Brazilian football has lost its sense of identity after years of foreign exodus
Fans hardly recognise a team spawned at home but adrift on international stage
Fernandinho of Brazil after a goal scored by Toni Kroos of Germany during the hosts’ heavy semi-final defeat at the Estadio Mineirao in Belo Horizonte. Photograph: Robert Ghement / EPA
At the mouth of the Amazon on the north coast of Brazil lies the city of Belem.
Belem was not chosen to be one of the World Cup host cities, so I have not been there to confirm a story somebody told me a couple of weeks ago. Apparently mango trees grow there in such abundance that at certain times of the year the falling fruits form a thick, tasty carpet on the ground. To be destitute in Belem is to have bad teeth but a relatively healthy, if monotonous diet. It’s one of the minor perks of living in a country as fertile as Brazil.
The city of Belo Horizonte, where on Tuesday Brazilian football suffered its greatest humiliation, is located in the state of Minas Gerais, meaning General Mines. The hills here were full of iron, gold and precious stones and to this day the mines continue to power the state economy.
Iron ore accounted for 47 per cent of Minas Gerais’ exports in 2011, up from 24 per cent in 2000. Most of the increase was accounted for by demand from the Asian market. The Brazilians ship the ore, the Asians turn it into steel and buildings.
AbundanceIn many ways Brazil is a country of such apparently limitless abundance that there has never been much pressure to reorganise local industries in ways that might ultimately be more profitable.
Brazil’s most famous commodity is probably its football players. Travelling around the country, you can see that all the cliches about Brazil and football are true. In every region, every city, even in the hot and humid climates, you see people playing the game.
The sporting culture runs deep, the technical standard is high, the population is huge, and that equates to a steady supply of extremely talented football players.
The vast majority of them are shipped overseas as unfinished or semi-finished goods. They play for Brazilian clubs only for a couple of years at the beginning of their career, and sometimes not at all.
In a taxi on the way to the Mineirao stadium for the Brazil-Germany match, a Portuguese-speaking friend conversed at some length with the driver. The driver looked about 60 and didn’t sound hugely excited about the game. I heard him mention Fernandinho several times.
After a few minutes the conversation slowed down.
“What was he saying?” I asked.
“He says the team are liars.”
“Liars?” I hadn’t expected that.
“He says he doesn’t even know who half of them are. They’re all foreigners.”
It transpired several hours later that the driver had been right to question the bona fides of the Brazilian team. The “foreigners” remark was perhaps more revealing, however.