How Soccer Explains the World

How Soccer Explains the World Plot Summary

Introduction

In a small stadium on the outskirts of Belgrade in the early 1990s, a remarkable scene unfolded. Rather than simply cheering on their team, the supporters of Red Star Belgrade were being organized into something far more sinister – a paramilitary force that would soon participate in ethnic cleansing during the Balkan Wars. This transformation of soccer fans into soldiers represents one of the most extreme examples of how the world's most popular sport has become intertwined with nationalism, violence, and identity politics. The beautiful game serves as a powerful lens through which we can examine the complexities of globalization, nationalism, and cultural identity in our modern world. Through captivating stories spanning from the Jewish soccer clubs of pre-WWII Europe to the ultra-nationalist hooligans of England, from Iranian women fighting for their right to attend matches to American cultural resistance to the sport, this journey reveals how soccer simultaneously unites and divides us. The struggles on the pitch often mirror deeper societal conflicts, making this exploration valuable not just for sports enthusiasts but for anyone seeking to understand the forces shaping our increasingly interconnected yet fractured world.

Chapter 1: The Tribal Origins: Soccer as Identity in Post-War Europe

The end of World War II left Europe in ruins, but amid the destruction, soccer quickly re-emerged as a vital outlet for communal identity. In the decades that followed, clubs across the continent became more than sporting institutions – they transformed into vessels carrying the weight of local, ethnic, and national identities. The stadiums of post-war Europe weren't merely venues for athletic competition; they became sacred spaces where communities could reassert their existence and distinctiveness. In many European cities, particularly industrial ones like Manchester, Glasgow, and Milan, club allegiances became intimately tied to working-class identity, religious affiliation, and political orientation. Manchester United, for instance, embodied the working-class spirit of northern England, while AC Milan and Inter Milan reflected Italy's political divisions. In Spain, FC Barcelona became a symbol of Catalan resistance against Franco's centralized state, with the club's motto "More than a club" explicitly acknowledging its role beyond sports. The post-war period also saw soccer evolve into a platform for expressing newly regained or threatened national identities. Countries emerging from occupation, like the Netherlands, found in their national teams a powerful expression of restored sovereignty. The Dutch "Total Football" revolution of the 1970s wasn't just a tactical innovation – it represented a distinctive national character: creative, fluid, and democratic. Similarly, when newly independent African nations formed national teams in the 1960s, they used soccer as a means to announce their arrival on the world stage. This intertwining of identity and sport had profound implications. Soccer clubs began functioning as surrogate tribes in increasingly urbanized societies where traditional community bonds were weakening. Match days provided ritual and meaning, while club colors and songs supplied the symbolism and mythology necessary for tribal cohesion. The shared emotions – from collective ecstasy to communal suffering – fostered powerful bonds between strangers who might otherwise have little in common. However, this tribal aspect also laid the groundwork for troubling developments. The same passion that could unite communities within themselves often divided them from others. Rivalries intensified, sometimes along historic fault lines of class, religion, or ethnicity. What began as sporting competition could easily transform into something more sinister, as the tribal psychology of "us versus them" created fertile ground for extremism and violence, particularly in regions with unresolved historical grievances. By the 1980s, this tribal identity had evolved into organized fan cultures across Europe, with ultras groups and supporters' clubs developing elaborate rituals, hierarchies, and territories. These weren't just fans but guardians of tradition who saw themselves as the true representatives of their clubs' essence. As commercial interests began transforming the game, these groups would often position themselves as defenders of authenticity against the corrupting influence of money – setting the stage for future conflicts between traditional soccer culture and the forces of globalization.

Chapter 2: Violent Tribalism: Hooliganism and the Serbian Tragedy

The 1980s witnessed an alarming evolution in soccer tribalism, as organized violence became an established subculture across parts of Europe. England was the epicenter of this phenomenon, with groups like Chelsea's Headhunters and West Ham's Inter City Firm engaging in orchestrated battles that had little to do with events on the pitch. These weren't spontaneous outbursts but carefully planned campaigns of violence, with designated leaders, territorial claims, and even international networks. For many participants, the violence itself had become the primary attraction, overshadowing the game. But nowhere did this violent tribalism have more catastrophic consequences than in the former Yugoslavia. As the multi-ethnic federation began fracturing in the late 1980s, soccer stadiums became rehearsal spaces for the coming war. The infamous 1990 match between Dinamo Zagreb and Red Star Belgrade descended into a massive riot that many historians view as the symbolic beginning of Yugoslavia's violent disintegration. What made the Serbian case unique was how soccer hooliganism directly translated into wartime atrocities. Under the leadership of Željko Ražnatović, better known as Arkan, Red Star Belgrade's most notorious supporters were transformed into the Tigers – a paramilitary unit responsible for ethnic cleansing operations in Croatia and Bosnia. The relationship between Arkan and soccer illustrates how sporting tribalism can be weaponized. A career criminal who had escaped from multiple European prisons, Arkan recognized the potential of soccer hooligans as ready-made soldiers. Their existing group loyalty, comfort with violence, and hatred of the "other" made them ideal recruits for ethnic warfare. By 1992, former stadium chanters were participating in massacres across Bosnia, often wearing their team colors under their military uniforms and adapting their soccer chants to celebrate ethnic cleansing. The Serbian tragedy also revealed how powerful figures can manipulate sporting passions for political ends. Slobodan Milošević's regime actively encouraged and exploited soccer nationalism, using it as a vehicle to normalize extreme nationalist ideology. Stadium violence was tolerated and sometimes encouraged because it served the broader political agenda of ethnic polarization. The line between a soccer fanatic and a nationalist militant became deliberately blurred, with the energy of the terraces channeled into ethnic hatred. What makes this case study particularly disturbing is how quickly the transition from sporting rivalry to genocidal violence occurred. Many of the same young men who were engaging in relatively typical soccer hooliganism in 1990 were committing war crimes by 1992. The progression reveals how thin the veneer of civilization can be when tribal identities are inflamed by opportunistic leaders. Soccer didn't cause Yugoslavia's collapse, but it provided both the vocabulary and the foot soldiers for the ethnic nationalism that tore the country apart. The aftermath of the Balkan Wars left a complex legacy for soccer in the region. When Milošević was eventually overthrown in 2000, soccer supporters played a significant role in the "Bulldozer Revolution" that toppled him, suggesting that the same tribal energies that can be channeled toward violence can also be directed toward democratic change. Yet the deep connection between soccer clubs and ethnic identity remains problematic across the former Yugoslavia, with matches between Croatian and Serbian teams still requiring extraordinary security measures and frequently serving as flashpoints for nationalist provocations.

Chapter 3: Religious and Ethnic Divides on the Pitch (1970s-1990s)

Between the 1970s and 1990s, soccer became increasingly entangled with religious and ethnic tensions, creating flashpoints that revealed deeper societal divisions. Perhaps nowhere was this more evident than in Glasgow, Scotland, where the Celtic-Rangers rivalry – known as the Old Firm – functioned as a proxy for centuries of Catholic-Protestant antagonism. Celtic, founded in 1887 by Irish Catholic immigrants, and Rangers, embraced by the city's Protestant establishment, weren't merely sports teams but standard-bearers for competing identities and historical narratives. What made these sectarian divides so potent was their connection to economic inequality and immigration patterns. In Glasgow, Catholics of Irish descent had historically faced discrimination in employment and housing, making Celtic's success a matter of communal pride and vindication. Similar dynamics played out in Liverpool, where the Catholic-associated Everton and Protestant-leaning Liverpool reflected the city's sectarian geography. These divides weren't created by soccer, but the sport provided a highly visible arena where historical grievances and contemporary tensions could be expressed through chants, symbols, and sometimes violence. The phenomenon extended well beyond Britain. In Budapest, MTK became identified as the "Jewish club" in contrast to Ferencváros's Hungarian nationalism. Barcelona represented Catalan identity against Real Madrid's Spanish centralism. These associations transformed ordinary league matches into symbolic confrontations between competing visions of nationhood, belonging, and history. On match days, fans didn't just support teams but affirmed their place within larger cultural narratives that extended far beyond sport. Religious and ethnic symbolism saturated these rivalries. Rangers supporters waved Union Jacks and sang songs celebrating Protestant victories from the 17th century. Celtic fans displayed Irish tricolors and commemorated the Irish independence struggle. In Spain, Barcelona matches became rare opportunities for public expression of Catalan identity during Franco's dictatorship. These symbols weren't incidental but central to how fans understood their support – they weren't just backing teams but defending identities perceived to be under threat. The period saw repeated attempts by authorities to separate sport from these divisive associations, with minimal success. Bans on sectarian symbols and songs were routinely circumvented. Club efforts to distance themselves from extremist elements among their supporters often failed, as the emotional connection between identity politics and sporting allegiance proved remarkably resilient. For many fans, the appeal of their club lay precisely in its cultural and religious associations – sanitizing the game meant stripping it of its meaning. By the 1990s, these divides were increasingly problematic for clubs seeking to modernize and expand their commercial appeal. Rangers abandoned their unwritten policy against signing Catholic players, Barcelona downplayed some of its more strident Catalan nationalism to attract international fans, and many clubs launched inclusion initiatives. Yet these attempts at moderation often faced resistance from traditional supporters who saw them as betrayals of authentic club identity. The tension between clubs as bearers of historical identity and clubs as modern businesses became a defining feature of European soccer, reflecting broader societal struggles with multiculturalism and globalization.

Chapter 4: New Money and Power: Oligarchs Transform the Game

The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the subsequent privatization of state assets created a new class of ultra-wealthy business figures who would dramatically reshape soccer in the following decades. These oligarchs – men who had amassed enormous fortunes through connections, cunning, and often questionable means during the chaotic transition to capitalism – saw soccer clubs as perfect vehicles for laundering both their money and their reputations. Roman Abramovich's 2003 purchase of Chelsea FC marked a watershed moment, as the Russian billionaire poured over $1 billion into transforming a middling London club into a global powerhouse. This new money fundamentally altered the competitive landscape. Traditional clubs with deep histories but modest finances found themselves unable to compete with oligarch-backed teams. Financial fair play became increasingly unfair, as clubs like Manchester City (backed by Abu Dhabi royal wealth), Paris Saint-Germain (Qatar Investment Authority), and later Newcastle United (Saudi Arabia's Public Investment Fund) could operate with resources that dwarfed their competitors. Within a decade, the European soccer hierarchy had been comprehensively redrawn along lines of ownership wealth rather than sporting tradition or fan support. The oligarchs brought a distinctive management style to soccer. Accustomed to authoritarian business practices, they frequently fired managers, demanded immediate results, and showed little patience for long-term building. At Chelsea, Abramovich went through nine managers in his first decade of ownership. This approach created a new tension within clubs between the imperatives of immediate success and the values of stability and community connection that had traditionally defined soccer institutions. Players became disposable assets, bought and sold at dizzying rates to satisfy owners' demands for instant gratification. Beyond Europe, oligarchic ownership took different forms but had similar effects. In Brazil, politically connected businessmen controlled clubs through byzantine governance structures that prioritized personal enrichment over sporting success. In Asia, corporations and state entities owned teams outright, treating them as branding exercises rather than community institutions. The common thread was the concentration of power in the hands of extremely wealthy individuals or entities with motives extending far beyond sporting achievement. The impact on fan culture was profound and contradictory. On one hand, oligarch investment brought unprecedented success to some clubs, delighting supporters with championships and star players. On the other, many fans experienced a growing alienation as ticket prices soared, traditional matchday rituals were commercialized, and clubs seemed increasingly disconnected from their local communities. Protest movements emerged at numerous clubs, with supporters attempting to reassert their voice against the overwhelming power of wealth. By the 2010s, the oligarchic transformation had become so complete that when a group of elite clubs attempted to form a breakaway European Super League in 2021, the backlash wasn't about the concept of a closed competition but about the naked greed it represented. The episode revealed both the extraordinary power wielded by soccer's new owners and its limits when confronted with organized fan resistance. The tension between soccer as a community institution and soccer as a billionaire's plaything remains unresolved, reflecting broader debates about wealth concentration in the global economy.

Chapter 5: Tradition vs. Commercialization: Football in Latin America

Latin American soccer has traditionally represented a distinctly different philosophy from the European game, prioritizing artistic expression, improvisation, and individual brilliance over tactical discipline and collective efficiency. From the magical Brazilian sides of Pelé and Garrincha to the Argentine genius of Maradona, Latin American football embodied what Eduardo Galeano called "the joy of playing for playing's sake." This style wasn't merely aesthetic preference but reflected deeper cultural values – a celebration of creativity and spontaneity in societies often constrained by economic hardship and political repression. Beginning in the 1990s, however, this tradition faced an unprecedented challenge as commercialization and globalization transformed the sport. European clubs, flush with television money, began systematically recruiting Latin America's best talents at increasingly younger ages. Players like Ronaldo, Rivaldo, and later Messi and Neymar left their home countries before fully developing within their native traditions. This talent drain created a painful paradox: while Latin American players dominated world football individually, their domestic leagues declined in quality, financial stability, and global relevance. The economic disparities driving this transformation were stark. By the early 2000s, a mid-table European club could offer salaries five times higher than champion teams in Brazil or Argentina. The result was a mass exodus that saw thousands of players leave annually, with increasingly younger prospects departing before even debuting professionally in their home countries. This created a vicious cycle where diminished product quality led to reduced fan interest, lower revenues, and further inability to retain talent. Corruption exacerbated these challenges. Throughout Latin America, club presidents known as "cartolas" (top hats) treated storied institutions as personal fiefdoms. In Brazil, clubs remained technically amateur non-profit organizations despite handling millions in player transfers, creating perfect conditions for financial malfeasance. When foreign investors attempted to modernize these structures in the late 1990s and early 2000s, they often found themselves entangled in opaque systems designed to resist transparency. The struggle between tradition and commercialization played out not just in boardrooms but on the pitch itself. As more Latin American players returned from Europe with more tactical, physically demanding approaches to the game, traditional styles began to evolve. Brazil's 1994 World Cup victory under Parreira represented a pragmatic departure from the "beautiful game," prioritizing results over aesthetics. Similar transformations occurred across the continent, with efficiency increasingly valued over expression. Yet traditional elements proved remarkably resilient. Street football (pelada in Brazil, potrero in Argentina) continued to nurture distinctive skills despite institutional decline. Fan cultures remained vibrant and locally rooted even as marketing efforts attempted to transform clubs into global brands. The enduring popularity of players who embodied traditional virtues – like Ronaldinho's joyful creativity or Messi's improvisational genius – suggested that while economic forces might reshape structures, they couldn't entirely erase cultural football identities formed over generations. By the 2010s, a complex synthesis was emerging. Leading Latin American clubs like Flamengo and River Plate adopted modern business practices while attempting to maintain cultural distinctiveness. National teams sought balanced approaches that could integrate European tactical discipline with traditional technical brilliance. This ongoing negotiation between tradition and commerce reflects broader questions facing Latin American societies: how to engage with global economic forces without surrendering cultural sovereignty and distinct identities.

Chapter 6: Islam's Complex Relationship with the Beautiful Game

Soccer's relationship with Islam presents one of the sport's most nuanced and revealing cultural intersections, exposing tensions between tradition, modernity, and identity politics. Since the 1970s, the game has simultaneously functioned as a vehicle for Islamic expression, a flashpoint for religious conservatism, and a platform for resistance against both Western influence and domestic authoritarianism. This complexity is perhaps most dramatically illustrated in Iran, where soccer has been both tightly controlled by the Islamic Republic and used as a space for challenging its authority. Following the 1979 Islamic Revolution, Iran's new religious leaders initially viewed soccer with suspicion as a Western cultural import and distraction from religious devotion. Revolutionary pamphlets questioned why young men wasted energy on sport rather than serving Islam. However, pragmatism quickly prevailed as the regime recognized soccer's immense popularity and potential utility. Rather than eliminating the game, authorities attempted to Islamize it – changing club names, imposing strict moral codes on players, and using stadium imagery to promote revolutionary values. Soccer became a controlled space where religious messaging could reach mass audiences. Yet this control was never complete. By the late 1990s, Iranian stadiums had become rare public spaces where citizens could express dissent through coded chants and symbols. The national team's qualification for the 1998 World Cup triggered massive street celebrations that transcended sports – women removed mandatory hijabs, young people played forbidden Western music, and implicit challenges to the regime's cultural restrictions emerged spontaneously. The government's response, alternating between concession and crackdown, revealed its fundamental insecurity about soccer's cultural power. Women's relationship with soccer in Islamic contexts reveals particularly sharp contradictions. In Saudi Arabia, Iran, and certain other Muslim-majority countries, women were long prohibited from attending matches – officially for their protection from male crowds and inappropriate language. This exclusion became a focal point for gender equality activism, with Iranian women repeatedly challenging stadium bans despite threats of arrest. The "Open Stadiums" movement succeeded in pressuring FIFA to demand changes, forcing gradual concessions from the Iranian government and highlighting how soccer could advance broader social reforms. Islamic attitudes toward the sport vary dramatically across different regions and theological traditions. In Turkey, soccer thrived under secular governance but faced new tensions as the country experienced re-Islamization under Erdoğan. In Egypt, ultras groups played significant roles in the 2011 revolution, using organizational skills developed in soccer support to challenge authoritarian rule. In Pakistan and Bangladesh, soccer remained secondary to cricket as a national passion, while Indonesia embraced the game enthusiastically despite being the world's largest Muslim-majority nation. The story of Islam and soccer ultimately reveals how a seemingly universal game adapts to and is adapted by different cultural contexts. Rather than demonstrating an inherent conflict between religion and sport, it shows how soccer becomes a arena where competing visions of Islamic identity and modernity are negotiated. The ongoing struggles over women's attendance, appropriate player behavior, and the game's cultural meaning reflect much broader debates within Muslim societies about tradition, change, and authentic expression of faith in a globalized world.

Chapter 7: America's Soccer Revolution: Cultural Resistance and Acceptance

Soccer's struggle for mainstream acceptance in the United States represents one of sports history's most curious anomalies. While dominating global sporting culture, the world's game long remained marginalized in America, dismissed as foreign, boring, or effeminate by a sports establishment devoted to homegrown games like baseball, basketball, and American football. This resistance wasn't merely about athletic preferences but reflected deeper cultural anxieties about American exceptionalism and resistance to global influences. The 1970s saw the first serious attempt to establish professional soccer in America, with the North American Soccer League (NASL) bringing international stars like Pelé, Franz Beckenbauer, and Johan Cruyff to play in U.S. stadiums. The New York Cosmos briefly captured public imagination, drawing crowds of 70,000+ to Giants Stadium. However, this initial boom proved unsustainable, collapsing by the mid-1980s due to overexpansion, financial mismanagement, and failure to develop American talent. The NASL's demise reinforced the narrative that soccer would never succeed on American soil. What the failed professional experiment obscured was a quiet revolution happening at the grassroots level. Youth soccer participation exploded during the 1980s and 1990s, driven by middle-class parents attracted to the sport's inclusivity, relative safety compared to football, and perceived educational benefits. Soccer became coded as a suburban, college-educated pursuit – the antithesis of its working-class associations elsewhere in the world. By 1995, more American children played organized soccer than Little League baseball, creating a generational shift in sporting culture. This demographic transformation laid the groundwork for soccer's eventual mainstream breakthrough. The successful hosting of the 1994 World Cup (still holding attendance records) and the launch of Major League Soccer in 1996 provided structural foundations. The U.S. Women's National Team's repeated World Cup victories created genuine American soccer heroes, while growing Hispanic populations brought authentic soccer cultures to American cities. Technology allowed fans to follow European leagues, creating sophisticated American audiences for the global game. Cultural resistance remained fierce in certain quarters. Sports radio hosts, newspaper columnists, and traditional sports fans continued to disparage soccer as un-American, boring, or pretentious. Conservative commentators like Jack Kemp explicitly framed the sport as foreign and socialist in contrast to the "capitalist" nature of American football. This backlash revealed how deeply sporting preferences had become intertwined with cultural identity politics – rejecting soccer became a way of asserting American exceptionalism against perceived globalist homogenization. By the 2010s, however, soccer had achieved a cultural breakthrough that previous generations would have found unimaginable. MLS stadiums filled with passionate supporters emulating European ultra culture. American players like Christian Pulisic commanded multimillion-dollar transfers to elite European clubs. World Cup matches drew television audiences rivaling the NBA Finals. The transformation reflected broader shifts in American society – increasing cosmopolitanism, demographic diversification, and weakening of traditional cultural gatekeepers. Soccer's American journey ultimately demonstrated both the resilience of national sporting cultures and their capacity for transformation in response to generational change and global influences.

Summary

Throughout this global journey across stadiums and societies, a fundamental tension emerges between soccer as an agent of universalism and soccer as an expression of particularism. The same sport that allows Brazilians, Japanese, and Nigerians to share a common language simultaneously enables the most virulent expressions of tribalism and division. This paradox reflects the broader contradictions of globalization itself – as the world grows more interconnected, identity politics often intensify rather than diminish. Soccer has not resolved this tension but instead provides an arena where it plays out with remarkable clarity and emotional intensity. The lessons for understanding our fractured contemporary world are profound. First, we must recognize that globalization does not automatically erase cultural differences or create harmonious cosmopolitanism – it often makes identity more rather than less important as people seek anchors amid rapid change. Second, sporting institutions, like all cultural entities, cannot be separated from their social and political contexts; they inevitably reflect broader power structures and conflicts. Finally, and perhaps most hopefully, soccer demonstrates how passion for tradition can coexist with openness to innovation, how local roots can sustain global branches. In this sense, the beautiful game offers not just a mirror of our divided world but potentially a model for navigating its complexities with both respect for difference and recognition of our shared humanity.

About Author

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Franklin Foer

Franklin Foer was the editor of The New Republic (2006-10, 2012-14)and has written for Slate , New York magazine., and The Atlantic.He has published several nonfitction books dealing with sports, technology, and globalism. Foer, who lives in Washington, D.C., is older brother of novelist Jonathan Safran Foer and freelance journalist Joshua Foer.

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