The Best Soccer Photo Ever?

momento 2, originally uploaded by Liráucio.

I love this photograph by Liráucio. It's the very essence of the beautiful game. Moments like this are golden. The way both of the 'defenders' are staring into the sea, bemused is fantastic. Ronaldinho would have been proud!

Magical Heartbreak

School was an impossibility. The bus didn't reach home in time for kick off. There was really only one thing for it. A sad looking face, spluttering cough sounds and big sad skivers eyes. This was no ordinary game of soccer, this was Brasil versus Italy. This was Falcao, Junior, Socrates and Eder, the player who possessed so much magic in his left foot I was spellbound.

I still am.

In the weeks leading up to the Spain '82 FIFA World Cup I took a large roll of wallpaper, laid it out and turned it over onto the non facing side. Carefully and with the sort of precision only a nine year old fanatic can manage every player from every squad was drawn onto the paper underneath the badge of their country. Next to him were placed their key stats and my prediction for their performance in Spain.

At this stage 'Brasil' was a rumour. The Ladybird Spain '82 book hinted that they were pretty special, but England were my favourites, could they be any better? Eder was the last player drawn on the Brasil section. He was just a name to me, but prophetically I wrote "Will be superb" which contrasts slightly with my prediction for Trevor Brooking which guaranteed "Will be the best player ever apart from Kevin Keegan". This assumption must surely have been based on the fact that he had well defined eyebrows because I had never seen him play live.

Brooking managed only a few minutes on the pitch, Eder has stuck with me for a lifetime.

Brasil played their first group game, the opposition could have been anyone. The magical, strutting pull of the yellow, blue and white took hold of my footballing soul from the moment the referee's whistle blew. Players so cool you wouldn't have been surprised if they had worn shades glided around the pitch swapping passes with the flourish of artists. Socrates, the coolest of them all commanded the most attention. His Che Guevarra beard and cold stare, shirt hanging out and swagger created intoxicating levels of adrenalin for the nine year old soccer nut.

Then came the goal which formed this life's love. Eder, tall, elegant and ice cool, unleashed a left footed shot into the net from what looked like 25 yards. It was a strike so magnificent that for about fifteen minutes my mind was blank. This moment was like being struck by lightning. The power of the shot, the flick, the bend, the downright arrogant cool - I was gone. I had found the beautiful game.

Next up Scotland were on the receiving end of another glorious Eder goal. This proved beyond doubt my playground theory that this supreme magician was the best player ever. He shaped to whack the ball, but instead floated the ball over the stranded Scotland goalkeeper, Alan Rough, with the sort of graceful balletic aplomb normally associated with orchestral conductors. Hours and hours were then spent in the field behind our house perfecting the sort of shots which earned him the nickname "Cannon". Cannon never seemed to fit. Yes, his goals were thunderbolts, but it was the silky smooth close control and outrageous tricks which made him much more than a simple cannon.

Brasil went through. I was in a haze. They were going to win the World Cup, this was guaranteed. Who could beat this team of artists, who could beat Eder?

Erm, Italy, like the waking edge of a beautiful dream. How could a sport that had only given love be so cruel? Paolo Rossi was the main culprit. His goals were devastating. Brasil couldn't quite manage to claw their way back at 3-2 down and the game was lost. Tears welled in my eyes, my stomach ached. Eder played well, the whole team did, but Italy dominated their more skilful opposition with endeavour and toil. The taunting celebrations of Italy were more than I could bear.

Spain '82 had become confusing and painful. How could the beautiful game be so distressing? As if to compound the shock England were dumped out with Kevin Keegan only playing a small role against Spain. If only.

Many say this was the greatest match ever played. I would agree now, but not on that hazy, skiving summers afternoon. School was an impossibility that day, but I had learned the hardest lesson of all in ninety excruciating minutes. Life was never the same again, but a passion was born that burns stronger than ever thanks to yellow, blue, white and a player who was more than simply superb, he was the very essence of magic.

Magical Greatness?

Greatness is magical. Pelé, the greatest soccer talent of them all scored his best goal in magical circumstances. There were no cameras to witness it, only a few thousand spectators. It is said there was magic in the air the night he beat an entire team on his own and flighted the ball into the net. Necks tingled, purple and orange cloud stratas soaked the pitch in a magical light. A legend was truly was born, this was pure beautiful game.

Fast forward to our age of digital capture and high speed knowledge. You could be forgiven for thinking that there can be no more magical, mythical greatness in the beautiful game. No more legends of god-like strikers racing past defences and hammering in unstoppable shots or hazy technicolour memories of long-haired artist wingers mesmerising hapless defenders. Today, genius is stifled by the proximity of scrutiny and the thirst of media satisfaction. Pelé was never forced into endless money making stunts and it showed.

Ronaldinho, the most strikingly exciting player since Maradona is a tragic example of the destructive power of our desire to witness greatness. There is nothing mythical about Ronaldinho. For the past four seasons his enormous talents have become the property of a marketing machine seemingly intent on wringing every last shimmy and turn, dribble and shot from his sporting soul. It is doubtful that he has enjoyed any kind of break in that time from the demands made of his talent. Any hint of magic is exposed under the demanding lights of a sport which is slowly killing what makes it so special. Ronaldinho looks like he is suffering from burn-out. This is extremely sad.

We aren't allowed to imagine or wonder, there is no room for dreams - magic has been siphened from the people's game. This is a desperate situation. Soccer lives and breathes on the stuff. Multi angle action is great, but isn't the power of imagination worth preserving?

Any star who looks like emerging is quickly under pressure to meet the satisfaction of 'commitment'. One example, Lionel Messi, looks like the typical kid who plays for fun and to a standard that has greatness written all over it, but for how long? Eventually he will surely fall victim to the same burn-out as his team-mate.

Inspiration is, however, coming from the future heartland of the game, Africa. To witness first hand the exciting talents unblemished by the contsant visual attack modern football has swamped us with is enthralling. Players play without fear, without preconceived ideas of what a footballer should be. There is no desire to emulate a television advert, but to play this great sport. The next great player will surely come from Africa. The next Pelé, a player playing for the love of the game, free from destructive commercial pressures.

Wherever the next Pelé comes from the question is will football allow this player to weave magic and reach greatness free from heavy media pressure? Hopefully the answer is yes. Soccer needs to allow its future stars to breathe, to enjoy their talents and to reach greatness.

NextSoccerStar Goes Blog!

It had to happen! NextSoccerStar.com now has its own blog - welcome. From here you will be able to learn about our views on the future of the game, find out which players are interesting us and much more...

"NextSoccerStar.com is the global stage for a new generation of soccerstars..."

Our main passion is discovering players who we believe could become greats of the game like Pelé, Maradona, Baresi or Hamm. In our view there has never been a better opportunity for young players to get themselves known and discovered. For us, that is really exciting!

We hope you feel the same...