Juan Villoro
The King of soccer has died in Sao Paulo, in a hospital appropriately named after Albert Einstein, as the death confirms the theory of relativity: the deceased is immortal.
For my generation, Pelé represented the grace and elegance of fair play. His movements had the perfection of effectiveness reached through beauty.
He was born in 1940, which means that at the age of ten, he cried at the Maracaná Final that Uruguay won surprisingly and that he heard on the radio. Brazil abandoned its white uniform as if it were a cursed rag and adopted blue shorts and a yellow jersey. With the excesses of childhood, Pelé set out to triumph in those colors. He trained in the sands of Tres Corais, Minas Gerais, where night matches were played if there was a full moon (sometimes interrupted by the passing of a cloud) until Santos discovered him. When he moved to that coastal city, he ran to the sea to prove a legend: the water was salty.
His destiny happened in fast motion. In 1957 he made his debut with the national team against Argentina and scored against the legendary Amadeo Carrizo.
In those romantic times, teams had five strikers, and he joined the goal fair. On February 15, 1958, the unavoidable Nelson Rodrigues wrote an article that would consolidate Edson Arantes’ nickname: “Pelé’s royalty”. There he said: “I examine Pelé’s file, and I get shocked: Seventeen years old! Certain ages are aberrant and implausible. One of them is Pelé’s. I, being over forty, find it hard to believe that someone could be seventeen years old, ever. My character of the week, a real kid, walks around the field with an irresistible, unquestionable authority. You’d think he was a king; I don’t know if it was Lear, Emperor Jones, or an Ethiopian king. Racially perfect, invisible cloaks seem to hang from his chest. In short, put him in any inheritance, and his royal majesty will dwarf all the court around him.” Shortly after, the young King conquered the World Cup in Sweden.
No move was impossible for him. He mastered two-footed dribbling, free kicks, headers, feints, passing, and wall moves; moreover, he turned the celebration into an aesthetic pirouette, jumping to whip the air with festive fullness.
Luck dealt him a setback in Chile 62. He got injured and was replaced by Amarildo, but he was part of the Canarinha team that won the Cup for the second consecutive time. In England 66, he left the field on a stretcher after being kicked by the Portuguese, and his team did not get very far. His greatest triumph came in Mexico 70. The King was dazzled with such power that even the goals he did not score were remembered. Against Czechoslovakia, he almost scored a half-court shot that went past the post. Against Uruguay, he received a pass in front of goalkeeper Ladislao Mazurkiewicz and let the ball pass, generating a self-pass that he recovered elsewhere in the area, from where he shot without hitting the target. Against England, he perfected his heading technique, but goalkeeper Gordon Banks made the save of his life. No one who saw those plays forgets them. Pelé reigned because of what he did and the whims he tried. His throws, with no other prize than daring, are forms of art for art’s sake.
At the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., I consulted the book 1283, a number that recalls the King’s goals. The volume fulfills the essential requirement of luxury publications: it does not fit on any bookshelf. Logically, 1283 copies of the work were published. I suppose that those who have one are potentates or FIFA hierarchs. The paradox of this collector’s item is that it is about mass passion. The images capture not only the King but the crowds watching him.
From a very young age, Pelé was hostage to the public eye. Unlike his countryman Socrates, he did not openly oppose the Brazilian dictatorship and agreed to promote the World Cup in the United States against his own country’s bid. His main extra-football contribution occurred in the government of Fernando Henrique Cardoso when he served as Minister of Sports and promoted the “Pelé Law”, which allows players to be masters of their destiny at the end of their contract.
Cordial and always smiling, he was the perfect ambassador of Jogo bonito, on and off the field.
Pelé dominated penalty kicks but said it was a cowardly way to score. Even so, that is how he reached his 1,000th goal against Vasco da Gama. A team player of the strip team resorted to the trick of kicking the lime patch to make a hole in it and deflect the shot, but there was no way to stop the King.
I remember Pelé under the sun at the Azteca Stadium in the 1970 final against the Azzurri. Until then, there was a curse that whoever scored first lost that decisive game. Pelé did so in the 18th minute, with a header identical to the one Gordon Banks saved, which Albertosi could not save. The myth indicated that Italy would win, and Boninsegna equalized in the 37th minute.
Yes, myth, destiny, and history all said one thing, but Brazil had Pelé. The epic ended 4-1 in favor of the most colorful national team of all time.
Edson Arantes do Nascimento was on time for every play, including the last one. He waited until the World Cup in Qatar was over to remember that trophies change hands, but only one man has been King three times.
This is published in Spanish today by Reforma
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