Podcast Episode 1: Uruguay 1930 Two rival teams argue over which ball to use… and end up playing with both. Thousands of fans cross a river in boats, desperate to witness history being made. And a one-armed footballer scores in the final minute of the biggest match in the world. This is not a movie. This is the story of the very first World Cup. And it all began in Uruguay… in 1930. Welcome to The World Cup Files! Are you ready to travel back in time and relive the greatest moments in football history? From dramatic finals to unbelievable goals, each episode tells the story of one World Cup — the
heroes,
the
villains,
and
the
moments
no
one
saw
coming.
So grab your boots… it’s time to kick off our journey through the World Cup! I’m Aileen, and this is The World Cup Files. Sit back, close your eyes and imagine a world without TV. Without smartphones and internet. And worse… without international football. How awful would that be? Well, that's basically how the world looked in 1930. Back then, the only international football tournament was within the Olympic Games. And
professionals
weren't
allowed
to
take
part!
That
meant
that
anyone
good
enough
at
football
to
actually
be
paid
to
play
it
for
a
living
was
out. The men — and it really only was men — running a little organisation called FIFA back then
thought
that
this
was
outrageous.
How
could
countries
put
forward
their
best
teams
when
their
strongest
players
weren't
even
allowed
to
play? So, they had an idea. A new tournament with new rules. They'd hold it in Uruguay, because Uruguay were the undisputed champions of the moment — back-to-back
Olympic
trophy
holders.
And
the
country
was
willing
to
build
a
brand
new
stadium
to
host
it.
It
was
perfect!
This was getting exciting. The world was going to love it. So, FIFA sent out invitations to every footballing nation on earth, anticipation building as the
tournament
drew
near. But most of the big European nations said no. Too far, they said. Too expensive. Uruguay offered to pay for their travel and their accommodation! How generous was that?
They
couldn't
possibly
say
no,
now! But they did. It's not worth the trouble, they said. The journey's too long. We can't take that much time away
from
our
leagues,
our
jobs,
our
families. In the end, thirteen countries took part. Thirteen! Out of those thirteen, one team would make history. One final would be played with two different
balls.
One
player
with
one
arm
would
score
a
goal
that
changed
everything. And the World Cup — the greatest show on earth — would never be ignored again. Welcome to File One. Uruguay, 1930. Where it all began. LET’S TAKE A LOOK AT THE KEY FACTS Thirteen teams. Eighteen matches. Seventy goals. Winner: Uruguay — four goals to two against Argentina in the final. Top scorer: Guillermo Stabile of Argentina, with eight goals. And the very first goal in World Cup history — scored by France's Lucien Laurent, in the nineteenth
minute
of
the
very
first
match,
on
the
thirteenth
of
July,
1930. [Warm, back to storytelling voice for the next section.] SO, WHO SHOWED UP? In the end, four European teams did come — France, Belgium, Romania and Yugoslavia. Romania only came because their King personally ordered his players to go and gave them
three
months
off
work.
The
King
actually
chose
the
squad
himself.
Imagine
your
headteacher
picking
your
school
team
and
then
telling
your
parents
you'd
be
away
for
three
months.
That
is
essentially
what
happened.
One African team made the decision to go — Egypt. But their team was delayed by a storm
on
their
way
to
catch
their
ship
to
South
America,
and
it
left
without
them!
Can
you
imagine
the
disappointment? The rest came from the Americas. The USA and Mexico from the north, and Argentina, Bolivia,
Brazil,
Chile,
Paraguay
and
Peru
from
further
south. None of the journeys were easy. Except maybe Argentina's — they only had to cross the
River
Plate
to
get
there. You can imagine the relief of the European players. 15 days at sea. Surrounded by their smelly teammates. (Smile in voice here) The excitement to see Uruguay’s new Estadio Centenario, due to be christened by their first
matches!
Only… it wasn’t quite ready. And while builders furiously hammered stands into place, erected
goals
and
hung
nets,
the
first
matches
had
to
be
played
in
other
places.
But honestly, nobody cared. Because even then, those players, coaches and fans had a sense that they were taking part
in
something
very
special.
While those other teams painstakingly made their way to Montevideo, the Uruguayan team
were
in
a
strict
training
camp,
being
primed
for
victory.
It
was
so
strict,
that
these
grown
men
were
forbidden
from
leaving
their
hotel
between
10:30
each
night
and
8
o’clock
each
morning.
One night their goalkeeper Andrés Mazali snuck out to go on a date… cheeky. He was caught trying to sneak back in… [Beat.] And he was kicked off the team. He’d represented Uruguay at the 1924 and the 1928 Olympics and had two gold medals to
show
for
his
efforts!
And
he
never
played
for
Uruguay
again. That was it! Career over! THE GROUP STAGE There were no play-offs, no quallies. No need with only thirteen teams. They were split into four groups, with each team playing every other team in their group. The
highest-scoring
team
from
each
group
advanced
straight
into
the
semi-finals.
The organisation wasn't always polished. In one match between Argentina and Mexico, a
Bolivian
coach
was
allowed
to
double
as
a
referee.
He
seemed
to
rather
enjoy
it.
He
awarded
three
penalties. All to Argentina. Make of that what you will. Of all the teams in the draw, expectation was probably lowest for the USA. Football wasn't
really
their
sport — they
didn't
even
call
it
football.
But
the
United
States
was
a
country
of
immigrants,
and
some
of
those
immigrants
came
from
nations
that
took
football
very
seriously
indeed. They were organised, disciplined and quietly excellent. They beat Belgium three — nil. Then Paraguay, three — nil again. Before anyone had noticed, the United States of America had reached the semi-finals of the
very
first
World
Cup. But the whistle was eventually blown on the Americans' spectacular run. Their dreams were
shattered
in
a
six — one
defeat
by
Argentina. Uruguay were equally ruthless on their side of the draw, beating Yugoslavia by exactly the
same
scoreline
-
six-one. Two semi-finals, same score, no argument about who the two best teams in the tournament
were. Argentina and Uruguay. Neighbours. The fiercest of rivals. The final was set. THE FINAL On the morning of the thirtieth of July, 1930, something extraordinary happened on the River
Plate. As Uruguay awoke to host an epic final in their brand new cathedral of a stadium, thousands
of
Argentinians
took
to
the
wide
grey
waters
of
the
river
that
separates
Argentina
from
Uruguay. They came in fishing boats, in ferries, in anything that floated. They were loud and they were
passionate
and
they
were
absolutely
certain
their
team
was
going
to
win.
They
wanted
to
be
there
to
see
it.
Officials searched every single fan as they entered the Estadio Centenario. And they weren't
just
checking
tickets.
They
were
looking
for
weapons.
The
tension
between
Argentina
and
Uruguay
was
that
intense. This was not just a football match. It felt like a war fought with a ball. And on the subject of balls, there was a problem. Both teams had arrived with their own match ball, and neither would agree to use the other's.
An
argument
broke
out
that
nobody
had
prepared
for. Eventually an official intervened, a coin was tossed, and a decision was made. Argentina's
ball
would
be
used
for
the
first
half.
Uruguay's
for
the
second.
It
seemed
like
a
reasonable
compromise. The match began and Argentina were sharp, fast and dangerous. But in the twelfth minute, Uruguay’s Pablo Dorado picked up the ball wide on the right. He
took
a
touch
forward,
and
then
another.
The
angle
was
too
tight,
surely… He hit it anyway. The ball flashed past the goalkeeper and slammed into the net. One-nil Uruguay! The home crowd erupted into cheers that could be felt across the water in Buenos Aires.
But Argentina steadied themselves and struck back, fast and direct. In the 20th minute, a quick pass through the middle split the Uruguayan defence. Carlos Peucelle
ran
onto
it
without
breaking
a
stride… And drove it low past the keeper. 1-1! Could the visitors keep up their momentum? Guillermo Stabile took his chance in the 37th minute. The man who had won a starting place
for
Argentina
because
of
a
star
striker’s
injury
had
already
scored
seven
goals
in
the
tournament.
And this was the perfect time for his 8th. The ball raced down the wing towards the Uruguayan goal, passed high into the penalty box.
Stabile darted between defenders, just on the edge… or maybe just beyond? There was a scramble of arms and legs from both teams as the goalkeeper tried to clear
it.
But
Stabile
was
the
first
to
the
ball.
He
struck
at
his
first
touch.
The net rippled.
But the Uruguayan captain protested. Offside Ref! Foul! The referee shook his head. The
goal
was
allowed.
And at half time, Argentina led 2-1. But a lot can change in the time it takes for players to get hydrated and for goalkeepers to
change
ends.
In
this
case,
that
included
the
ball. A different Uruguay took the field as the second half began. Fiercer. Faster. Hungrier. Pedro Cea equalised in the fifty-seventh minute. Then Santos Iriarte struck at minute sixty-eight
to
make
it
three — two.
Suddenly,
Uruguay
were
ahead.
The
crowd
was
a
wall
of
noise. They needed one more to secure their victory. Could they find it? Enter Héctor Castro. Castro had lost his right hand and forearm as a child, in an accident with an electric saw. New fear realised there. Leave all the saws to the grown-ups kids! They called him El Divino Manco — the Divine One-Armed One. He had refused to let that
or
anything
else
stand
in
his
way.
He
had
made
it
as
a
professional
footballer
against
all
the
odds. He was already a hero. And now, in the eighty-ninth minute… The ball dropped into the box — high and awkward as it dropped between defenders. Castro
moved
first.
One
step
ahead
of
everyone
else.
And one clean strike sent it flying past the keeper. Four — two. The referee blew his whistle. It was over. THE AFTERMATH Uruguay had won the first ever World Cup, in their own stadium, in front of their own fans,
on
their
own
patch
of
South
American
grass. Captain José Nasazzi lifted a golden trophy into the air and more than sixty-eight thousand
people
made
a
noise
that
shook
the
city. The World Cup existed now.
It had a champion. And it had sparked into life with a story that nobody would ever forget. The next morning, the Uruguayan government declared a national holiday. Schools stayed
closed,
businesses
shut
and
people
poured
into
the
streets.
The
party
lasted
for
days. Across the River Plate in Argentina, the mood was entirely different. Argentina declared a national day of mourning. As if someone had died! That's how bad it
was.
The
Uruguayan
embassy
in
Buenos
Aires
had
its
windows
smashed
by
furious
Argentine
fans. The rivalry between the two countries burned hotter than it ever had before. And in Europe, the nations that had refused to make the journey watched the reports come
in
and
felt
something
they
had
not
expected
to
feel. Regret. Perhaps this World Cup mattered after all. And perhaps next time, they would show up. Now, how about some mind-blowing facts that you won’t find in the main story? Fact one. The very first goal in World Cup history was scored by a Frenchman called Lucien Laurent — in
the
nineteenth
minute
of
the
very
first
match.
Laurent
had
no
idea
he'd
scored
the
first
ever
World
Cup
goal
until
journalists
told
him
decades
later.
He
lived
to
the
age
of
ninety-seven. Fact two. Because Uruguay were so desperate for European teams to attend, they offered to cover
all
travel
and
accommodation
costs.
The
total
bill
came
to
around
one
million
gold
francs.
That
is
the
equivalent
of
several
million
pounds
today.
They
paid
it
all.
And
most
of
the
Europeans
still
said
no. Fact three. The Estadio Centenario was built in just eight months — specifically to host the World Cup
final.
It
held
ninety-three
thousand
people
and
was
named
to
celebrate
one
hundred
years
of
Uruguayan
independence.
To
this
day,
it’s FIFA’s only official Historical Monument
of
World
Football.
Fact four. Romania's King Carol the Second didn't just order his players to attend — he personally selected
the
squad,
negotiated
with
their
employers
to
give
them
time
off,
and
guaranteed
their
jobs
would
still
be
there
when
they
came
back.
Royal
management,
essentially. Fact five. The two balls used in the final — one from Argentina, one from Uruguay — were noticeably
different
in
size.
Argentina
led
at
half-time
using
their
ball.
Uruguay
won
the
second
half
using
theirs.
Nobody
has
ever
proved
the
balls
made
a
difference.
But,
it
makes
you
wonder,
right? Fact six. Guillermo Stabile was the tournament’s highest scoring player with 8 goals over 5 matches!
But
he
was
never
selected
to
play
for
Argentina
again.
Nobody
knows
why.
Was
it
because
of
the
controversy
over
his
final
goal?
It’s
been
speculated.
But
we’ll
never
really
know. If you enjoyed this episode, make sure you’re following The World Cup Files — it’s the best
way
to
make
sure
you
don’t
miss
the
next
story.
Next time: Italy, 1934. The World Cup comes to europe for the first time and Italy’s leader
has
already
decided
who’s
going
to
win
it.
I’ll see you there. File closed.