Global Fever

The World Cup--a buxom, foot-tall lady hefting an octagonal bowl on her shoulders--is probably the world's least artistic trophy. Without a doubt, it is the most coveted. For the unlovely lady is symbolic of supremacy in the world's most popular sport, football--or soccer, as it is known in the U.S. This week, as the teams move into the final contests for the World Cup, the world is gripped by perhaps the most severe case of football fever in history.

The quadrennial matches are being held this time in Britain, where modern football originated 103 years ago. It has been quite a homecoming. Some 2,500,000 people, including 35,000 foreigners, will have witnessed one or more of the 32 games before the final match in London late this week. Fans who could not come to Britain have kept abreast with play-by-play accounts from 700 radio and TV broadcasters and 1,600 reporters. Thanks to a worldwide satellite hookup, the final game will probably be witnessed on television by no fewer than 400 million.

Woe in Rio. The matches began fortnight ago with 16 national teams in the running. By late last week, the only teams with a hope of victory were Britain, Portugal, the Soviet Union and West Germany. To the despair of their supporters, the others had fallen to noisy defeat. The loudest wails came from Brazil, whose team had won the cup in 1958 and 1962. A loss to Portugal became a nationwide calamity. From office buildings in Rio and Sao Paulo, clouds of black carbon paper and typewriter ribbon cascaded onto the streets below; flags were lowered to half-mast, and people wept in public.

Italians were equally bitter when their highly rated team was knocked out of the race by the tournament's lowest-rated contenders, the North Koreans. Rome's Corriere Dello Sport ran a one-word headline: SHAME! In Parliament, a neo-Fascist deputy pointed to Italy's defeat as the sign that a new Duce was needed to rescue the nation's fading honor.

Teutonic Intensity. The West Germans' victory in 1954 did more to reestablish German self-esteem than all the postwar agreements combined. Hoping to become Weltmeister again, the Germans are following the matches with Teutonic intensity. Some have bought a second TV set in case one should fail, spurred perhaps by the tragic case of a 33-year-old leatherworker who hanged himself at his home near Frankfurt after his set went on the blink during one of the opening games.

Portugal is seized by excitement. During the matches, the streets in Portuguese towns are deserted: everyone huddles near radios or TV sets. Last week's victory over North Korea paralyzed downtown Lisbon as fans, waving flags and shouting "Viva O Portugal!", snake danced through the streets.

The nation that perhaps yearns most for victory is Britain. With the country's economy in a mess and Prime Minister Harold Wilson under fire, what Britons long for is to be supreme once more in something. "Please, please, England, win," cries a fan in a London newspaper cartoon, "if only to take my mind off the pound!"

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