Gerd Muller…Where are you? Beckenbauer, Pelé, Jairzinho, Eusébio, George Best, Gordon Banks, the Charlton brothers and captain Cruijff…These were my childhood heroes and I miss them; I got hooked watching the 1970 anf 1974 world cups with my dad in Tehran like most soccer crazy Persians (well maybe not the mullahs). Number 13, 10 and 7 were sacred numbers…
Watching Euro 2008, I am constantly reminded of these great champions I admired as a little girl. I felt nostalgic today and put together these images just to have these guys in the same place one more time – even if it’s only in my blog.
I knew der Kaiser since he was a mere prinz beckenbauer (above)!
I don’t understand/like baseball and American football is only tolerated when USC is playing but soccer stays close to my heart…There is a hierarchy of course like in any sport: we have princes and kings, Brazilian Gods and black pearls and panthers, even a black spider (the Russian Yashin)!
There is hand of God (Maradona) and real God (Pele):
There was Jairzinho,
The Charlton brothers,
The beatle George best,
Eusébio,
The great Platini (aka the sun king in cleats):
Watching today’s players is exciting but they come and go or become media’s pretty boys while bending it like you know who…
My favorite team is Germany (after Brazil of course) – I don’t like the cheating Italians/Argentines – the British exasperate me with great national clubs but poor national teams and the French are annoying with their inconsistencies – I like great soccer and whoever plays best is my champion.
Beckenbauer and Muller are mere children in the above picture. It took hours to put these images together but it was a labor of love…
It’s all about the cinderella team playing Germany on Wednesday. Go Turkey!
Great post! For those of us of a specific age and from Iran, the World Cups you mentioned have a special place in our hearts. Pele, Gert Muller, Beckenbauer, Johan Cruijff, Maradona, Zico, Platini, and even the voice of sports casters echoing in our heads represent a slice of our childhood we shall never forget. Like the taste of our Mom’s cooking, we connect with these players because they bring us back home, a home we left in tears and a time we love to reexperience. Who can forget the exciting countdown of months and days to the World Cup? It was the purest joy a child could have next to the smell of new money on Nowruz and a family trip to the Caspian Sea. The World Cup has not changed, but we have. I must confess, however, that although the frenetic excitement has worn off, every four years, we still look forward to taking a trip back in time and remembering a game of football with childhood friends. Oh, the long games in the afternoon sun, in tight street alleys, running back and forth between goal posts that were made out of all kinds of creative objects, and screaming with boundless excitement – a feat that was often interrupted by an angry neighbor, whose calm nap had been interrupted by overly enthusiastic children chasing a plastic ball. I’m still counting down for that opportunity. Two more years to go!
They all have been superceded by players that, with few exceptions, are better than your old heroes. George Best was wonderful, but Critiano Ronaldo is even better. Jack Charlton was never a great defender, but Rio
Ferdinand is. Bobby Charlton was fabulous,but so also is Paul Schols.
That is the flow of life. You studied fluid mechanics with me, so you should know better!
dear michele,
this is great. I’ve only been a serious soccer fan for about 10 years, although I did get to see pele and beckenbauer play when they were with the new york cosmos back in about 1976.
I’m italian, so — despite their limitations — I’m a fan of the azzuris. I love the brazilians, too, of course.
thanks for a wonderful edition of your blog.
I have to say, though, that the jacaranda edition was by far my favorite. as someone who has never lived in LA, and visits only occasionally, I’ve been lucky enough to happen upon the jacaranda blooming season only a couple of times. the result is that it lives in my memory as more of a dream that a reality, which I think is very true to the actual effect of the trees in LA, especially those rare blocks that are simply a cavern of inexpressible color, in the air and with the fallen blossoms on the pavement as well: which is something you captured particularly well.
so thanks, I’m a faithful reader now.
con affetto,
gino
(gene thomas, lifespan video portraits, inc.)
wow!!!!!!!! what a fantastic subject.. I was a fan of Platini of course, but of F. Beckenbauer and the charlton’s brothers… They were playing.. they were not (my opinion only) listening to money..
I remember myself watching TV so so often in that glorious period.. Sport was sport.. Now Sport is money, first…
France is nowadays as “poor” in playing, as it was in the early 70’s.. what a shame!
Where are the glorious days ?? gone.. We just can dream on your images as I do.. THANK YOU for the GREAT JOB… AND FEELINGS …….
Do we all agree with Mr. Sahimi’s assertion that the new players are better than the old players? I mean, Bill Gates had more money than Andrew Carnegie, but adjusted for inflation, Carnegie was actually richer! So, should we take inflation into account when we consider footballers’ skills?!!! 🙂 Obviously, what I mean, is that there’s now better coaching and knowledge of the game, knowledge built on the shoulder of giants like Pele, Beckenbauer, and the rest. So, pound per pound, I sometimes wonder if they’re better or not than those guys. In Tennis and Golf, however, no one can argue with the natural talent of Tiger and Federrer although even that game has changed dramatically (power rackets, and earlier coaching!).
There were sad moments too in football. In 1958 or a year less or more, Hungary became world or European champion. The team had Kocsis, Czibor, Puskas and other very top players. The members of this team, when flying to London for an important game, all died in a plane crash. There was talk of sabotage.
Askin Ozcan
Author
Gerd Müller, ja aber heute können wir Podolski, Lahm und Schweinsteiger sehen…
Andere Zeite, andere Männer…