany in 1974? It seems churlish to suggest such a thing, given how thrillingly the Dutch played, not least his replacement on the left side of the attack, Rob Rensenbrink. But it is worth remembering that in the final, Rensenbrink had to go off injured. The one other left-sided attacker in the squad, the much-loved Ajax veteran Piet Keizer, perhaps made the cut for sentimental as much as footballing reasons; in his one game at the finals, against Sweden, he had been unimpressive. Rensenbrink's replacement in the Munich showpiece was René van de Kerkhof: a doughty warrior, but not an incisive attacker or finisher. Could that have been Brokamp's moment instead?

It was, in any event, not the sort of thing that a character like Willy Brokamp would have lost much sleep over.

Ironically, after being merely a provincial star while the big boys from Amsterdam were winning three successive European Cups, Brokamp did eventually end up at Ajax. But not before a last-ditch tactic by the management at MVV Maastricht kept him in Limburg for one more precious season...and started the affable Brokamp on a new career.

In the face of increasingly seductive offers from the big clubs following Brokamp's career apogee in 1973, MVV knew that a serious sweetener would be required if their talisman were to remain at the club. So they arranged for Brokamp to take over the management of the well-known Maastricht café Aux Pays-Bas ("In the Netherlands"). They knew their man well.

Some explanation is in order here. In Holland, a café is generally a bar as well, with coffee available but liquor flowing freely as well. With his sociable nature and fondness for a good time, Brokamp had long fostered an ambition to run his own establishment. It was to be the start of a beautiful friendship; a common joke in the years to come was that Brokamp was his own best customer.

The seeds of his future career had been planted, but eventually the lure of a big move (and a big city) was too much to resist. With the legendary Ajax side of the early seventies gradually disintegrating, and their attacking stars in particular either leaving for pastures new (Johan Cruyff) or passing their peak (Keizer), some new firepower was needed up front. Willy Brokamp signed for Ajax prior to the 1974/75 season. 

Brokamp later expressed surprise that Ajax had paid so much for a player already in his late twenties, but his initial performances suggested that he was going to prove good value. In his first game, away against NAC Breda, he opened the scoring with a superb bicycle kick as Ajax won 4-1. With Keizer now pulling the strings from midfield behind a forward line of Brokamp, Johnny Rep and the excellent centre-forward Ruud Geels, things looked promising for the Amsterdam club.

Sadly, an ongoing dispute between Keizer and the Ajax management disrupted the team, and results fell away. Brokamp stayed at Ajax for two seasons and notched a creditable 23 goals in 55 games (he was not, it must be stressed, the main striker), but the success of the early 1970s proved elusive.

His time in Amsterdam is, in any case, generally remembered for other reasons. The store of Brokamp anecdotes grew exponentially when he was let loose in one of the most fun-loving cities of Europe.

The club management wisely stationed the newly-arrived Brokamp in a house far from the famous Amsterdam entertainment district, Leidseplein. Brokamp promptly rented an apartment in Leidseplein anyway, without telling the club, and made the most of his new digs. "There's more than just football," was his life's motto.

In another irony, Brokamp's second year at Ajax coincided with the return of Rinus Michels to the club. Although Brokamp bore the totaalvoetbal maestro no particular animus as a result of his ejection from the World Cup squad - he more or less ignored all his coaches, apart from his mentor at Maastricht, George Knobel - he seemed to delight in playing the odd prank on Michels. On one occasion, in a game for which Brokamp was benched, Michels was preparing to make a substitution. Another player was supposed to enter the fray, but Brokamp simply strolled up to the sideline and subbed himself on, with Michels temporarily distracted.

Another apparently unconfirmed story involves Brokamp turning up for a morning training session in a tuxedo. The reason? He had been at a friend's wedding the night before, and the night had, well, turned into morning. Brokamp simply saved some time by skipping the inconvenient going-home bit.

Now 30, Brokamp headed back to Maastricht in the summer of 1976 after his eventful stay in Amsterdam. MVV awaited him, but, perhaps more importantly, so did the Aux Pays-Bas. To be concluded in Part 5.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 4:39 PM 1 comments

November 18, 1973. The crucial clash between the Dutch and the Belgians for a place at the upcoming World Cup. When the Dutch team is announced, there are a couple of small surprises. One is the presence of the obscure veteran sweeper Aad Mansveld in the side; the other is the absence of the player who had been, aside from Johan Cruyff, Holland's most prolific and effective player during the qualifying series: Willy Brokamp.

Coach Frantisek Fadrhonc had in fact been chopping and changing throughout the series; Cruyff later lamented that until the arrival of Rinus Michels, "we didn't have a (set) team". There may have been many reasons for the Czech coach to omit Brokamp for such a crucial game. His less-than-serious attitude? The excellent recent form of his replacement, Rob Rensenbrink of Anderlecht? Or the fact that Rensenbrink, due to his club affiliation, would have been very familiar with his opponents? It still seemed a harsh decision. But as subsequent events showed, Brokamp was unlikely to have taken the snub too much to heart.

It was psychologically a difficult game for the Dutch. If you only need a draw in such a crunch match, in front of your home crowd, how do you approach it? The fans would have been looking forward to their Ajax heroes putting the old enemy to the sword. But the Belgians were acknowledged masters at soaking up pressure and hitting the opposition on the break. And their team, far more settled than that of the Dutch, had its share of quality as well, particularly in the shape of the Anderlecht legend Paul van Himst and the prolific Bruges forward Raoul Lambert.

As it happened, the Dutch were almost forced into an aggressive posture by the paradoxically negative tactics of the sly Belgian coach Raymond Goethals. In a game the Belgians had to win, they committed few men to attack and fell back in numbers whenever the Dutch regained possession. The idea was clearly to entice Cruyff and co. too far forward...and it very nearly worked. 

Faced by a resilient Belgian defence, the Dutch crafted few chances. Johnny Rep nearly scored with a downward header from Cruyff's left-wing cross, but the fine Belgian keeper Christian Piot made a superb save. Later, from another left-wing centre, Rep missed an absolute sitter. In between, van Himst broke smoothly clear with the Dutch stranded upfield, in exactly the manner planned by Goethals, only for Johan Neeskens to bring him down with an appallingly cynical foul. 

There was to be no glorious finale, but as the minutes ticked down it looked as if the Dutch had at least accomplished their objective. Then, suddenly, pandemonium. In the very last minute, van Himst's deftly-taken free kick produced confusion in the Dutch defence, and Jan Verheyen - miles onside - volleyed the ball home crisply at the far post. 

Unbelievably, the Russian referee, Pavel Kazakov, disallowed the goal for offside. 

To this day, it remains one of the World Cup's great sliding-doors moments. Belgium could hardly have made as dazzling a contribution to the 1974 tournament as Cruyff's men. But an injustice had clearly been done. And the legend of Dutch football, and the subsequent achievements of the many distinguished Oranje teams that followed, owed an enormous amount (if only psychologically) to the heroes of 1974. What if...?

And so to the preparations for the tournament in Germany. The newly-installed Rinus Michels picked an initial squad of 24, including Willy Brokamp. The Maastricht hero even played in Holland's final warm-up match, a 2-1 win against German club side Hamburg, and nearly scored with a thunderous volley which was saved magnificently by Hamburg goalie Rudi Kargus.

But 24 had to become 22, and Michels, more of a disciplinarian than Fadrhonc, saw Brokamp's happy-go-lucky attitude as a potential liability. To his credit, Michels did not shirk the duty of breaking the bad news personally to Brokamp and the other unlucky man, the distinguished but injury-prone striker Jan Mulder. "What I have to say now will ruin my whole day," began Michels after summoning the pair. They both knew what was coming.

Their reactions could not have been more different. Mulder, in an episode which has become legendary in Holland, reacted by going straight to his father-in-law's house and smashing up a chicken coop. And Brokamp? His reaction was De Witte all over.

"Thanks, Mr. Michels. I'll have a nice holiday then!"

In Part 4: finally a move away from Maastricht for Willy Brokamp, and then a gradual move into a new and even more congenial career.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 5:20 PM 0 comments

Even by the standards of the Netherlands, the Limburg region is a geographical oddity. A Dutch wedge of land shoved awkwardly in between Belgium and Germany, it is a multilingual area with a number of place names reflecting the erstwhile Gallic influence. One of these French names is Chevremont ("goat-mountain"), a village bordering the town of Kerkrade, where Willy Brokamp was born on 25 February, 1946.

A football prodigy, at the age of only 14 he was representing the village team, which competed in the top amateur competition in the country at the time. By the time he was 18 and his talent had become more widely recognised, scouts from both Ajax and PSV Eindhoven were keen to secure the youngster's signature. But despite the lure of the big western cities (and their entertainment districts), he stayed close to home, signing for the most prominent club in the Limburg region - MVV Maastricht.

The Sterrendragers, as they are known in Holland, were at the time a fixture in the Dutch first division, and the arrival of Brokamp propelled them to greater heights. He played either as a left-winger or a striker, but wherever he was on the pitch, he was a good bet to score. In his two stints at MVV he compiled a total of 140 goals. His unmistakable shock of blond hair gave him the nickname De Witte, "The White One".

Even in his early days, it became well-known that any attempt to "coach" Willy Brokamp, much less rein in his determination to enjoy life to the fullest, was doomed to failure. Yet he became a cult figure in Maastricht, and the love was mutual. His sociability was legendary; an MVV fan recalls a time when he, as a very young boy, simply knocked on the club star's front door and asked, "Mr. Brokamp, we're having a kickaround, would you like to join us?". De Witte smilingly joined the anklebiters as they whacked the leather along the laneways. 

Another tale, told by a Dutch journalist, sheds more light on both Brokamp's effusive personality and the lengths to which the locals would go for him. Assigned to cover the following day's MVV home fixture, the journalist was invited by Brokamp to crash at his place and then travel with the striker to the game by train. Brokamp, typically, stayed out until the small hours. And the train left at 7:30 a.m. Stumbling out of bed at roughly that hour and assuring the nervous journo that there was no problem, Brokamp strolled into the station to find the train still there. "Jeez, Willy," said the conductor with a grin, "it's OK if I leave four or five minutes late, but ten...?".

Despite these idiosyncrasies, Brokamp's scoring prowess eventually earned him a place in the national team. In his first match for the Oranje, a friendly against Israel in 1970, he scored the only goal.

Yet for the next couple of years, he was ignored. The new coach of the Oranje, Frantisek Fadrhonc, was conservative by disposition, and considered the wild-haired glamour boy of the south-east a risky option. In fairness, too, this was the era when Feyenoord and Ajax were winning European Cups, and it is perhaps not surprising that a star from a provincial club found it hard to get a look-in.

By the time of the 1974 World Cup qualifying series, even Fadrhonc was convinced that it was time to give Brokamp another go, so impressive had his record been at MVV. In 1973, he jointly topped the Eredivisie scoring charts and was named Dutch Footballer of the Year. So it was off on the road to Germany...with the sturdy Belgians, led by the canny coach Raymond Goethals, in their way.

In the first encounter between Holland and Belgium in Antwerp, the Dutch were glad to come away with a 0-0 draw; Belgian defender Jean Thissen's shot against a post, and a lofted Paul van Himst free kick clawed away by Jan van Beveren, were as close as the Belgians came to scoring. The Oranje then began storming through the "lesser" matches in their qualifying group, amassing 22 goals in three games against Norway and Iceland, Brokamp scoring five of them. The Belgians, however, had also maintained a perfect record against Norway and Iceland, and thus the second encounter between the local rivals became crucial.

But the Dutch almost stumbled even before that. Their return encounter with Norway began cheerfully enough, when a beautifully-weighted cross from Brokamp on the left was headed in expertly by Johan Cruyff on seven minutes. Another goal avalanche seemed imminent, but the Dutch now found the Norwegians a tough nut to crack. Frustration began to creep in: Wim van Hanegem, never a shrinking violet, was lucky to receive only a yellow card for a dreadful, petulant foul on the Norwegian substitute Tor Egil Johansen, and Cruyff - typically - was subsequently yellow-carded for protesting. On 77 minutes, the unthinkable happened when van Beveren, slow off his line, was beaten to a loose ball by the Norwegian forward Harry Hestad (a former Eredivisie player), who made it 1-1.

Perhaps inevitably, it was Cruyff who saved the Dutch bacon. Three minutes from the end, receiving the ball on the right-hand side of the Norwegian box, he slipped a sublime back-heel into the path of the onrushing Barrie Hulshoff, who fired home. Fadrhonc and his men breathed a sigh of relief.

So it was all down to the return match between Holland and Belgium, to be held in Amsterdam's Olympic Stadium. The match would be a pivotal one in Dutch football history - and despite Brokamp's excellent lead-up form, he found himself benched for the first time in the series for the key encounter. To be continued in Part 3.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 6:57 PM 0 comments