In November 2024, having just returned from a footballing trip to Buenos Aires and Montevideo, I gave a lecture to Latin American Studies students from Bath University. The topic was ‘The Social Roots of River Plate Football and National Awakening in Argentina and Uruguay, 1867-1930 and the Present Day’. Here is a summary of that talk. If you’d like to know more about the roots of football in both countries and elsewhere, I cover the topic in my first book, Origin Stories: The Pioneers Who Took Football to the World.
Firstly, some context. The modern game of Association rules football was first outlined in the Football Association (FA) rulebook in London in late 1863 as a consolidation of football codes from around various English educational establishments, such as Charterhouse, Eton and the University of Cambridge. Certain private schools preferred the rougher handling code used at the Rugby School and spawned a whole other ball game.
In the second half of the 19th century, Argentina was undergoing significant change. Having declared independence from Spain in 1816, Argentina spent much of the century fighting with itself and its neighbours. However, it was still a land of opportunity with a huge agricultural sector, attracting foreign investment, including British railway and banking entrepreneurs.
Uruguay, which – rather like Belgium in Europe – was created as a buffer state between two big powers in Argentina and Brazil, declared its independence from Spain in 1825. Similarly, the British community in Uruguay was involved in agriculture, banking and railways, and set up their own community spaces to recreate their games from home, most notably cricket. At the same time, leaders in Latin American countries viewed British things such as football as ‘modernity’, and something to be embraced.
When Yorkshire-born siblings Thomas and James Hogg first demonstrated an eight-a-side game of ‘football’ based on the Association code at the Buenos Aires Cricket Club in Palermo on 20 June 1867, it was the first time the game had been played in the River Plate. Their own ‘Buenos Aires Football Club’ did not last longer than the 1880s, but by then a new wave of educators were arriving to take the game forward.
The British community established schools. Glaswegian Alexander Watson Hutton set up his Buenos Aires English High School in 1884 with a keen focus on physical education, especially football. Watson Hutton, regarded as the ‘father of Argentine football’, also kickstarted the Argentine Association Football League (now the Asociación Argentina de Fútbol – AFA) in 1893. Argentina’s league – first launched by fellow Scot Alec Lamont in 1891 – was the first outside Britain or Ireland.
In Rosario to the north, Isaac Newell from Rochester, Kent, introduced football into the school he had established; a legacy now remembered in the club Newell’s Old Boys. In Uruguay, another Kentish man, William Leslie Poole of Bromley, helped establish Uruguay’s first football club, Albion FC, and set up the country’s football association (now the Asociación Uruguaya de Fútbol – AUF).
While some clubs included native-born (criollo) players, typically of Italian, Spanish or Basque origin, others did not. For example, the Central Uruguay Railway Cricket Club (CURCC) – now known as Peñarol – was inclusive from its foundation in 1891, while clubs like Albion in Montevideo or Quilmes Atlético Club near Buenos Aires, were British-only. English was also the language of the associations. As in England a generation before, football was split along class lines until the working-class formed their own clubs.
Having seen the ‘locos ingléses’ (crazy English – ‘English’ being lazy shorthand for anyone who spoke English, so there were lots of Scots involved too) playing football in the docks, railways and private land, the local criollo population started playing with whatever they could and wherever they could. Typically, this wasteland would be bumpy ground known as the potrero, where close control and short passing were essential skills to master.
Criollos started to form their own clubs, starting with Club Nacional de Football in Montevideo – South America’s first and oldest criollo-founded club – and Argentino de Quilmes near Buenos Aires in 1899. In the first decade of the 20th century, some of Argentina’s traditionally biggest clubs emerged – River Plate (1901); Racing Club (1903); Boca Juniors, Independiente and Estudiantes de La Plata (1905); and San Lorenzo (1908).
When Racing Club became the first criollo club to win the Argentine league in 1913, it was a significant moment. The club is very much a national banner, having adopted the sky blue and white Albiceleste stripes of the national side as its shirt.
Between 1880-1916, Argentina was ruled by a single party, the Partido Autonomista Nacional (PAN – National Autonomy Party). Under controversial two-time president Julio Argentino Roca, Argentina expanded into Patagonia at the expense of the indigenous Mapuche people and immigration from Europe increased in what was both an economic drive and also a bid to create a ‘European style’ nation. Similarly, in Uruguay, ethnic cleansing of indigenous peoples in the 19th century all but eliminated any trace of pre-Colombian culture. Conversations about national identity were very top-down, from the leadership to the people.
The idea of what it meant to be Argentinian coincided with similar conversations in Europe, where newly created nations like Italy (1861) and Germany (1871) were taking place. The vision of the Argentine as the gaucho Martin Fierro as depicted in two epic poems by José Hernandez in the 1870s, was giving way in the early 20th century as mass immigration from Italy, in particular, helped shape the Argentine accent and language (such as its slang, lunfardo) and coincided with the rise of international football.
Meanwhile, the British grip on Rioplatense football loosened. By the first Campeonato Sudamericano (now the Copa America) in 1916, all the Uruguayan squad names are Spanish, Italian or Basque in origin, as are most of the Argentines. In 1919, the launch of El Gráfico newspaper as Argentina’s first sports journal brought serious analysis to football.
In the potreros, a new kind of national identity was being formed. The ‘pibe’ – a lunfardo word for a street kid – was playing football with tight control and, occasionally, some engaño (trickery). The flair and close passing of the pibe would contribute to the Argentine style of ‘La Nuestra’ (our thing), the way Argentina expects the game to be played.
The 1920s were pivotal to the fortunes of both countries. While the Rioplatense rivalry had been important in the first couple of decades to spurring both countries on – aided by tournaments such as tea magnate Sir Thomas Lipton’s criollo-only Copa Lipton – in the 1920s and early 1930s, it cranked up another level.
Aided by a golden generation of players, including José Andrade, José Nasazzi, and Héctor Scarone, Uruguay won the 1924 Olympic football gold medal in Paris. So unknown was the country that the organisers did not even know the flag or the correct national anthem. Here, Uruguay invented the ‘lap of honour’ at the Stade de Colombes, a lasting legacy that we still see at sports events worldwide.
Uruguay defended the title in 1928 in Amsterdam. This time Argentina joined them at the tournament, losing to their neighbours in the final. Although amateur and without the British professionals in England and Scotland, or the Austrian Wunderteam, Uruguay could claim to be the best side in the world and were awarded the right to host the first official FIFA World Cup in 1930. Uruguay won that too, once more defeating Argentina in the final.
Quite simply, without football few people would have heard of Uruguay. I asked a couple of Uruguayan historians if this was fair comment, and they agreed.
Uruguayan national character in football is depicted as ‘La Garra Charrúa’ (the Charrúa’s claw – the Charrúa being the indigenous people who lived in the area of what is now Uruguay and northern Argentina). It means never giving up, never knowing when you’re beaten and doing whatever it takes to win. An example is Luis Suárez’s infamous handball on the line against Ghana in the World Cup quarter-final of 2010 to prevent the African side scoring a late winner.
The River Plate rivalry was essential to both countries’ success, but in the 1930s, a new power emerged in South American football – Brazil. Argentina’s rivalry with Brazil would come to eclipse that of Uruguay.
The Rioplatense encounter was a sibling rivalry – both countries are geographically close, share similar demographics, drink yerba mate, play football, love tango, have a gaucho culture, and even have comparable flags featuring blue and white stripes and the Sol de Mayo (Sun of May, based on the Inca sun god, Inti). However, Brazil was different. Brazilian players spoke Portuguese, listened to samba music, and were often of African descent. It presented a juxtaposition to Argentina, which emphasised its European-ness.
During the 1940s, with Argentina at its peak, there were no World Cups due to World War II. In 1966, the country felt hard done by in London as England eliminated them in a dirty match. Other questions arose during the 1970s around football and identity. Argentina hosted and won the controversial 1978 World Cup under dictatorship, playing with the flair and style of La Nuestra under coach Cesar Luis Menotti. His creative possession style clashed with that of Carlos Bilardo, who coached the side to the 1986 World Cup, and whose Estudiantes side had been renowned for its effective, if negative, play.
In 1982, the Argentine military junta sent a force to capture the British-controlled Falkland Islands/Islas Malvinas, which Argentina had long believed to be their territory. To their surprise, the Thatcher government sent a force to retake the islands, and the brief conflict led to defeat for Argentina and the collapse of the junta. In 1986, Argentina met England in the World Cup quarter finals in one of the most infamous matches in history. In the space of five minutes, Diego Maradona scored both arguably the most controversial goal in history – La Mano de Dios (the Hand of God) goal, punching the ball into the net undetected – and the greatest individual goal ever, running past five England players to score the ‘goal of the century’. While Argentina went on to win the tournament, the match with England and the manner of it was essential to Argentine self-esteem after the humiliation of defeat in the 1982 war and seen as revenge for the 1966 debacle.
“To understand Maradona is to understand Argentina,” one Argentine told me. I asked around to see if this was just a male viewpoint or if it was more inclusive and universal than that. One historian argued that yes, it was fair, as it depicted the immigrant working hard and doing whatever they needed to do to succeed.
Similarly, in 2022, Argentina’s third World Cup triumph was an essential national morale boost at a time of out-of-control inflation and financial and political turmoil.
To conclude, football is an essential part of life in both Argentina and Uruguay and plays a definitive role both at home – in terms of how the countries view themselves – and abroad in terms of ‘soft power’ and branding. Both countries have forged an identity for themselves in terms of how they play and also – in the early days – what they’re not (i.e. the less-expressive British game that was first introduced).
For Uruguay, football is an embassy – quite simply, without football and its footballers, the country would not be as well known. The success of the national side and its clubs are important to how the nation feels, probably more than in most countries.
For Argentina, football also has a political edge, especially if playing against England or Brazil.
I will be releasing some new podcasts on football in Argentina soon, so please subscribe to the Outside Write podcast wherever you get your podcasts. Thanks again to Dr Penny Miles for inviting me to talk to her Bath University students.
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