The World Cup remains the only time where
football transcends the affluent, urban
demographic that follow the European leagues
in Indu
Every weekend, any Indian football fan with a
cable or DTH connection is confronted with
stark confirmation that consumer capitalism
means near-unlimited choice. Apart from the
ubiquitous English Premier League, we are
offered live action from the Spanish, Italian,
French, German, Dutch and Scottish leagues,
plus the English second division (misleadingly
called the “Championship”). Games that are not
telecast in England—due to restrictions
designed to encourage fans to attend matches
live—are broadcast in India with commentary
in your choice of Hindi or English.
Yet for all this surfeit of European football,
India remains a one-sport country. The
broadcasting choices of Star Sports indicate
that unless Manchester United or Arsenal are
playing, Indian viewers tend to prefer cricket
re-runs (as long as India won the match, of
course) to live football. The World Cup remains
the only time where football transcends the
affluent, urban demographic that follow the
European leagues. It is only at World Cup time,
for instance, that Indian newspapers—both in
English and in the vernacular—have any serious
or detailed coverage of the sport.
To European and Latin American fans, the
World Cup has arguably never been less
important. The standard of play is generally
acknowledged to be lower than that of the
UEFA Champions League, and a series of
corruption scandals at FIFA, most notably
around its decision to award the 2022 World
Cup to Qatar, have diminished the World Cup’s
prestige and glamour. Even in Brazil, a country
that is thought of as being synonymous with
football, the tournament is polarizing, widely
seen as a waste of public money in a poor and
unequal society. None of this seems to have
affected Indian interest in the tournament:
Sony Six, the broadcasters, were probably not
far off when they estimated that 125 million
Indians would tune in at some point.
India’s enduring—and growing—fascination
with the World Cup is best understood, in
historical terms, as having three phases. In the
first phase, roughly from 1950 to 1978,
Indians followed the World Cup in newsprint
or on the radio. The 1958 World Cup was the
first to be broadcast, but only to a Swedish
audience. From 1962 onwards, the tournament
was shown to a “global” audience that did not
include India. This period was a Golden Age
both for the World Cup and for Indian
football. In an era where the best Latin
American players tended to play their league
football at home, the World Cup represented
the pinnacle of football in terms of both
prestige and the quality of play. The stars that
emerged at these tournaments—Puskas, Didi,
Garrincha, Beckenbauer, Cruyff and above all
Pele—were household names in India, a
country that during the 1960s had a claim to
being Asia’s strongest team. Unfortunately, the
regard Indian fans had for the World Cup was
not shared by the All India Football
Federation. When all our qualifying opponents
withdrew in 1950, handing India a World Cup
place by default, AIFF declined the place, in
light of the expense involved in travelling to
Brazil. The belief that India refused to play
because FIFA insisted on us wearing football
boots is, according to Novy Kapadia’s new
history of the World Cup, “a self-perpetuating
myth.”
AIFF’s decision to prioritize the Olympics over
the World Cup retarded the development of
Indian football in the long run—India did not
attempt to qualify for another World Cup until
1986. For the Indian fan, however, the second
phase of our relationship to the World Cup
began with Spain 1982, the first tournament to
be televised live in India. To read about Pele
and Beckenbauer, or hear their skills described
on the radio, was one thing: to watch Zico and
Socrates in colour television quite another. For
Indians, the 1982 World Cup was
transformative in two fundamental ways. First,
it highlighted the unbridgeable gap between
Indian footballers and the European and Latin
American elite players—the realization of this
gap has suppressed fan interest and
appreciation for Indian clubs ever since.
Secondly, it implanted the idea of Brazil as
representing football at its joyous, flowing,
best. That 3:30 AM Feeling | Keshava Guha
football transcends the affluent, urban
demographic that follow the European leagues
in Indu
Every weekend, any Indian football fan with a
cable or DTH connection is confronted with
stark confirmation that consumer capitalism
means near-unlimited choice. Apart from the
ubiquitous English Premier League, we are
offered live action from the Spanish, Italian,
French, German, Dutch and Scottish leagues,
plus the English second division (misleadingly
called the “Championship”). Games that are not
telecast in England—due to restrictions
designed to encourage fans to attend matches
live—are broadcast in India with commentary
in your choice of Hindi or English.
Yet for all this surfeit of European football,
India remains a one-sport country. The
broadcasting choices of Star Sports indicate
that unless Manchester United or Arsenal are
playing, Indian viewers tend to prefer cricket
re-runs (as long as India won the match, of
course) to live football. The World Cup remains
the only time where football transcends the
affluent, urban demographic that follow the
European leagues. It is only at World Cup time,
for instance, that Indian newspapers—both in
English and in the vernacular—have any serious
or detailed coverage of the sport.
To European and Latin American fans, the
World Cup has arguably never been less
important. The standard of play is generally
acknowledged to be lower than that of the
UEFA Champions League, and a series of
corruption scandals at FIFA, most notably
around its decision to award the 2022 World
Cup to Qatar, have diminished the World Cup’s
prestige and glamour. Even in Brazil, a country
that is thought of as being synonymous with
football, the tournament is polarizing, widely
seen as a waste of public money in a poor and
unequal society. None of this seems to have
affected Indian interest in the tournament:
Sony Six, the broadcasters, were probably not
far off when they estimated that 125 million
Indians would tune in at some point.
India’s enduring—and growing—fascination
with the World Cup is best understood, in
historical terms, as having three phases. In the
first phase, roughly from 1950 to 1978,
Indians followed the World Cup in newsprint
or on the radio. The 1958 World Cup was the
first to be broadcast, but only to a Swedish
audience. From 1962 onwards, the tournament
was shown to a “global” audience that did not
include India. This period was a Golden Age
both for the World Cup and for Indian
football. In an era where the best Latin
American players tended to play their league
football at home, the World Cup represented
the pinnacle of football in terms of both
prestige and the quality of play. The stars that
emerged at these tournaments—Puskas, Didi,
Garrincha, Beckenbauer, Cruyff and above all
Pele—were household names in India, a
country that during the 1960s had a claim to
being Asia’s strongest team. Unfortunately, the
regard Indian fans had for the World Cup was
not shared by the All India Football
Federation. When all our qualifying opponents
withdrew in 1950, handing India a World Cup
place by default, AIFF declined the place, in
light of the expense involved in travelling to
Brazil. The belief that India refused to play
because FIFA insisted on us wearing football
boots is, according to Novy Kapadia’s new
history of the World Cup, “a self-perpetuating
myth.”
AIFF’s decision to prioritize the Olympics over
the World Cup retarded the development of
Indian football in the long run—India did not
attempt to qualify for another World Cup until
1986. For the Indian fan, however, the second
phase of our relationship to the World Cup
began with Spain 1982, the first tournament to
be televised live in India. To read about Pele
and Beckenbauer, or hear their skills described
on the radio, was one thing: to watch Zico and
Socrates in colour television quite another. For
Indians, the 1982 World Cup was
transformative in two fundamental ways. First,
it highlighted the unbridgeable gap between
Indian footballers and the European and Latin
American elite players—the realization of this
gap has suppressed fan interest and
appreciation for Indian clubs ever since.
Secondly, it implanted the idea of Brazil as
representing football at its joyous, flowing,
best. That 3:30 AM Feeling | Keshava Guha
