The Story of Football's Greatest Ever Game

The 1970 World Cup: A Journey Through the Heat and History

As the 1970 World Cup kicked off in Mexico, many feared that the blistering heat would drain the energy out of the tournament. Noon kick-offs were scheduled to accommodate European viewers, but under the Mexican sun, concerns loomed large. Early matches seemed to confirm the worst, with a dreary 0-0 draw between Mexico and the USSR in front of 107,000 passionate fans setting a somber tone. However, as the tournament unfolded, it would become a World Cup remembered not for the heat, but for its sizzling football.

The Introduction of Red and Yellow Cards: A New Era for Fair Play

The 1970 World Cup also marked the debut of red and yellow cards, an innovation that added structure and discipline to the game. After the notoriously rough 1966 World Cup, where refereeing was criticized for allowing overly physical play, the introduction of these cards offered a new form of protection for players. The result? A cleaner, more attacking style of football. Remarkably, no players were sent off during the entire tournament, suggesting the cards had an immediate impact on the sport.

Brazil’s Quest for Glory: The Rise of a Football Dynasty

Brazil’s journey through the 1970 World Cup was nothing short of spectacular. Scoring 19 goals in six matches, their attacking prowess was unmatched. Pelé, who had been so disillusioned by rough play in the 1966 World Cup that he briefly retired from international football, returned with a vengeance. His moments of brilliance, including his iconic non-goal against Uruguay, where he dummied the goalkeeper but narrowly missed, became the stuff of legend.

Brazil’s final victory, a 4-1 dismantling of Italy, cemented their place in history as one of the greatest teams ever. Pelé's header opened the scoring, and late goals from Gérson, Jairzinho, and Carlos Alberto’s thunderous strike put the finishing touches on a masterful campaign.

The Semifinal Thriller: Italy vs. West Germany

While Brazil was dominant, the best match of the tournament was arguably the semifinal between Italy and West Germany. It was a game for the ages, featuring dramatic goals, a dislocated shoulder for Franz Beckenbauer, and five goals in extra time. Italy eventually triumphed 4-3, but the match, dubbed the "Game of the Century," remains etched in the annals of World Cup history.

The Legacy of 1970: The World Cup that Defied Expectations

The 1970 World Cup was a tournament that defied the predictions of doom and gloom. Far from being stifled by the heat, the competition came alive with thrilling football, memorable moments, and unforgettable performances. From the introduction of red and yellow cards to Brazil’s rise as a footballing superpower, Mexico 1970 left an indelible mark on the sport. As we look back, we remember not just the heat of the Mexican sun but the fire and passion of the players who lit up the world stage.

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Transcript

There were concerns going into the 1970 World Cup that the tournament might be frazzled by the Mexican sun. Early kick-offs were at noon, when it was particularly hot, to accommodate evening viewing times in Europe. 

Some of the early matches seemed to bear out the doom-laded predictions. In front of mainly 107 000 rowdy locals, Mexico drew nil-nil with the USSR in the tournament’s opening game. 

In the group featuring Italy, Sweden, Uruguay and Israel – there were 16 teams in four groups of four at the Mexico World Cup – six matches produced a meagre six goals. 

There were some astonishingly gifted teams at the Mexico World Cup – think of Brazil, West Germany and World Cup holders, England – but they clearly needed time to find their feet. When they did find their feet, now that would be interesting. 

It would be best foot forward. The whole tournament would be on a firmer footing. And everyone could head into the future feet first.

Running counter to early tournament fears that the heat would blight attacking play, was the introduction of red and yellow cards for referees for the first time. Generally lax refereeing in the previous World Cup in England meant fractious matches and flippant fouling. There was generalized unhappiness from teams who wanted to score goals. 

A black-and-white photograph from the legendarily ill-tempered England versus Argentina match in 1966, shows England’s George Cohen swapping his jersey with an Argentine player. Cohen’s manager, Sir Alf Ramsey, is trying to stop him. “No, George, you can’t swap jerseys with an animal,” Ramsey is alleged to have told his player. 

There is another interpretation. Looking carefully at the photo suggests that Cohen might have reached the same conclusion independently of his gaffer’s prompting. It isn’t a jersey swap, rather it’s the reversal of a swap – the grumpy jersey give-back. 

I gave it to you, sure, in hope of getting your jersey in return, but I changed my mind – can I have mine back? You want yours back? Well give me mine back first. 

So disillusioned was Pelé with the treatment defenders meted out to him in the 1966 World Cup, that he retired. After a two-year international sabbatical Pelé was persuaded back, but it set a worrying precedent. You didn’t want a player folk came to see not being where they expected him to be. The authorities took note. 

Red and yellow cards might not put an end to roguery but they would offer gifted players protection. They might also act as a deterrent. As it happened, no-one was sent off in the 1970 tournament, so perhaps the introduction of cards achieved their desired effects? And maybe they helped to provide the tournament with some of its early momentum? 

The six goals in Italy’s group appeared to be the exception that proved the rule as the World Cup progressed. Elsewhere in the tournament Brazil beat Romania 3-2; West Germany beat Bulgaria 5-2; Mexico beat El Salvador 4-0 and the Soviet Union beat Belgium 4-1. 

Noon kick-offs or not, the tournament was hotting up.

It transpired that Mexico 1970 never cooled down. Football temperatures just kept on rising. The four quarter-finals, for example, served up 17 piping hot goals, slightly over four goals per game. Between them the two semi-finals netted – a good word, don’t you think – 11 goals, with seven in one of them. It’s a match to which we’ll come shortly, but whichever way you look at it, 11 goals in two semi-finals represents value for money.

Memory is both personal and collective, both idiosyncratic and broad, and so we remember many of the same things about the 1970 World Cup in Mexico, but many different things, too. 

We remember Brazil’s butter-yellow shirts and pastel blue shorts. We remember Italy’s dark blue shirts and white shorts; we remember England’s white and light blue. We remember Gordon Banks’s incredible save from Pele’s downward header in the England versus Brazil quarter-final.

Some of us might even remember Juanito, the cheery, but disturbingly flat-footed Mexican mascot in his shrunken green shirt. Wanting to give the impression of representing something fundamentally Mexican, Juanito was happy, scantily-clad and wore an out-sized sombrero. 

There was even a themed Mexico World Cup song. It’s all you might expect. Here’s a cheeky snippet just so you can get into the Mexican mood. 

We remember the Adidas-designed ball with the 20 hexagonal white panels and the 12 pentagonal black panels. It was known, if these things are important to you, as the Telstar, and was so designed to aid viewing if you were watching the football on a black-and-white television. The six-sided white panels were meant to contrast nicely with the five-sided black ones, making it easier to spot the ball.

But what you remember most about the 1970 World Cup is its emptiness. Space was huge in 1970 – a really a big thing. Everyone was into it. Everyone needed it and couldn’t get enough of it. 

You might not see a defender days on end. It was as though defenders were operating in a different universe, to a different timetable. Looking back at the highlights on YouTube, you realise that everyone has so much space. Even the Telstar has the requisite space in which to do its thing.

The Brazilians were so into space that prior to the tournament they followed a NASA-designed training program. Their exploration of space on the pitch was pretty nifty too. 

Far from living up to early expectations that the Mexican heat would take the sting out of the football, Brazilian goals fell like rain. Eight in the group stages, four in the quarters, three in the semi, four in the final against Italy. All in all, they scored 19 goals in their six World Cup matches, which wasn’t too shabby at all.

Brazil was the best side, with the best players. They wore the best kit. They played the most attractive football. And did so in the heat. They were so good that even goals they didn’t score stuck in the memory. 

In their 3-1 victory over Uruguay in the semi-final, Pelé received a diagonal pass from his left, but instead of intercepting the pass shortly before the arrival of the charging ‘keeper, he dummied it, sprinting around the ‘keeper to collect the ball. This, however, proved too much for him. The angle was to too acute. And Pelé failed to score. It was the best goal Brazil never scored and everybody loved it.

While Brazil might have been the best at many things in Mexico in 1970, they probably didn’t play in the best game. That honour fell to Italy and West Germany, who played a cracker of a semi-final at the Azteca Stadium in Mexico City. 

The West Germans weren’t very West German in Mexico, at least not in attitude. They conceded goals but scored more, a principle their fans mostly loved. They beat Morocco 2-1, Peru 3-1 and Bulgaria in the final game to take them to the quarters, where they controversially beat England 3-2 in extra-time. 

Italy’s path to the semi-finals was different. As if in a leisurely siesta, they opened their campaign with consecutive 0-0 draws. The first was against Uruguay – a pretty decent side, it must be said – so was in no way shameful. But their second 0-0 draw was against Israel, not a mighty side. 

Italy seemed to walk themselves out of sleep – not too energetically, mind you – with a 1-0 win over Sweden in their final group game before thumping the hosts 4-1 in the quarters to approach the semi with a gathering head of steam. 

Given West Germany’s reputation for freewheeling brilliance and Italy’s reputation for pretty much the opposite, it came as a surprise in the semi-final that Italy scored first. Roberto Boninsegna worked a one-two on the edge of the West Germany area and fired a left-footed shot which deflected off the inside of Sepp Maier’s upright into the far corner of the West German goal.

Try as they might, West Germany couldn’t equalize. Franz Beckenbauer surged into the Italian penalty area from deep and was brought down. He claimed a penalty which wasn’t given. Wolfgang Overath hit the crossbar. Italian defender Roberto Rosato cleared off the line. 

Enrico Albertosi pulled off some miraculous saves but also led a charmed life in the Italy goal. On one occasion, he hoofed a clearance kick into the back of a retreating West German forward. The ball bobbled agonizingly toward the line but didn’t cross it. His goalmouth seemed bewitched.

With the semi-final a minute from being over, the German Jurgen Grabowski crossed left-footed from the Italian right. It was one of those crosses that fells uncannily into contested territory like a frog jumping into the middle of a pond. 

The Italian goal-keeper, Albertosi, seemed unsure of whether to claim the ball but probably should have, because he was closest to it. But West German defender Karl-Heinz Schnellinger was closer. He pounced from close, stubbing it across the line as the semi-final moved into extra-time. 

The goal has entered German sporting folklore. Schnellinger was a defender, so didn’t score many goals, but he was also a defender who played his domestic football for AC Milan – where, of course, he didn’t score very many goals. The fact that he had scored – for West Germany against Italy – inspired commentator, Ernst Huberty, to say, almost in perplexity: “Schnellinger, of all people.” 

Huberty, who was of mixed German and Luxembourgish ancestry, was a feature of West German sporting life in the 1970s. He had his own show on national TV. 

There is a tendency of people closely associated with high-profile sport to be a bit sniffy and proprietorial about it. It was as if Schnellinger hadn’t read the script – he had dared score. The anecdote becomes tastier. Schnellinger never scored for West Germany again. But he did score the crucial goal that no-one else scored. The goal that took their World Cup semi-final at the Azteca Stadium into extra-time.

The semi-final was a match of regulation time and extra-time, neither bearing much resemblance to each other. If the teams – particularly West Germany – struggled to score in the first half, both teams struggled to defend in extra-time. 

First to score with the teams locked at 1-1 was West Germany. Indecision in failing to clear a corner cost the Italians dear; they couldn’t control a bouncing ball and suddenly Gerd Muller had snuck in and toed the ball across the line with Albertosi and his defenders looking at each other as if to say, “I thought you were dealing with it?”

The ball bounced quite a bit in the rarified altitude and heat of Mexico, more so than perhaps players thought it would. The Italian defenders, and, of course, Albertosi, seemed particularly tempted by its whims and caprices. They got themselves into many a muddle. Looking back it’s surprising that West Germany took so long to equalize in regulation time, so many comic capers were there in front of the Italian goals.

Ball-watching aside, Italy equalized shortly afterwards. With one casually sublime step Gianni Rivera lobbed the a free-kick into the West German box. Sigi Held seemed to mis-judge the pace at which the ball was hit despite his back-pedal, and when he discovered he wasn’t going to be able to head it away, he sort-of shot out an ineffectual arm. 

Italy might have had a plausible shout for a handball but it didn’t matter because Tarcisio Burgnich, the defender, was able to take advantage of what, in effect, amounted to a pass from the West German substitute, and rifle home the equalizer from close. 2-2.

There was something tired about Italy’s second goal. And something tired about West Germany’s defending, which was sloppy and out-of-character. It was an incredibly tired passage of play, possibly rendered more tired by the fact that everyone realised that they weren’t out of their misery yet. 

The heat tires you. A World Cup semi-final that is tied at 2-all makes you tired. But what tires you even more than these two things makes is the expectation of exertions to come. That’s truly exhausting. It’s enough to get you to ask about being substituted, although Franz Beckenbauer was obliged to stay on, despite a dislocated shoulder, because West Germany had already used up her two substitutes.

The next score was Italy’s. Breaking up a West Germany attack on their left, Rivera swept the ball out of defence to his left-winger, Angelo Domenghini. The winger crossed to Gigi Riva, a comparative rarity amongst footballers of the time because he was left-footed. Riva controlled the cross with and angled instep and, with his toes flicked the ball further to his left. 

The flick was beautifully counter-intuitive because it took the ball away from goal. It also took the West Germany defender totally out of the equation because he – in his tiredness – was expecting a more direct approach from Riva.

With the defender out of the picture, Riva lined up his left-footed shot. His angle was spot-on. He fired a diagonal shot powerfully across Sepp Maier in the West German goal as the ball hit the back of the net just inside the Germany left-hand upright. 3-2 to Italy. We can hear the commentary snippet about the passage which led to Italy’s third goal right here. 

A child of the north, Riva was sold to Cagliari [Kag-lee-are-ree] in Sardinia at a young age. Other players might have sulked, seeing it as a demotion to the provinces, but Riva embraced the club and his new fans. He helped Cagliari gain promotion to Serie A in 1964 as the second-placed side to Varese and, in the 1969/70 season, inspired them to the Serie A title. 

His stay at Cagliari had all the hallmarks of a love affair. The love deepened when other suitors came to Sardinia. They made promises. They flaunted confections and baubles. Riva and the club would not budge. They were betrothed. 

There is a memory-game played in Italy by football-mad men. It consists of naming say, famous Italian teams, like the team in the match under consideration here. When the great Italian teams have been mentioned, player for player, the lens is narrowed. The men might be required, say, to name, player-for-player, the tragic Torino team who all died in the infamous air disaster of May 1949, on the way home from Lisbon where they’d just played in a friendly against Benfica. Other, less well-known teams might be rattled off verbatim. A Parma team, a Sampdoria team, a Lazio or Napoli team. Cagliari fans, needless to say, know the Scudetto-winning team of Riva off-by-heart.

Held, meanwhile, was proving to be an inspired substitution for West Germany. He had fresh legs. He ran at the tired Italian defenders. West Germany forced a corner. From another – again the impression is one of fatigue – Muller exploited indecision in Italian defensive ranks to pounce on a header across the Italian goalmouth from close. It was 3-all with only ten minutes of extra-time left. When was this match going to end?   

A truism, yes, a cliché, undoubtedly, but good teams find ways to win. Boninsegna, who scored Italy’s first goal, managed to weasel his way past West Germany defender Willi Schulz. With a yard or two on Schulz, Boninsegna hared for the West German goals, but the angle was narrow. 

He crossed intelligently, to the back of the box, to the very place the retreating defenders and defensive midfielders didn’t think the ball would go. Rivera was coming up in support and found the ball at his feet. He stroked it into the back of the net from range. Extra-time had resulted in five goals. Italy was through to the final.

Italy might have been through to the final but, in a way, they’d played their final. They’d taken the lead, drawn to level matters at 2-2 and taken the lead again through the Riva goal before Muller scored his second. Just when you thought it was going to penalties, so Rivera popped up in the box. Maier dived one way, but the regal Italian substitute was canny. He fired his shot the other way. 

Coming on for Mazzola in the 46th minute of the semi-final, Rivera, the son of a railway worker, played a part in Italy’s second and third goal, scoring their decisive fourth. Going into the final he might just have expected to play but Ferruccio Valcareggi, the Italian manager, was having none of it. 

Valcareggi had started with Mazzola in the semi-final, and would start with Mazzola in the final. Rivera would have to wait his turn. That matters between him, a Milan player, and Mazzola, an Inter player, were strained, didn’t help matters in the slightest.

Mazzola had his supporters. He also had a superb Italian football pedigree. Sandro’s father was Valentino Mazzola, who was one of the premier players of the immediate post-Second World War period. Valentino lost his life in the Torino air disaster we heard about earlier, when the plane bringing them back from a friendly in Portugal ploughed into the foot of a basilica in heavy fog. 

By picking Sandro for the final was coach Valcareggi pandering to sentiment? It is difficult to say for sure but it is strange that Rivera only made an appearance in the final in the 84th minute, coming on for Boninsegna, after he played such an important part in the semi-final. Mazzola, as it happens, played in every minute of the final.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Brazil, a team who had been hacked out of the 1966 World Cup in England, returned in the Mexican heat to capture the World Cup title they held in 1962. They did so emphatically, winning the final against Italy 4-1 thanks to Pelé’s pop-up header and goals late in the match to Gérson, Jairzinho and an absolute stonker from Carlos Alberto.

Italy had played their final, Brazil had won hers. And the competition ended with no-one having any concerns about noon starts because it was the competition itself that really started hotting up.