Everybody's Game
Winners of the Universal Football Cup (Original Ruleset)
1919: Australia
def: United Kingdom
1924: Australia
def: South Africa
1929: [cancelled due to Eurasian War]
1934: United Kingdom
def: Australia
1939: Australia
def: United Kingdom
1944: Australia
def: New Zealand
1949: South Africa
def: Canada
1954: United Kingdom
def: Australia
1959: [cancelled due to internal differences in GUFL; competing "Classic Universal Football Championship" still in operation]
Winners of the Universal Football Cup ("Global" Ruleset)
1960: United States
def: Ireland
1965: Scotland
def: South Africa
1970: New Zealand
def; Australia
1975: "Exiled" South Africa
def: United States
1980: Ireland
def: England
1985: Canada
def: Irian
1990: Canada
def: Scotland
1995: [cancelled due to Third Irish War of Independence; replaced by charity game between Irian and Canada]
2000: Cape Republic
def: Fiji
2005: United States
def: Ireland
2010: Micronesia
def: Irian
2015: Irian
def: Australia
2020: Australia
def: Canada
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Wooh hooh! Crack open the bubbly, set up the barbie, and put on Waltzing Matilda, because FOOTER'S COMING HOME! Our boys in green and gold are right where they should be--on top of the world! Mike Cheika and his boys in the Roos have played a blinder of a championship, and after over 80 years of hurt, the Con Hickey Trophy is returning to its rightful place. With that thrill-ride of a game behind us, there's no better time to take a gander over the other great Universal Football World Cups of the past. After all, if you don't know where Everybody's Game came from, you won't know why we're singing that it's coming home at last, will ya? Every cup has its stories, its triumphs and disasters, but these are the ones that'll live on in our hearts 'til we're gone. Or at least, in mine.
Number Five: Port Moresby, 2015
Yeah, yeah, maybe it's cheating to pick one so fresh in the memory, but we can't very well pick this year's one, can we? It's only been three weeks! Plus, we'd look biased. So we've just got to pick the Port Moresby cup, where everything Cheika would go on to have the Roos excel at in Philadelphia shined for the first time. Using a limited amount of sheparding to control the game's tempo without picking up red cards, long passes over the defensive line's heads, that total fluidity in player's roles on the pitch that he learnt so well at Dublin--all of these saw Australia right through the tournament, but couldn't quite overcome the homefield advantage of the Mozzies. It took a few more years of training (not to mention Mark Bontempelli and Sydney Stack coming of age) before the whole became something more than the sum of its parts--but what parts they were, eh?
Of course, it wasn't all Australia's tournament. Irian were ecstatic to host, and played an absolute blinder all tournament--from their 156-0 thrashing of Sunda at the start of the group stages, to the nailbiter that was their 34-31 defeat of the Roos. (The arc of Oea's conversion as it soared over the crossbar is still burnt into so many Aussie retinas.). The whole cup was widely seen as the nation's tribute to the legendary Stanley Gene, who'd, 5 years ago, been narrowly denied a victory before his retirement--a token position as "assistant coach" let him hold the trophy aloft like he should have done as captain. Even outside the Pacific, this cup was a dream-maker. Few would have bet on the Phillipines making it right up to the quarter-finals, or Lebanon making it into the semis, but outside the two well-oiled machines of the cup, football was, as ever, a game for everyone.
I'm an old git, and I'm required to argue that the quality of everything is going downhill. That's why you'd better trust me when I say that the quality of Australian footer--hell, of footer worldwide--has never been better than it is right now. The new way the game's played is quick, changeable, and doesn't stop every few minutes because someone lost an eye. Enjoy it, kids. Make good memories, because they're worth your time making.
Number Four: Toronto, 1975
You'll probably remember this one from your civics textbooks, but let Uncle Phil natter on a bit, won't you? By the Seventies, the old Union of South Africa was breaking down politically. The United Party's tenuous government had collapsed by the start of the Fifties, and the pro-Apartheid, pro-Baasskap National Party were holding the reins of power. Under Havenga and then the ironically-named Svart, the black citizens of South Africa only ever interacted with the whites as master and servant. They were separated in everything else in life, from love to housing to footer. And if you didn't like that state of affairs, you were in jail, dead, or forced out of the country. Unfortunately for the Springboks, that category of people included one of their best ever forwards. Tommy Bedford, kicked out of the national team for playing a friendly with a West Indian side, still had contacts among the anti-Apartheid South African Football Union, but wasn't picking up the ball.
It took the expulsion of South Africa from the GUFL (following repeated protests and the Springboks' refusal to play Melanesian teams) to spur him to action. The initial plan was to register as the sports team for one of the Apartheid government's phony "bantustans", but after repeated warnings that his passport would be revoked for going to Toronto, he bit the bullet and declared that
they were the real South African team--for
all of South Africa. The idea was to shame the government and expose South Africa to outside ideas, even if they didn't get very far. Yet with such a brilliant squad--Magxala's sheer prescence as ruckman, Yeye and Cheeky Watson's synergy as wing attackers, Bedford himself with his tight work on offence--any other team would have predicted a sure victory.
The image of Bedford sharing the trophy with Morgan Cushe, each man half-holding it aloft, became a symbol of the beginning of the end for the Baasskap system. Fittingly, it was a veteran of the Exiles who led the next African team to victory, with Zola Yeye's coaching doing so much to unite a young and fragile nation--yet another testament to footer's ability to bring people together.
Number Three: Dublin, 1960
Of all the cups on this list, this one came the closest to not happening at all. The very fact of its happening in Ireland, one of the two countries the GUFL was tearing itself apart over including, was a symbol of why. As per the GUFL's charter, the ruleset of footer gets updated once every 10 years--normally just a few tweaks, little adaptations to new edge cases or tactics. The update for 1958, though, ended up a maelstrom of controversy. More points for over-bar goals, ending boundary throw-ins, scrimmage lines, forward passing...it may as well have been a whole new sport. The proponents called it "International Football", incorporating the styles of the football of Ireland and of America to expand footer to whole new markets. The opponents called it a bastardisation of the sacred game in the pursuit of profit, and refused to have anything to do with it.
The sport wasn't quite in freefall by 1960, but its situation was still far from stable. The whole Canadian UFL had split off out of a fear of being crushed by their local form of gridiron, and half the major British teams were in open rebellion over the idea of playing games in Ireland. To demonstrate the superiority of the new rules, the cup needed to be an absolute blinder. Luckily for everyone involved, it was. To the surprise of many--even the organisers themselves--the American team were able to hold their own in the face of a sport far more brutal than they were used to, and the new adaptations placed focus on the kickers in a way that allowed for solid leads to quickly vanish. The final match--17-0 by the end of the first half, 20-23 by the end of the second, that last-minute goal by Alvin Kirkland narrowly thrust over the Irish defence--was a nailbiter that made the old system just look
dull.
The splitters' attempt at a World Cup ended up a plodding excuse for a friendly match, with England pasting an "United Rest-of-the-World" 20-3. The Canadians ended up returning to the fold a year later, and ironically, thrived--now they could pull talent and tactics from their gridiorn, after all. You can still find True Footer on the satellite box, and fair play to them, they're keeping a tradition they love going. But it's not footer. The vision of that slow, insular, Anglo-dominated game is gone forever, thanks to one majestic scramble in Croke Park.
Number Two: Vancouver, 1995
Yeah, I know, not technically a World Cup final, isn't it? Feel free to carp in the comments, I know and I don't care.
Going to have to go all civics-textbook here again, but at least in this case there's a low chance you'll have done it in school. The winning bid for the 1995 cup was the Irish one--the first time they'd hosted since 1960. The Irish UFL had pretty grand plans, ranging from whole new stadiums to exhibition games of "classic" Gaelic football, but as usual, the plans ran into the real world. Except this time, that didn't just mean "we ran out of money". On the 6th of November, 1994, a van drove out of Swanlinbar towards the British border, and didn't stop once it hit the customs check. Or, for that matter, once it hit the front wall of a house on a British side, right through a family sitting room. One thing led to another, two governments who hated each other found an excuse, and by the time the new year arrived half the Irish footer team had been conscripted into the Republican Army to shoot at, among others, several members of the English footer team. The cup was unceremoniously cancelled under the circumstances.
The replacement wasn't anything spectacular. With a good third of the top-flight teams at war, it couldn't really be. The 1995 Footer World Cup Final was the first to take place without any qualifying stages leading up to it. Canada was the reigning champions and their UFL came up with the idea. Irian had "won" the qualifiers (highest average score per game) and, unlike the other "winner" (most games won), New Zealand, were willing to take part. Still, the fans rallied round, with a fire in their hearts. The main notable thing about the game itself was the way the profits were to be divided. Ticket sales, merchandise sales, even most of the players' salaries, all of it, minus the amount that covered the match, was going to charity. Specifically, the Red Cross's Anglo-Irish Relief Fund. The war might have interfered with footer, but footer did its level best to interfere with the war right back. And to the tune of 13 million dollars, it did.
Eventually, after too many dead, Francis Ross and Michael Forsyth shook hands in Dundalk and both sides slinked back to the status quo. The world-beaters that were the 1995 Harpers never played a match--just like the 1990 Springboks, whose country collapsed under them, or the 1929 Lions, shot down in Flanders, or...the list goes on. Some like to joke about sport substituing for war, and I bloody hope it will do someday. Until then, that Canada vs Irian game will remain a symbol of the best a community can do to make up for the holes war leaves.
Number One: Melbourne, 1919
The Southern Pride. The Big One. The original, the most important, and the best. There's very little new I can say here, but who gives a stuff? The old story is just as good. Let's start at the beginning, shall we? By the turn of the century (The
other century! Whippersnappers!) something a bit like modern footer was established in Australia, called "Australian rules football". A niche game originating from various elite universities, it faced serious competition on all sides from soccer, rugby, and cricket, and was unable to expand outside of Australia--or north of Victoria, for that matter. Back in Blighty, a schism over compensation for work-hours lost had led to the formation of the "Rugby League", a splinter from mainstream rugby who went on to introduce their own rules to change up the game. New rules that created a game with a distinct similarity to Australian football, and that proved popular in Australia.
As early as 1908, a mere year after "League rugby" had landed in Australia, there were discussions about a merged game. By 1914, after a tour by the British League rugby team hit Sydney at the same time as the Interstate Carnival, the idea of unity could no longer be ignored. Financially, both leagues would be better off without competition. From a fan point of view, more international and interstate matches could only be a good thing. League rugby itself was a young sport, so a drastic shakeup of the rulebook wouldn't go over too badly. The unifiers had triumphed totally by the end of 1915, and the first exhibition match at the Adelaide Oval would be joined by many others for the upcoming season. In the UK, reception was choppier, but the Northern clubs were quickly won round once Con Hickey extended an offer to "see how the game is played down South". A British expeditionary team arrived in Victoria on the 12th of May, 1919, and quickly headed to the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The 67-12 defeat for the Lions was taken in good spirits by men who'd barely been outside Yorkshire and Lancashire before, and as the trophy was lifted over the victorious Roos, the era of a truly
universal football had arrived.
Who can say how things might have turned out, had that not come to pass? The Aussie state leagues were all for it--you'd have to send the country to war to get something else on their minds--but the Poms were more hesitant. Imagine, for a minute, a world without footer. A world where there's no common game binding us from Sydney to Sri Lanka, from the Mersey to the Mississippi, from Dublin to Durban. Without that sense of a worldwide community, a sport that's unbound by petty nationalisms, and truly for everyone. I'm glad I don't live there. I'm glad I live in the world of footer, and the world of Melbourne, 1919.
