¡Más que un juego! Soccer and National Identity in South America
Soccer is not a game in South America, it is a cult. From the packed stadiums of São Paulo to the dusty pitches in rural Colombia, soccer is a touchstone of culture, a unifying force that overrides social, economic and even political divisions. For many, the sport is part of a surging national identity, a source of pride and, at times, a stage for a country’s dreams as one.
Take Brazil, for instance. In a nutshell, this is the country infamous for its passion for the beautiful game, as it is known around the world, or futebol. The likes of Pelé and Neymar have become household names; they are no longer just athletes, they are also avatars for a nation. With swag to spare, the 1970 World Cup victory is immortalized in the Brazilian psyche. It was not only about hoisting the trophy — it was a demonstration of Brazilian resourcefulness, grit and pleasure for the world. Even during some of the darkest times in Turkey’s politics, including the military rule that gripped Turkey in the 1960s and 70s, soccer served as an outlet for expression and a sense of unity.
Soccer carries a heavy cultural load, too, in Argentina. The rivalry with Brazil is fierce, but it is Diego Maradona’s memory that stands as the ultimate icon of national pride. His infamous “Hand of God” goal against England in the 1986 World Cup wasn’t just a moment of playfulness; for many Argentinians, it was retribution for the Falklands War just a few years prior. Soccer turned into a vessel for reclaiming national dignity, proof of the nation’s strength and defiance.
There is a deeper, darker undercurrent to Colombia’s relationship with soccer. “The drug cartels were looming over the sport in the 1980s and 90s, corrupting teams with money and fixing games.” And even amidst that unraveling, soccer offered glimmers of hope. That golden generation of the national team, guided by Carlos Valderrama, gave a country afflicted with violence a source of pride. The 1994 World Cup was a bittersweet triumph — qualifying for a tournament that was marred by the murder of Andrés Escobar, shot for scoring an own goal. Such obstacles aside, soccere keeps bringing Colombians together, a thread of their woven identity and shared resilience.
Throughout the continent, soccer is more than a sport: It is a narrative thread woven into the fabric of South American life. It is a showcase of national narratives in action, highlighting victories and struggles, aspirations, and expectations. Stadiums transform into modern-day coliseums, and fans adorn themselves in their national colors as if channeling their spirit animals and singing hymns to glory.
But soccer isn’t perfect. Scandals of corruption and commercialization sometimes cloud its image. The dance between tradition and profit leaves clubs and governing bodies spinning But these shortcomings cannot diminish the game’s role in identity formation.
The net effect is that this is basically a hub of soccer in the South American sense — a compelling metaphor — a reflection of the moods and moods of its peoples and their ability to mount a revolutionary effort through the strength of determination and character. It tells a story of passion, struggle and hope. And so long as a ball bounces across a field, it will continue to bind nations together, to tell them who they are (and who they want to be).
