Game Of The Century: The Sweat Merchants (II)

Alf Ramsey

Sir Alf Ramsey, or Alf as he was known during most of his reign, guided little Ipswich Town to Second Division and First Division titles in the early 1960s. He succeeded Walter Winterbottom as England manager, and on 27 February 1963 he sent England out for their first game under his rule. His reign ended in March 1974 when the FA wielded the axe over their world-famous knight. In eleven years, Ramsey led England through 113 games of which only 17 were lost – a truly remarkable record. The Ramsey era had a great effect on English football. He altered the balance of power within the FA and had a lot to do with the end of amateurism. Ramsey gave the England manager’s job a new image and earned the respect of players and administrators alike. Unfortunately, he had little time for the outside world, least of all the media, and therefore had to suffer the abuse which resulted from their frustration at failing to break through the Ramsey barrier of communication.

His thoroughness of preparation and his considerable tactical knowledge also gave the England team a new look. Ramsey did have the distinct advantage of taking control at a time when a new group of world-class players were emerging from domestic football. Around men such as Bobby Moore, Gordon Banks, George Cohen, Bobby Charlton and Alan Ball, Ramsey built his team; a team which would go on to win the 1966 World Cup. The wingless style of play he adopted as the blueprint for success had many critics, even when the title was won. But Ramsey was astute enough to make the best of his players’ strengths, and it paid off. Ramsey's greatest asset was the loyalty of his players. The reason for this was his loyalty to them. He refused to criticise his players in public, left them to enjoy the fruits of success and emerged only to accept the burden of defeat on his own shoulders.

Perhaps his major error was an excess of loyalty. For too long, he attempted to keep together those who had served him best, and the England team grew old together. They came within an inch of reaching the World Cup semi-finals four years later in Leon, Mexico, but this time West Germany extracted revenge for the 1966 defeat by winning 3-2. England’s failure in Mexico marked the beginning of the end of Ramsey’s era. When West Germany again spiked his guns in the 1972 European Championship, the press began howling for blood – Ramsey’s blood. Though his last two years as England manager were by no means unsuccessful in terms of results, they were conducted in the face of an increasing barrage of press criticism.

A remarkable man, he was born in the working class suburbs of Dagenham, East London, yet his clipped speech reminded one of a former public school boy – but then dignity was always high on Ramsey’s list of priorities. He went to the trouble of taking elocution lessons and quickly put his new clipped verse to the test by getting rid of the long-standing selection committee which had dogged Walter Winterbottom during his spell as manager. When Ramsey finally stepped out of the England manager’s job, he did so with the style and dignity which had marked his long and historic reign. Not for him was there any backbiting, story-telling or bitter attacks on his ‘enemies’. He simply thanked his players for their loyalty one by one and turned his back on an England team which was never as successful before he took over and has never since touched his level of success since.

Meanwhile, England’s 3-2 defeat by West Germany back in 1970 had paved the way for Brazil to enter a new era, under a new manager who guided them to a crushing victory over the ultra-defensive Italians in a remarkable final. Mario Lobo Zagalo, former Brazilian World Cup winger, succeeded Joao Saldanha who had been sacked shortly before the 1970 finals because he contemplated dropping Pele! Zagalo used Pele, a brilliant young left-winger called Roberto Rivelino, Tostao, Gerson, Carlos Alberto and Jairzinhio, who scored in every round of the competition including the final. Brazil’s football was a feast of attacking thrills, and for Zagalo victory brought an incredible World Cup ‘treble’. He had played himself in the 1958 and 1962 winning teams and had gone on to lead his country to victory after being in charge only for a matter of weeks.

Nevertheless, a brief glance back through the history of Brazilian managers will reveal that, for every triumphant manager behind a World Cup-winning team, there was a sacked manager who came within months of fulfilling his work before being axed. Oswaldo Brando must hold an all-time world record for having the best managerial record prior to being sacked. In the second half of his 22-game reign, Brazil recorded 12 wins and a 0-0 draw. It was the draw – against lowly Colombia – that sent the press for his throat, branding the result ‘a major disaster’. Brando simply did not know how to handle the political games of Brazilian football. For example, he announced that Francisco Marinho – ‘I consider him too undisciplined for football’, he said – would never play for Brazil again and made this statement two days before the ill-fated Colombia match. The public reaction was one of rampant fury, because the young defender had been one of the few Brazilian footballers admired in every one of the fiercely partisan states.

Helmut Schön

While Ramsey and Zagalo were establishing their reputations, a former bank clerk and industrial foreign correspondent was quietly building an international managerial career which few will better. Helmut Schön did more for German football than any man, either before or after the Second World War. His country is eternally in Schön’s debt, and a detailed breakdown of his life and career proves that point beyond doubt. Born on 15 September, 1915, Schön was brought up in a middle-class background. His father was an art dealer and Helmut proved to be an intelligent child with a sharp mind and a talent for playing football. Eventually he joined Dresdner SC, with whom he won two League Championship medals and two Cup winners medals. A fact not generally known is that Schön won 16 international caps for Germany between 1937 and 1941, scoring 17 goals from inside-forward.

Professional football had not then reached Germany, however, and therefore Schön was able to put both of his considerable talents to use. He studied banking for a number of years before becoming a foreign correspondent. During his travels, he picked up a conversational knowledge of English and French, great assets to him in later years when he became manager of West Germany. When his playing career ended, he became coach to SV Wiesbaden before moving on to become assistant to the national team manager – the great Sepp Herberger – in 1956. One can only speculate as to how much Herberger influenced the young Schön. But one thing is certain: the pupil emulated the master exactly 20 years after the latter’s greatest triumph. Herberger guided West Germany to World Cup success in 1954 and Schön, after leading his nation to the runners-up spot in 1966 and third place in 1970, won the World Cup, in West Germany, in 1974. In between, he won the European Championship in 1972 when West Germany crushed Russia 3-0 in the final. Some say the shadow of the legendary Herberger is that cast by Schön in the sundown hours. He had already announced his retirement before the 1978 Argentina World Cup saw his team knocked out by Austria, but his career was already assured to be celebrated, a national hero, if not a football institution.

The legend tells little of the man or his character. Herberger retired after 28 years as manager, and there was no question as to the name of his successor. Eight years after taking the job of assistant national coach, Helmut Schön became manager of his country. An era had begun that would stretch beyond the limits of all expectations. He knew the players, but he did not deliberately set out to emulate his predecessor. ‘Copies are never as good as the original product’, said Schön, a statement which instantly reminds one of his father’s art dealings. From the beginning, Schön made his own job easy. He made sure he had a press officer available to handle the media. Hating loaded questions, he was hyper-sensitive when tackled with something he considered to be loaded. But unlike the blunt Ramsey, Schön took steps to protect himself from creating what could become a damaging image. So the press officer kept the media happy while Schön got on with his job. Even when he went to Mexico in 1970, a special press officer was appointed. Thus, the Germans became popular for their apparent openness while Ramsey’s England took unmerciful criticism because of their manager’s off-hand manner and cold exterior.

Schön’s football philosophy was based on a central European school of football, which placed ball control and artistry above speed and physical prowess. As we have established, Schön was a player of considerable skill and cunning; without doubt this explains why he preferred players endowed with talent rather than willing workhorses. During his reign, Schön capped players such as Seeler, Beckenbauer, Muller, Overath, Breitner, Hoeness, Netzer, Haller, Heynckes, Bonhof and Holzenbein – all players of individual skill. Ironically, despite his love for skill and flair, Schön was initially a cautious manager with a reputation for careful preparation which allowed few risks. Over the years, and mellowed by the glow of success, Schön relaxed this tight approach, though in his book Always on the Ball he does state:

‘One must prepare scrupulously and convince the players that the correct selection has been made. The candidates for the team should also be quite willing to accept their duties inwardly. I believe that herein lies one of the principal responsibilities of a manager. The team must be convinced that the boss is correct to such an extent that each player should feel that he would have made the same plans and decisions if he were manager… playing systems are only useful if they fit the players available and if they can be turned into practice on the field of play. It is pointless indulging in special plans or methods, no matter how clever or cunning, if the players are not at one’s disposal.’

Schön had a good way with players. His philosophy concerning young players would serve many other managers, sometimes panic-prone and impatient, very well:

‘A young player must be carefully nursed and allowed one, two or even three poor games. It does not matter as long as one is convinced of the young player’s talent.’

To be fair to other managers, however, Schön also had the kind of help Ramsey experienced in that his reign coincided with a period when West German domestic football produced some world-class players. Schön also had a top-class club side to draw on in Bayern Munich, whose key players – Muller, Beckenbauer, Schwarzenbeck and Maier – provided the backbone of the national team.

Helmut Schön was undoubtedly one of the true sweat merchants. Discreet, astute and experienced enough to keep deep emotions to himself – exactly how much he suffered after the 1966 and 1970 disappointments will never be known and what mental agonies he endured during the 1974 series on his own soil before the ultimate relief of success can only be imagined.

Game Of The Century: The Sweat Merchants (I)

Take one strong-willed, intelligent man, add a talent for football and lace it with the ability to organise, select, reject, buy and sell other men, throw in a necessary gift for psychology, psychiatry and leader-ship – and you have a football manager. Football managers are the sweat merchants, the Svengalis of modern football. On the international stage, they take the cream of a nation’s players and attempt to weld them into a winning team – or accept the frightening responsibility of failure on their shoulders alone.

Before they even begin, they must have these talents and more. Yet when it comes to the crunch, the manager must sit on the sideline and trust his players to speak for him through skill and teamwork. When he has finished coaxing and cajoling his players and worked them up to key fitness and co-ordination levels, as well as forging an understanding as a unit, he allows them to wash away the sweat under a shower, while he goes away to sweat on his own. Of course, the most terrifying aspect of football management is that awesome gap between the touchline and the pitch when the game begins. No matter what he does or says, the manager is helpless, a true victim of his own doctrines.

True football management is much more than than a glorified trainer’s role with tracksuit, whistle, press-ups, a few laps around a pitch and a game of five-a-side. Because football managers are, truly, the sweat merchants.

Supremos of the Past

To illustrate the pressures, achievements, varied talents and weaknesses of great managers, we begin with a look at the most famous managers in international football history. The men who most merit attention are Vittorio Pozzo and Hugo Meisl of the 1930s, George Raynor and Sepp Herberger of the 1940s and 1950s, Alf Ramsey and Helmut Schoen of the 1960s and Schoen, Mario Zagalo and Rinus Michels of the 1970s. Each man faced very different problems. Factors such as the political climate of their nations and their era played a big part. The growth of player-power took its toll in Holland. The changing systems within the game threatened to make successful managers history teachers overnight.

Few managers in modern football history experienced more political pressure than Vittorio Pozzo, Italy’s commissario tecnico in the 1934 World Cup. A great authoritarian, he also became a revered father-figure to Italian football. Pozzo was shrewd, a good politician and an early-day football psychologist at a time when football managers were making the players and the ball do the work while they barked orders. One of his most successful ploys was his use of sleeping arrangements on away trips to crush internal arguments amongst his star players. Pozzo always made warring stars share the same room: the Juventus and Inter Milan prima donnas for example, players who often bickered away the hours – and their team’s chances of success – through jealousy. By the time they realised they were sharing the same room, petty squabbles died away and a better understanding was struck up. A small, sturdy man, Pozzo much admired the Manchester United team of that era and studied in Switzerland before travelling to England. He fell in love with England and for a while refused to go home. But political life in Italy was simmering and soon soared towards the explosion of fascism under Benito Mussolini. With Italy’s dictator using the World Cup as a political vehicle, Pozzo was under an obvious pressure to make sure the home side triumphed. They did, beating Czechoslovakia 2-1 in the final. Four years later, Pozzo repeated his triumph in France when his Azzurri beat Hungary 4-2 in a tremendous title game. What few people realise, however, is that with World War II breaking out, Italy were to hold the World Cup longer than any other country, for sixteen years from 1934 to 1950.

Pozzo’s friend. and fellow authoritarian was Hugo Meisl, who managed Austria in much the same way Pozzo managed Italy. Similar men in outlook, they shared a third-part friendship with the legendary Herbert Chapman of Arsenal. Birds of a football feather, they gave football an extra dimension by way of an ability to communicate with their players outside training sessions. Meisl, however, never touched the heights achieved by Pozzo. But then he did not have players of the same quality at his disposal, and the German political machine was rumbling louder and louder through his most influential years. Political climate was Meisl’s biggest drawback.

So much has been written about Brazil’s magical presence in the 1958 World Cup in Sweden that the host nation’s manager is often forgotten. From being reserve team trainer at Aldershot in 1946, George Raynor was catapulted to the position of manager of the Swedish national team. The players loved him, and he guided them to the Olympic gold medal in 1948. Italian clubs swooped to snatch four of his best players, but Raynor rebuilt his team with characteristic speed in time to give Brazil the fright of their lives in the World Cup final. Sadly, when he returned to England, Raynor found coaching on a comparable level hard to come by, apart from brief spells as manager with Skegness and Doncaster Rovers. He spent time working in a holiday camp before becoming President of the Doncaster and District Association of Football Coaches and deeply involved in encouraging football’s grass roots. With numerous titles bestowed on him by Queen Elizabeth II, the King of Sweden and others, he was listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the most successful national coach in the world.

The West German team of 1954 owed its unique style to one man – Sepp Herberger. He had the personality and power to make his players give more than they even knew they had. They relentlessly worked hard, never allowing opponents to build up momentum. Fit and disciplined, the Germans crept from the ashes of the Second World War to become world champions. Herberger’s immense air of authority and confidence gave his players an extra lift, but he also made sure their physical preparation left them lacking in no departments. When they had the ball, they were able to maintain what was then a very fast pace of play. Their tempo – set by Herberger – certainly swept red-hot favourites Hungary aside in the 1954 final, despite the fact that the Hungarians took a 2-0 lead early in the first half.

Following closely in the footsteps of these great men were many young managers who also achieved levels of success within their own nations. But few of them survived eras of change and political pressures.

Game Of The Century: The Men You Love To Hate (II)

It Wouldn't Happen In The Park

 

Dawn broke on the day of the Munich World Cup Final in 1974. Jack Taylor, the designated referee, was sleeping soundly in his hotel room. The Englishman was regaining his strength after the initial excitement and complications that go with being appointed to officiate the most important international game for four years. This man, butcher by trade and a widely recognised world-class official, would wake in his own time, before calmly prepare himself for the match of his life – the ultimate achievement for any referee. 

 

By the time he had checked equipment, selected his whistle and placed it with care into its case, left the hotel and arrived at the stadium, some tension had naturally built up. After checking the match ball, briefing his linesmen (there would be no communication problem here), checking team lists, and examining boot studs, he was feeling tense and tummy nerves were felt. The toss-up was with a commemorative ‘Wild Life Fund’ coin, a rather special idea instigated by the Fund’s international patron at the time, Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands. It was seconds before kick off and organization had been perfect. Then from the corner of his eye, Taylor suddenly noticed a man run towards the touchline where there was a certain amount of commotion. 

 

The running man turned out to be Ken Aston, Chairman of FIFA’s Technical Committee and responsible for the tournament’s referees. Like a picture suddenly snapping into focus, Taylor took in the whole pitch – and could clearly see that the four corner flags were missing!

 

On such an occasion, when organisation had been so perfect, when every aspect had been checked and double-checked, how could this possibly happen? Corner flags would never be forgotten in preparing a junior team match in the park on a Sunday morning! From up in the stands, Ken Aston’s eagle eye had pinpointed, almost unconsciously, this amazing blunder. 

 

One man then proceeded to each corner of the pitch and insert the missing flags; it was a comical sight in the circumstances. Taylor found he could now relax; smiling outwardly and laughing inside, he blew the whistle and the 1974 World Cup Final was under way. 

 

A Brave Referee

The match started in an extraordinary way. The crowd was hushed and Taylor claimed he knew almost immediately that something was going to happen in those early seconds which would require a rapid and definite decision. From the kick-off, the Dutch strung together an attack of 17 passes; the crowd was delighted to see such sweet footballing expertise and amazed there was not a single German tackle until the ball was a yard inside the penalty box. This was the incident that Taylor’s instinct told him to expect, so he’d made sure he was only three or four yards behind the play.

 

When Cruyff was floored in the box, Taylor blew and pointed to the penalty spot. The stadium erupted; within one minute of the final commencing Taylor had handed the Dutch a penalty. 

 

The decision was correct and at the moment it happened Taylor was able to be one hundred per cent certain. Television and radio commentators were telling the world what a brave referee this was, how right he was, asking their audience to imagine themselves giving such a decision in Munich with the West German crowd breathing down his neck. But Taylor was the first to say bravery didn’t come into it; that was the last thing on his mind. To him this match, once it was under way, became the orange shirts against the white, and he had awarded a penalty against the whites, for according to the laws of the game, they had committed an offence which demanded such retribution. Equally, should he have failed to carry out this honest decision it would not have been through cowardice, he would simply have failed in giving an immediate and decisive response to the offence. He would then have let down not just FIFA but everything the international game and the World Cup represents. 

 

For a while now the match was exacting to officiate, and Taylor was soon aware of the Germans’ planned tight marking of the Dutch, especially Vogts’ shadowing of Cruyff. This was a key pairing to watch and very soon Taylor was convinced that should Cruyff have to leave the pitch for any reason, Vogts would have followed him! 

 

Taylor then awarded the Germans a return penalty. Television and film have shown his decision to be correct, though at the time this totally professional man was not totally convinced himself. Again, instinct told him it was indeed an offence by the Dutch, to be punished with the ‘spot-kick’. But the angle from which he saw the offence was not ideal. 

 

However, he was executing the laws of the game in the correct manner, for the German player was within the Dutch penalty area and although the ball was two to three feet ahead of him, there was, or seemed to be, a definite tripping offence committed – even attempting to trip would have sufficed. 

 

After this incident the Dutch became tetchy and Taylor was stretched to help the game flow and be as memorable as it turned out to be. The man deserved to be regarded as a twenty-third player performing at the height of his ability, but because he had to award two penalties out of the three match goals, the media gave him as much coverage as any of the outstanding players. Once again, though for the best of reasons, he was isolated as the ‘man in the middle’. Perhaps it is only the average referee – as long as the game makes no special demands - who can truly be absorbed and survive with little notice? But then the average referee would not be chosen to scale such refereeing heights, and World Cup matches do tend to make special demands!

Great Developments In Four Years 

 

It has to be admitted that the overall standard of refereeing in the 1966 World Cup left a lot to be desired. The FIFA Referees’ Committee for this hard and defensive tournament did not plan sufficiently well. In hindsight, they knew they should have done, because the international scene since the 1962 Finals had been showing a demand for firm and uniform application of the laws. Sir Stanley Rous was aware of this and consequently so was FIFA, but time hadn’t developed the standards required; poor organisation for the arriving top 30 referees in England didn’t help. Training facilities were supplied for them at Queens Park Rangers’ ground, but they only trained if they wished to and overall they were left to their own devices. 

There was a shortage of interpreters to help any kind of overall understanding and this badly affected what few talks were held before the tournament began. The men arrived just before the first matches so there was little chance, with or without a language barrier, of any feeling of comradeship. The large group of British referees didn’t help much, as they tended to keep themselves very much apart. Probably they didn’t realise it at the time, nor were they aware of looking at the game solely through English eyes. Sadly, they didn’t or couldn’t pay enough attention to the points of view of the foreign officiators, and consequently communication between referees and linesmen during matches suffered badly (the final itself being a prime example). 

 

It was the tournament of controversial bookings and sending-offs: the Rattin incident in the quarter-final, as well as English referee Jim Finney – much admired internationally – sending off two Uruguayans, Troche the captain and Silva in the match against West Germany. Finney had a police escort from the pitch. 

 

Brazil left the tournament feeling that teams had been allowed to kick them out of World Cup glory, Uruguay and Argentina packed their bags and left showing considerable bitterness. By coincidence, in their trouble-strewn matches, it was a German and an English referee that had officiated at their dismissals. In reality, blame could not be laid at the confused referees’ feet; it was lack of overall foresight, for not enough thought had been given to the complications which could and indeed did arise.

FIFA worked extremely hard in the intervening years to make sure Mexico would not suffer in the same way in the organisation of referees, even if styles of play continued to be dominated by hard defensive tactics. There was also the worry of altitude and rarefied air to be taken into account by players and referees alike. 

Sir Stanley Rous had Ken Aston appointed as Deputy Chairman of the Referees’ Committee in 1968, and he was to be responsible for the organising and selection (with the Committee) of the thirty referees for the coming tournament. This ex-player who, through injury, took up refereeing at the age of 20 – he qualified in 1936 – took charge of the 1963 FA Cup Final (Manchester United versus Leicester City), the 1961 Inter-Continental Final (Real Madrid versus Penarol) and the opening match in the 1962 World Cup. 

 

Aston had an amusing memory of this occasion, although it was less than amusing at the time. Naturally there had been great excitement for the opening ceremony and Aston had arrived at the stadium two hours before  the kick-off at three. At 2.20 he was still waiting for the selected match ball, with correct weight and pressure and countersigned by the Referees’ Committee. Despite enquiries, by 2.40 no ball had arrived and at 2.55 he led the teams out into the packed stadium with a sinking feeling — he wasn’t carrying the match ball! During the next five minutes he called in a number of the ‘kick-in’ balls from surprised players and desperately searched for a ‘possible’ amongst the tatty, leather puddings! He decided on one sad object and the game got under way. Meanwhile, a FIFA representative was sent off to purchase a ball and in the later stages of the game a spanking new one was finally bounced onto the pitch.

 

For the difficult task that lay ahead, the President had made a wise choice in selecting who had firm ideas of how to achieve the required results that footballing nations and the media felt couldn’t be accomplished. Aston’s views were in the main complementary to the President’s, so he was given support and encouragement and installed as Chairman. Aston announced that the concern for a high quality of refereeing during the tournament in the heat and suspect atmosphere of Mexico would minimise the difficulties experienced in 1966. A bold statement which encouraged him to remark, ‘I’m not like the man who was once conceited – I'm now perfect!” 

 

In fact, it was this appointment that resulted in refereeing ‘coming of age’ on international pitches. On reflection, Aston felt that in Mexico the foundations of a good house were built, while Germany four years later added the decorations! 

 

Aston had decided that for the Mexican World Cup referees would be welded into the seventeenth team, that communication problems would be resolved once and for all, and that all 30 referees should work closely together. His desire was that every man should be as highly trained as a boxer, superbly fit and able to relax mentally whenever possible. He knew he would be dealing with men who regarded themselves as professionals in attitude, application and dedication – honour and the challenge being their just reward, for at the World Cup level the selected arbitres had no official association and were not paid one franc for match work. Two weeks before the competition opened, all referees arrived at FIFA’s request in Mexico City. Apart from the programme set by Aston and his colleagues, it was felt that acclimatisation was also necessary. Indeed, it was also decided to carry out medical tests on the referees every day. As it turned out, the feared high altitude caused few problems, which surprised doctors who had warned of danger to the competing players and concern for older referees, such as Aly Kandill from Egypt who was fifty. As it was, oxygen was sometimes given to individuals in losing teams; but winners usually managed brisk exits from the stadium and not a single referee called for the aid of an oxygen mask.

For this tournament, every referee was given training gear and track suits, and for the first time ever in a World Cup, a top coach was appointed to make sure every member referee was physically at his peak. Dettmar Cramer, was given the task. No referee was allowed to miss any of the training sessions conducted in a first-class sports club which contained every facility required. Cramer put every man through his paces and concentrated on building him up, not reducing him to a gasping invalid. After training, a kick-about game was held to build team spirit quickly developed, then lectures at a conference centre equipped with all the electronic trappings to help overcome language barriers, instant translation being available through headphones. After the lectures, groups would break up for seminars. The main languages used were French, English, German and Spanish, so the men joined groups according to their language, to discuss and argue points raised in the lectures. An example of how well this welding together of 30 men was progressing and how comradeship quickly blossomed was the situation of Kandill of Egypt and Klein of Israel. Being in the same seminar group, men from two opposing and hostile countries were not likely to become bosom friends, and relationships were strained. Yet by the fourth day tension had dropped away and friendship through a common sporting interest developed. 

 

Through these lectures, films and seminars, FIFA was asking the men to express their views and say what they wanted. The approaches and interpretations of South American refereeing was compared with European standards and through discussion uniformity was agreed on in the application of laws and co-operation between a referee and his linesmen. Additionally, a special silent film of World Cup incidents had been shown early during this preparation time. The men had watched it and were asked to discuss in theory how they would cope, but in a real and practical way. A week later they saw the film again, this time with sound – and the decisions overall were uniform with FIFA’s narration. FIFA then sent the film to each competing nation, as well as a memorandum of all points the referees had agreed on to every national coach. The memorandum was also given to the press. This was the tournament in which FIFA had agreed with the referees to use yellow and red cards, to let players know clearly that they were being cautioned or sent off and alleviate doubts and confusions because of language barriers. There would be no repeat of the ugly sending-off scenes in the 1966 tournament. 

 

This idea was borrowed from America, where it was invented to cope with language difficulties caused by so many immigrant players. Despite all this, by the time the first match kicked off in Mexico City, it was still felt by some that all the strict refereeing preparations would bear little fruit. It was the complete opposite. The Mexico versus Russia match was not an exciting affair, but Tschenscher kept it well in control and dealt out five yellow cards. In reality all the work and preparation was immediately shown to be working and the standard of refereeing was set. In this hot and temperamental land, not a single player was sent off throughout the summer.

There have been and will continue to be many excellent referees, some great characters, and some that crowds have found it hard to hate. Take Arthur Ellis of England, who was involved in the infamous ‘Battle of Berne’ and who, at one moment during the awful scenes, literally dragged two players over the touch-line to cool off! Or Armando Marques of Brazil, who may have been temperamental but is still a great referee. For so many, it wasn’t the money that made a professional referee, it was dedication – a theme Marques would agree on. This man was a showman and if you didn’t know his name or the look of the man, you’d know who it was by his habit of never blowing a whistle at the kick-off – he just waved a finger. 

 

Jim Finney of England had a style of his own and great common sense in handling players. His ‘style of simplicity’ was much admired across the world. A more modern disciplinarian was Clive Thomas of Wales, who let nothing go and at times ploughed a lone furrow as far as footballing officialdom was concerned – but his results in the 1974 World Cup were top marks in two matches. Much admired, however stern an image he presents. 

 

There have been and hopefully will continue to be the refereeing ‘diplomats’, calm, collected and always striving to let the game flow. Their critics call out that these men just want a quiet life on the pitch, but their results speak for themselves, They’ve also gained much popularity. Leo Horn of the Netherlands and Istvan Zsolt of Hungary are examples of such referees. Bobby Davidson of Scotland and Rudi Glockner of East Germany are others recognised and recognisable for their achievements. Youssoupha N’Diaye of Senegal – the ‘Black Pearl’ – was a new and striking referee to reach the World Cup recognition in the 1970s. In 1974 he had one match in the tournament and was excellent. Of course, at the time it was not unusual in Africa for a referee to be imprisoned for a short while: if a president of one state does not approve of a serious decision made by the official, it has been known for a word to be spoken in the ear of the president of the offending referee’s state, resulting in police waiting for the arrival of the referee’s homebound plane and a quick escort to the local prison! 

 

For every World Cup, officials will be selected from FIFA’s vast list of recommended and internationally experienced referees – it represents a pleasing problem that the list will be wide, including nominees put forward by many young and progressing football nations. FIFA can comply with their duty of producing the best, and their training work over the continents has, and will continue to produce a great number of talented ‘men you love to hate’. For watchers of the game, arguments will always be endless on whether the man in the middle is totally neutral – for every moment of the match – from the lower regions of nations’ domestic football leagues to the exalted finals of a World Cup.

 

But for a first-class referee, the match will always be the ‘reds’ versus the ‘whites’. He will see, decide and act, impartially and honestly, and like any good player he will admit to himself his mistakes and know whether his performance was good or bad. A good international referee is a man of substance, educated and of a mature nature. Off the field he must impress officials, statesmen, politicians and the broad section of VIPs whom he will meet; a true footballing ambassador.

Game Of The Century: The Men You Love To Hate (I)

Across the world and across leagues, who would want a referee’s job? The vast majority are unknown, unpraised, and without doubt, underpaid. They deal with players of varying talent committing varying offences – many unseen by partisan crowds. They perform this work with one aim, to help the match progress evenly and entertainingly. Yet it’s not uncommon, at full-time, for them to be escorted from the pitch by police or armed guards, to be criticized openly by the media, chased and abused by spectators, spat upon, kicked and punched.

Prior to the vast influx of money into football from television and sponsorship over the last three decades, refereeing was a vocation enabled through outside work. In the 1970s, training was a solitary, personal responsibility, on call to travel at a moment’s notice and not ask for anything more in return than a travel allowance and expenses – and, when in action, to be considered as the 23rd player on the pitch. Then, after years of hard work, perhaps achieving the status of being a member of the FIFA refereeing fraternity and being chosen to officiate at a World Cup tournament, when they would proudly pack their bags and fly to a destination knowing that whatever happens they carry the tag of ‘the men you love to hate.’

For in the end, it will be their split-second decisions, right or wrong to the biased eye, which will decide the outcome of the World Cup.

A Historic Decision

The 1966 World Cup Final is into extra-time, with the score standing at two goals apiece. After ten minutes England score. Geoff Hurst smashes the ball against the underside of the crossbar; in a flash it bounces down in the goalmouth and every English player in the goal area leaps with joy. The Wembley crowd roar. In that split second, Gottfried Dienst, the Swiss referee who has been officiating the match so well, seems undecided on whether to award the goal immediately. For a moment, with 22 players on the Wembley turf pausing, he has to decide if the shot is true, and the ball has crossed the German goal-line. Herr Dienst is immediately surrounded by protesting German players and Wembley and the world become hushed as he rushes over to his Russian linesman, Tofik Bakhramov. There is a brief exchange of gestures – for the language barrier would not have permitted more – and then comes the sight of Herr Dienst pointing to the centre circle. The goal will stand, his decision is final and England are on the way to World Cup glory.

In that brief moment, one man had made a decision that could justify or destroy four years of preparation by FIFA and every competing nation, especially England and West Germany. A decision had to be made; the global audience demanded it. To this day there could be no single person present in that great and famous stadium who would have willingly changed place with Herr Dienst. Bakhramov, the linesman, who had not reached the corner flag and therefore was not in line with the goal, could in this situation only nod his approval and help his senior official. All-the political implications laid at Bakhramov’s feet must be totally ignored, for here was another dedicated international referee required to ‘run the line’ in this final, a man who was honoured to be so selected and to carry out his work to the best of his ability. However, the football world has never been shown conclusive proof that it was or was not a goal, even with all the technical advantages of the eyes of television playbacks, the slow-motion film of many movie cameras and the snapping shutters of a host of still cameras.

One man, out in the middle, in all probability as he moved across to his linesman, made up the minds of the world. It was his job, and he was the only person for whom it was impossible in that now historic moment to say, ‘I don’t know’.

Once upon a time, when the World Cup was young, refereeing used to be a gentlemanly affair, conducted in a far more friendly atmosphere with the arbitre running up and down the pitch in cap and plus-fours. But with the upsurge of nationalistic pride – and prejudice – not to mention the advent of television with all the pressures that mass exposure brought to the game, and the sometimes cruel defensive play practised with crash tackling and claustrophobic marking, the international and World Cup referee has become the man very much in the middle — lonely, isolated, his every decision instantly replayed and analysed before an audience of a billion. His wish to be regarded as the 23rd player is rarely granted.

Consequently, top referees are a tough breed, or must be seen to be before, during and after the match, however much they smart and hurt in private.

They are expected by their judges to combine the wisdom of Solomon with the stamina of a long-distance runner. It takes a mixture of resilience, masochism and egotism to submit yourself willingly to derision, scorn, anger and often personal violence, and yet still be capable of making fair and impartial decisions, like the swift decision Gottfried Dienst was expected to do.

The Man Who Invented Refereeing

Sir Stanley Rous spent 27 years as Secretary of the Football Association and 13 years as President of FIFA. This much loved and highly respected man has served football with great enthusiasm and dedication, shaping the international game and the World Cup as we now know it. At the same time, he has been responsible for developing refereeing to cope with the new demands made upon referees in the world arena.

This imposing yet gentle man is synonymous with the World Cup and when defeated by the narrowest of margins in the 1974 FIFA election in Frankfurt by Dr Joao Havelange, he was immediately made Honorary President of FIFA.

He was born in the village of Mutford, near Beccles in Suffolk, in the spring of 1895. There was no sporting activity at all in the little village until the young Rous started his schooling. From the age of thirteen he attended the St John Leman School in Beccles, cycling every day back and forth to Mutford. On arriving at the school, he knew nothing of football, but was quickly attracted to the game and became a member of the school team. After about a year he had the confidence to bring back a football to Mutford, with the sole intention of starting a football team there. The sporting educationalist and administrator was already present in this 14-year-old boy. He built up a team of local farmers, fishermen and their sons, taught them the rudiments of the game and created enough interest to arrange matches, conducted properly, within the village. Interest was soon created across the district, with other villages rapidly taking up the game and organizing their own teams.

In due course Rous was invited to play in goal for Kirkley Football Club, a member of the Norfolk and Suffolk Senior League. He was eventually asked to join Lowestoft FC, but this was literally within days of joining his battalion, for the 1914-18 War was now to interrupt his education and footballing prowess. For the duration of the war, he served with the Royal Artillery in France, Egypt and Palestine. He played football for his battalion during those years and did a little refereeing in Egypt. When the war was over, Rous resumed his education at St Lukes, Exeter, where he was appointed captain of football and tennis teams. But his sporting days had been damaged by the war; he had suffered a shrapnel wound in Palestine which permanently affected his right wrist.

The refereeing experience in Egypt, however, was soon put to use, and after a short while Rous was enjoying the task of refereeing. He moved on to a schoolmaster’s job at Watford Grammar School, where he taught and was sports master from 1921 to 1934. It was difficult to arrange football fixtures in those years, so rugby was played and Rous had the valuable experience of organizing rugby matches and refereeing. During this time, he also progressed as a football referee, and he was soon a qualified Class I football referee. Progress was rapid and he was appointed linesman for the 1926 FA Cup Final, in which Manchester City beat Bolton 1-0. In the following seven years he officiated in 34 international matches overseas and his second
FA Cup Final at Wembley in 1934, Manchester City beating Portsmouth 2-1.

During this period, Rous accidentally ‘invented’ refereeing for the modern game.

It happened at Luton. Just before the match was to begin in pouring rain, the pitch a sea of mud almost ankle deep, Rous realized that he would never be able to keep up with the play – a slow plod from one end to the other would probably be the best he could manage! He hurriedly suggested to his linesmen that they should each take one line of forwards with himself concentrating on the mid-field. Up to now, linesmen had run up and down each of the two touchlines, sometimes dead in line with the referee.

He also told them not to be too concerned with the barracking they might receive from the terraces and stands. It worked; in fact, it worked a great deal better than Rous had imagined. He went home that night, made notes, and drew diagrams. He called it ‘the diagonal system’. In 1936, after being Secretary of the FA for two years, he rewrote the laws of the game to include the diagonal system of control. The system was adopted by the International Board and within four years it was accepted universally.

The imaginary diagonal used by the Referee is the line A-B.

The opposite diagonal used by the Linesmen is adjusted to the position of the Referee; if the Referee is near A, Linesman L2 will be at a point between M and K. When the Referee is at B, Linesman L1 will be between E and F;; this gives two officials control of the respective ‘danger zones’, one at each side of the field.

Linesman L1 adopts the Reds as his side; Linesman L2 adopts the Blues; as Red forwards move towards Blue goal, Linesman L1 keeps in line with second last Blue defender so in actual practice he will rarely get into Red’s half of the field. Similarly, Linesman L2 keeps in line with second last Red defender and will rarely get into Blue’s half. At corner-kicks or penalty-kicks the Linesman in that half where the corner-kick or penalty-kick occurs positions himself at N and the Referee takes position.

The diagonal system fails if Linesman L2 gets between G and H when Referee is at B, or when Linesman L1 is near C or D when the Referee is at A, because there are two officials at the same place. This should be avoided.

(Some Referees prefer to use the opposite diagonal, viz., from F to M, in which case the Linesmen should adjust their work accordingly.)

It was during his refereeing years that Stanley Rous became increasingly respected by both the English administrators of the game and FIFA, not just as a referee, where his theories could be proved in practice, but concerning the game generally where his comments were always lucid and of value.

He came to FIFA’s notice when refereeing a match between Holland and Belgium in Amsterdam. The Executive Committee of FIFA happened to be meeting at the same time and in the same place. The FIFA officials thought he handled the match ‘impeccably’ and ‘refereed in a large and sensible manner’. There was crowd trouble and instead of stopping play whilst calm was restored, which might have added to the stress of the situation, he carried on and order was swiftly achieved. He was appointed a Senior International Referee for this ‘strict application of the rules and letting the game flow’.

Rous, like virtually all top-class referees and players, usually felt a little nervous before an international, but had no fear which might disturb his handling of the game. He always expected to be in charge, he had authority and through experience used it sensibly. There was one occasion, though, when he was touched with fear. It was a game between Hungary and Italy in Budapest – the first to have a live radio commentary – a stormy, gruelling match in which a Hungarian player’s leg was broken. Rous managed to keep order until five minutes from time, when a savage tackle laid out another Hungarian. The crowd went wild – even the trainer didn’t dare tread the pitch. Eighty thousand cardboard megaphones drowned the stadium in a screeching protest. The game was restarted with only two minutes remaining. Finding himself opposite the players’ exit, Rous quickly blew for full-time. Afterwards, when listening to protests that he ended the match early, he attempted no excuses. His answer was simple: ‘I was the time-keeper’.

Players in general had great respect for Rous and his reputation. A French player learned how not to treat a top referee during a match that needed strict handling: he suddenly rushed up to Rous and said what he thought of him. Rous replied: ‘You don’t think much of my refereeing?’ ‘Bloody well, no!’ A slight pause, then: ‘You had better get off then. You go because I am staying on the pitch’. The player walked off the pitch very quietly.

As Secretary of the FA two of Rous’ chief aims were developing the ‘grass roots’ of football – youth teams, youth competitions, schoolboy football – as well as raising refereeing standards and increasing the quantity of quality men. When he was elected President of FIFA at their Congress in 1961, two of his continuing priorities were developing the International Youth Tournament and holding the first International Referee’s Course. He achieved this and progress was swiftly made.

In refereeing, England was once more teaching the world, for there is no doubt that England and Scotland had the best and most efficient referees when Rous arrived at FIFA Headquarters. A series of courses and seminars, first across Europe but then elsewhere, and continuing each year, brought a uniform standard of refereeing throughout the world. Every member country of FIFA submits through their national association, each season, up to seven International Referees, and they are expected to be of a high standard.

‘There is no substitute for skill’ is a quote used hundreds of times by Sir Stanley. He preached this belief right across the sporting world to players and referees of all sports; ‘no person should be deprived of improving his sporting pursuits through lack of coaching and then personal application.’
 
Through his years with FIFA, travelling the world and setting up referee’s coaching courses, having films made on the subject and constantly bringing out publications, Rous without doubt brought about an immense uniformity in applying the laws in theory and, most importantly, in practice on the pitch.

Stanley Rous’ foreword to FIFA’s Handbook For Referee Instructors contains some lines that are applicable to every generation, as timely when it was written to any sport now and in the future:

‘The work FIFA has done so far should have created a nucleus of people in most countries able to undertake the leadership of courses. Where this has not yet happened then, of course, FIFA will continue to help… Refereeing has become more difficult in recent years for two reasons: firstly, there is a much greater number of games played at a higher level, international club matches are increasing, and they require good officials who are not only familiar with the laws but courageous in interpreting them. The types of player are changing also, and there is need for greater insight into how to handle players and how to deal with situations on the field involving this new breed of player, especially when the stakes are now so high. Increasingly the game needs men of good intellect to act as officials, men who not only understand the grammar of the laws but the spirit of the game.’