Podcast Episode 7: Chile, 1962 A nation is devastated by a natural disaster. And rebuilds in time to host the most violent tournament in world cup history. Football’s shining star goes out to injury… and an unlikely hero steps out from behind his
shadow.
This is the story of a country rebuilding more than just its stadiums. This is the story of Chile… in 1962.
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. Brazil had done it. Against the weight of expectation and the ghosts of the Maracanazo, they had come out victorious
and
returned
home
as
heroes.
And now, for only the third time in its history, the world's greatest football tournament was
heading
to
South
America.
It was going to Chile. Chile is a beautiful country. Impossibly long and narrow, squeezed between the Andes mountains
and
the
Pacific
Ocean.
It
stretches
nearly
four
and
a
half
thousand
kilometres
from
top
to
bottom.
You
could
fit
the
whole
of
Europe
inside
it
and
still
have
room
left
over.
A
land
of
ice
and
fire,
volcanoes
and
thermal
springs.
It was not an obvious choice to host a World Cup.
It wasn’t wealthy, not a football powerhouse. Its stadiums were modest and its infrastructure,
in
many
parts,
was
basic.
But it used that as its argument. When main rivals Argentina claimed that they had everything they needed to start a World
Cup
tomorrow,
Carlos
Dittborn,
the
man
heading
Chile’s
bid
said,
“Because
we
have
nothing,
we
want
to
do
everything.”
It was a strange tactic. But it worked. So, Chile got to work creating the infrastructure it needed. And in May 1960, the strongest earthquake ever recorded in human history struck its southern
coast.
A 9.6 magnitude quake that collapsed buildings, triggered tsunamis and wiped out entire
towns.
Shocked and grief-stricken, the country began its recovery. People who had lost everything were relocated. Schools, roads, bridges, hospitals and homes
were
rebuilt.
And people assumed the World Cup would be moved. Chile couldn’t possibly cope with the
challenge
of
such
a
grand
project
as
it
fought
to
recover
from
such
widescale
destruction.
Could it? Well, apparently it could. Because the World Cup stayed. Venues and host cities were scaled down, plans were changed.
But
they
weren’t
scrapped
for
an
alternative.
It wasn’t going to be a tournament of beauty. Not like 1958. This one would be harder. Rougher. Meaner. But it would go ahead. Welcome to File Seven. Chile, 1962. Where football got ugly.
LET'S TAKE A LOOK AT THE KEY FACTS [Slightly clipped voice, like reading a dossier] 16 teams. 32 matches. 89 goals. Played between the 30th of May and the 17th of June. The top scorers? Not just one this time — six different players, all tied on four goals. And the winner? Brazil. Beating Czechoslovakia 3-1 in the final.
The Contenders The format that had worked in Sweden would work here too – the delightfully simple four
groups
of
four.
Defending champions Brazil were back. And their squad had the feel of a dynasty in the making.
Garrincha. Didi. Vavá. Zagallo. And Pelé. A literal handful of famous names. Pelé was 21 now. No longer the prodigy who had appeared from nowhere in Sweden. He was
the
best
player
on
the
planet,
and
everyone
knew
it.
It wasn’t a question of whether he would shine. The question was, how brightly? And the world
couldn’t
wait
for
him
to
answer.
The Soviet Union were hoping to build on their impressive debut in Sweden, strong and organised.
West Germany, recent champions, were keen to win back momentum. And England, making their third appearance, were still searching for the kind of form that
would
make
the
world
take
notice.
After their embarrassing run of tantrums, Argentina were finally ready to let bygones be bygones
and
get
back
on
the
pitch.
Hosts Chile intended to make the most of the home advantage in a way that nobody had quite
anticipated.
And there was Czechoslovakia, arriving quietly, as teams from Eastern Europe often did. Underestimated,
purposeful,
and
completely
unbothered
by
the
fact
that
nobody
was
paying
them
the
slightest
bit
of
attention.
Nobody was talking about Czechoslovakia. Not yet.
The Group Stage Before we get to what happened on the pitch, we need to talk about what happened off it.
Because this tournament was shadowed, from almost the very first day, by something that
had
nothing
to
do
with
football.
In the build-up to the tournament, several Italian newspapers had published articles describing
both
Chile
and
its
people
in
deeply
unflattering
terms.
Chileans were, understandably, furious. And, as luck or fate or the Gods of footballing drama would have it, Chile and Italy had been
drawn
in
the
same
group.
So, on June 2nd, when Italy arrived to play their group game against the hosts in Santiago,
they
were
met
with
an
atmosphere
that
had
moved
several
degrees
beyond
hostile.
What followed couldn't really be described as a football match. The Battle of Santiago, as it came to be known, featured fighting that began almost before
the
opening
whistle.
Two Italian players were sent off in the first 12 minutes. There were flying elbows, karate kicks and fists thrown with purpose.
The Chilean players stamped, the Italian players retaliated, and the referee — an English official
named
Ken
Aston — spent
more
time
separating
combatants
than
watching
the
football.
He actually had to be escorted off the pitch by police at full-time! Ken Aston was so shaken by the experience of trying to control that match that he went home
and
invented
something.
He
sat
at
a
set
of
traffic
lights
and
thought:
red
means
stop.
Yellow
means
slow
down.
And in the time it took for his light to turn green, the yellow and red card system was born!
So in a deeply twisted way, we have the Battle of Santiago to thank for one of the sport's most
enduring
features.
Chile won the match 2-0. Italy went home early. And the tournament moved on, shaken but intact. Brazil, meanwhile, were doing what Brazil did. They topped their group, beating Mexico 2-0 and Spain 2-1. Their other group match was a 0-0 draw against Czechoslovakia. The match was pretty unremarkable,
with
commentators
saying
that
both
teams
looked
like
they
were
saving
something
for
another
day.
It was unremarkable, but impactful. Because in that match, Pelé tore a muscle in his groin. And in the moment that he collapsed under the pain of his injury, his tournament, as a player,
was
over.
In some kind of weird synchrony, the boy who had missed the first two matches in 1958 became
the
man
who
only
played
the
first
two
matches
in
1962.
Brazil would have to go on without him. Into his place stepped a man with a left leg longer than his right. Garrincha. Little Bird. His full name was Manoel Francisco dos Santos. But nobody called him that.
He had been born with a spine curved to the right. His left leg bent inward. His right leg bent
outward.
Doctors
had
told
his
family
that
he
would
struggle
to
walk
normally,
let
alone
run.
But he did run. And not in a way that defenders could read. Opponents saw him coming. They braced. They readied themselves for a tackle. And then
they
were
left
staring
at
the
space
where
he
had
been
half
a
second
earlier
as
he
went
the
other
way.
He had always been extraordinary. But he had always played in Pelé's long-reaching shadow.
Now,
Garrincha
was
free
to
step
into
the
light.
Brazil weren't diminished without Pelé. They were different. Looser. More chaotic. But in the best possible way. And Garrincha was unstoppable.
The Knockouts
In the quarter-finals, England faced Brazil. And England did what England often do at World Cups: they showed enormous promise.
They competed bravely. And then lost. Brazil won 3-1. Garrincha scored two incredible goals. The first was a header, clean and precise. The second was a shot that bent so viciously in the air that the English goalkeeper simply
didn't
know
where
it
was
going.
He
positioned
him
perfectly
and
then
watched
as
the
ball
rewrote
the
laws
of
aerodynamics
and
flew
past
him. Meanwhile, Chile's run continued to delight the home crowd and surprise everyone else.
They beat the Soviet Union 2-1 in the quarter-finals, with goals greeted by a noise so enormous
it
seemed
to
physically
shake
the
stadium
walls.
The host nation had never got this far before. The entire country was captivated. Their left winger was Leonel Sánchez. He was sharp, quick and utterly committed to the cause.
He spent about as much time during the tournament proving that he could handle himself
in
a
fight
as
handle
a
football.
The
Battle
of
Santiago
had
set
a
tone
for
the
hosts’
approach
to
physical
confrontation.
And
Sánchez
embraced
it
enthusiastically.
In all fairness, he scored four goals.
Semi-Finals In the semi-finals, Brazil faced Chile. Home advantage versus defending champions. A crowd desperate for a miracle versus a team
that
had
created
one
four
years
earlier.
It wasn't close. Brazil won 4-2, with Garrincha scoring twice more. But there was a moment at minute 84 that almost changed everything. Brazil were comfortably
ahead,
a
place
in
the
final
within
reach.
And Garrincha, frustrated by a foul, kicked out at a Chilean player. Can you believe it? You’re minutes from a place in the final! Keep your head, for crying out loud Garrincha! The referee saw it. And he was sent off. Brazil's greatest remaining player. Gone. With a final to play.
The stadium broke into chaos, and Garrincha walked off the pitch pelted with objects from
the
crowd.
But not for long. A quick review by FIFA overturned his dismissal. To the delight of Brazil, he would play the
final
after
all.
In the other semi-final, Czechoslovakia had quietly and efficiently beaten Yugoslavia 3-1.
Nobody had seen it coming. In fact, almost nobody had seen it at all. Because the match was taking place while the world
was
watching
Garrincha's
antics
in
the
other
semi.
But there they were. Czechoslovakia in a World Cup final.
The Final June 17th, 1962 Sixty-eight thousand people gathered at the Estadio Nacional in Santiago. It was the largest
crowd
Chile
had
ever
assembled
for
a
football
match.
Brazil wore yellow and Czechoslovakia wore red. I like to think that FIFA had learned their lesson from 1958 and checked with each team in
advance.
As the starting whistle was blown, it seemed to many people that the match was just a formality.
There
wasn’t
a
lot
of
doubt
among
the
onlooking
crowd
that
Brazil
could
secure
their
second
trophy.
Only they didn’t play like they believed that themselves. They started sloppily, their nerves showing. And Czechoslovakia - organised and completely unintimidated - were happy to take advantage.
At minute 15, midfielder Josef Masopust collected a through ball inside the Brazilian penalty
area.
He
took
one
touch
to
control
it,
and
then
slid
it
past
the
goalkeeper
with
a
cool
precision
that
suggested
he
did
this
every
Thursday
afternoon
in
training.
1-0! Czechoslovakia were leading in a World Cup final!
The Estadio Nacional fell into a stunned silence. And that lasted approximately two minutes. Because at minute 17, a mistake by the usually flawless Czech keeper allowed Amarildo to
score
with
a
shot
from
the
tightest
of
angles.
Amarildo
was
Pele’s
replacement
just
FYI.
A
man
who
had
spent
the
entire
tournament
carrying
the
weight
of
that
comparison.
He didn't flinch. He squeezed it in. 1-1. The dam had broken. Brazil were back. Aren’t they great under pressure? In the second half, Brazil seemed to find themselves. The tension they had carried for the
first
45
minutes
drained
away,
and
in
its
place
came
the
fluid,
dangerous
football
that
had
got
them
this
far.
In minute 69, Zito headed in a corner to make it 2-1. Brazil 2, Czechoslovakia 1. The stadium shook. And with 13 minutes left on the clock, Vavá, composed and ruthless, controlled a cross on
his
chest,
watched
it
drop,
and
volleyed
it
into
the
net.
It was a goal that felt a bit like a full stop at the end of a sentence. 3-1. Brazil were world champions again. For the second time in a row, the Jules Rimet Trophy was heading to Rio de Janeiro. At the final whistle, the Brazilian players embraced. Some sank to their knees. Some wept. Garrincha — suspended, reinstated and magnificent — was at the centre of it all, grinning
the
grin
of
a
man
who
knows
exactly
what
he
has
just
done.
The Aftermath
Brazil had won back-to-back World Cups. The only country to do so since Italy had won in
1934
and
1938.
But the story of Chile 1962 is not just Brazil's story. It is Garrincha's story — his tournament more than anyone's. He scored four goals and created countless more. He had stepped out of Pelé's shadow and
shown
the
world
something
it
would
never
forget.
A baby born with a spinal defect that curved his spine to the right. Doctors had told his family
he
would
struggle
to
walk
normally.
But
he
went
on
to
become
one
of
the
greatest
footballers
who
ever
lived.
What a hero! It is the story of Czechoslovakia, who arrived unnoticed and left having reached a World Cup
final.
Their
midfielder
Josef
Masopust,
as
elegant
in
defeat
as
in
victory.
He
would
go
on
to
collect
the
European
Footballer
of
the
Year
award
at
the
end
of
the
season.
The world had noticed. Better late than never. It is the story of a country that absorbed a natural disaster and hosted a World Cup anyway.
Modest venues. Mountain roads. A population that fell in love with a tournament that had
been
dropped
into
its
lap
at
the
worst
possible
moment,
and
made
everything
just
slightly
more
bearable.
And it’s the story of a man who hadn’t lived to see it. Carlos Dittborn, the man who had stood up to the doubters and critics and convinced FIFA
that
Chile
should
host
the
1962
World
Cup.
He
died
of
heart
failure
six
weeks
before
the
first
match
was
played.
He
was
only
38
years
old.
It is a story about what football can be, at its best. Not just a game. Not just a show. A reason. A reason for a broken country to rebuild. A reason to believe that something as ridiculous
and
unnecessary
as
sport
can
hold
things
together
when
almost
nothing
else
can.
Chile had nothing. And they did everything.
Now, how about some mindblowing facts that you won’t find in the main story? Fact 1: The 1962 World Cup had six joint top scorers — all on 4 goals each.
Fact 2: Garrincha was the first player ever sent off in a World Cup semi-final, but the call
was
quickly
overturned.
Was
that
because
of
FIFA’s
fear
of
losing
their
star
attraction?
We’ll
never
know.
Fact 3: The Battle of Santiago is widely considered the most violent match in World Cup history.
Italian
defender
Mario
David
was
sent
off
for
a
karate
kick
to
the
head.
Although
to
be
fair,
he
had
just
been
slapped
across
the
face.
Fact 4: Pelé never scored in the 1962 World Cup. He played two group games, tore a groin
muscle,
and
watched
the
rest
from
the
sidelines.
Fact 5: Chile pulled off a spectacular tournament just two years after one of the most destructive
natural
disasters
in
human
history.
Carlos
Dittborn
was
right
-
they
really
did
do
everything. 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. And if you’ve got thirty seconds, a five star review on Apple Podcasts helps more people
find
us! Next time: England, 1966. A home World Cup… a dramatic final… and a goal that would
be
argued
about
for
generations. I’ll see you there. File closed.