I first saw this on a random search for a new book on football. The cover makes it look like it’s perhaps a story or novel on the game, but it has been almost classified as “history of the sport”. This is true in one regard, as it does take the reader through the game from beginning up until the 2002 World Cup, but to say it is merely a historical reference it definitely inaccurate. Like many other authors from the Americas, there is a very romantic passion that Galeano speaks with. He writes with and embraces a type of witty poetry in a series of short stories/essays that start at the most simple point of the game – soccer, then the player, the goalkeeper, the fan etc … escalating until he seamlessly gets into the history of the sport from the Chinese to the 20th century where he spends the majority of the book.
Galeano is from Uraguay, so his approach is very South Americancentric (did I just make up a word???). He grew up seeing what could be called a golden era of South American football – before all the best players would leave for Europe at a young age. Stories of Pele, Di Stephano, Ademir and Puskas (in Europe) aren’t researched , but come from memories of his youth. The focus on South America is by no means a fault or knock on the book, and it does cover much in Europe through World Cups and the most famous clubs, but I would say that it is not meant to be the most comprehensive historical read.
Soccer in the Sun and Shadow, to me, comes across as memories from a fan, someone who loves and is passionate about the game to the very core. Galeano doesn’t write like a journalist or a sports writer. He appreciates the beauty of a game that is not what he remembers it used to be. In a very wry manner, he rejects what it has become, a commercial venture ruled by those who see only profit, by pointing out that World Cups now are won on market terms. The 2002 World Cup was won by Brazil over Germany and Turkey finishing third over South Korea – with Nike taking first and fourth, while Adidas finished second and third.
It’s hard not to side with Galeano’s view and passion of the game. I am not fortunate enough to have grown up in a country or in a time where the game meant everything. Having witnessed a change in the game throughout his lifetime – in his hometown, country, contitnent and the world, where it comes to the point that he has to confess:
I’ve finally learned to accept myself for who I am: a beggar for good soccer. I go about the world, hand outstretched, and in the stadiums I plead: “A pretty move, for the love of God.” And when good soccer happens, I give thanks for the miracle and I don’t give a damn which team or country performs it.
