Why Brazil Men’s National Team? From an African-American
[Stop playing like that] [Stop disrespecting your opponent] [Stop making fans]
[Stop being too creative] [Stop dancing] [Stop celebrating]
[Act the way we act]
[This is not your home country] [Stop having fun]
[This game isn’t about beauty, it’s about winning]
[Stop entertaining] [Stop taking risks] [Stop the tricks] [Stop being so expressive]
[Stop being so black]
[Stop being so you]
In my youth, only one thing would make me tune in to a soccer game: Brazil was playing. As an African-American boy, soccer did not come on the stereotypical menu. It was more like an alternative dish served to vegetarians at an event. This one team, Brazil, defied that. They were like a stranger who snuck into my sacred speakeasy of more traditional American sports teams and players. Here, you could find Kobe Bryant taunting Jalen Rose, Michael Vick in a Falcon’s jersey across the bar, and a wishful painting of Adrian Peterson winning the Heisman while at Oklahoma. For most, it might seem Brazil’s soccer team stood in stark contrast to the football, basketball, and track stars there, but they felt familiar. The feeling or alchemy of this team wearing canary yellow was just as connected to my own alchemy as any of these American stars or teams I grew up addicted to. The reason for this is deep — deeper than their record five World Cup titles or international fame. The team’s connection to Brazil’s Black history, style of play, and complicated relationship with the rest of the world are all too parallel to the African-American athletic journey that I was so invested in. With the 2022 World Cup in action, this love for Brazil’s national team has once again broken my heart and brought about the question that many people ask me: “Why do you root for Brazil when the United States has a team?”. Though I often save people from my truly-long and passionate answer, here I will answer this question in full and also another more important question: Why would it be positive for the world to see Brazil win, again? Sooner rather than later.
The Color Hole
In the United States, the conversation about soccer and African-Americans is almost nonexistent and maybe even avoided. Often, you hear the narrative that growing the American talent pool involves making it less a sport of privilege and more a sport of diversity. When television pundits bring up the United States’ potential, they often fantasize about putting players like Lebron James in goal, Tyreke Hill as a winger, or Russell Westbrook as a striker. As fun as that may be for some people, the reality is that when I was growing up, the United States team did not look like me and the ones who did look like me were often raised in Europe. Our cultural absence in the sport left a big hole for a kid like me — a hole that only a team as big as Brazil could fill.
The history of Brazilian soccer also has a beginning laden with elitist flavor. Soccer was brought to Brazil by Englishmen and returning Anglo-Brazilian students in the 1890s. For a while, it was played only by the elite class and then clubs like Sao Paolo Athletic began to emerge with this style of soccer in mind. In the early 1900s this changed. Soccer started to reach the streets where the masses and former slaves began playing in their own way, with the flavor of Samba. This would dramatically change the national team’s trajectory and Brazil’s society as a whole. By the 1910s, Brazil had its first black soccer superstar in the form of Arthur Friedenreich. Because Brazil was only a few decades removed from slavery, Friedenreich’s stardom brought controversy in a society not completely ready to accept its black players. Black players at this time often straightened their hair and used rice powder on their skin to appear lighter.
True breakthrough didn’t seem to begin until the 1930s when two things happened: the rise of dictator Getúlio Vargas and the 1938 World Cup. Vargas sought to unite the country and his endorsement of samba and soccer went a long way in making Brazil more inclusive. In 1938, Brazil experienced its first success as a soccer nation, finishing third with two talented black stars in Domingos and Leônidas da Silva. Their skill and spontaneity were trouble for any European defense. Leônidas, also known as ‘The Black Diamond’, was even named player of the tournament. In combination with some positive reporting back home, their success helped open the door to acknowledging Afro-Brazilian’s contributions to Brazil’s future. Within two decades, Pele and Brazil’s national team would cement this future with its first World Cup title.
Regarding their history and demographics, the United States and Brazil actually have much in common. Both are diverse countries, birthed from European immigrant colonization, and the most populous countries on their continent. Their black histories start with the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. Between 1525 and 1866, the same slave trade that brought around 450,000 Africans to the United States also brought around 4.86 million Africans to Brazil — yes, I said million.
Since then, both black populations fought hard for emancipation and civil rights. Emancipation happened in 1862 and 1888 in the US and Brazil, respectively. Even after those long fights, both countries birthed black leaders that would end up impacting each other. Martin Luther King Jr. and Mohammed Ali made waves in the US, but also inspired many activists in Brazil. After them came the Brazilian soccer player Socrates. Not only was he a great athlete, but he and his afro were known worldwide because of his fight for democracy and racial equality. To further emphasize these connections, here is an excerpt from Thiago Amparo in 2020 about the current racial climate:
“I watch from Brazil as anti-racism protests flourish across the United States, and my heart fills with hope. I think about the history of deep-rooted racism and resistance our countries share, despite the differences. As the legal scholar Tanya Hernández pointed out in her book Racial Subordination in Latin America, while the United States established a legal system of segregation (the Jim Crow laws that lasted until the second half of the 20th century), Brazil built up its own version of Jim Crow through an official policy of whitening its population. Through a variety of legal regulations fostering European immigration, giving preference to white people in access to land and to the job market, Brazil has managed to maintain a racial hierarchy with pervasive effects that last until today.”
These similarities can be validating for an African-American and maybe even help us feel less alone in this world. In a culture that had to create itself from the small African roots we secretly kept and the dark racist past that tried to inhibit it, we can feel lost in a world where our ancestors were ripped away from their home and forced to become someone else. Though it might be a stretch to call our Brazilian counterparts brothers and sisters on the same journey, you can’t blame me for feeling connected to them and their parallel story. Enough so, that I don’t theorize what it would be like to see Lebron grow up with a soccer ball, because I got to see the Brazilian Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Pele, and Neymar do it. And they won. A lot.
Style. Joga Bonito.
My older sister watched soccer for one reason: handsome, foreign men. During the 2006 World Cup, I remember Portugal and Spain were two of her favorites. Though I appreciated her once-in-a-lifetime desire to watch sports, she was indifferent to the one player I wanted to see. He had brown skin; long, curly black hair; and two stand-out, top-front teeth that seemed to shine too bright. He wasn’t the type of lady-killer that caught my sister’s eye, but he did possess some of the greatest feet this world has ever seen. Ronaldinho is possibly the most skilled and playful player to ever grace a soccer pitch. At times, his style of play would resemble the dances he would do when he celebrated his goals. I remember seeing him in the Nike commercial where he kicked a soccer ball from dozens of yards away and bounced it perfectly off the crossbar so that it ricocheted all the way back to him. He continued to juggle the ball and then performed this feat three more times without it ever touching the ground. To me it was obvious; he was the greatest. And to Brazil, he was the posterboy for their beloved style, Joga Bonito, the beautiful game.
Even with his bright smile and amazing skill, Ronaldinho is often a philosophical controversy in soccer discussions. His talent was never in doubt, but his rank amongst history’s best will always be a contentious topic. For those of us who loved his style, we’d argue that his impact on a game was bigger than statistics could show. From the opposing viewpoint, he would have scored and won more if he focused less on tricks and flicks — and partying. These two polarities are often pinned against each other as if one truly should trump the other. You see, it’s actually an on-going battle in all sports — and life, if you want to go there. Does the fundamental and pragmatic strategy approach always beat fluid, creative individuality? Where is the perfect balance between the two?
The wise people in a room will most often admit that both are necessary, but this does not dull the flames over the everlasting tug-of-war between the two. And this wisdom did not prevent me from picking a side. When we were kids in the United States going to play pick-up basketball, when we practiced one-handed catches with a football in the street, and when we found highlight videos on YouTube, it was more than about winning. We wanted to look good while doing it. We wanted to have fun. We wanted to amaze. My earliest memories in sports are Allen Iverson’s crossover, Michael Jordan’s acrobatic dunks, Michael Vick’s electric runs, Randy Moss mossin’, and AND1’s basketball mixtapes. This flair and individuality becomes addicting; it becomes a culture. It was also what soccer stereotypically lacked in the minds of young American kids like me. Our idea of soccer was continuous backwards passing and set pieces that never seemed to work. We needed someone that looked like us and played like we would. With Ronaldinho and Brazil, it was love at first sight.
Why Vinicius and Brazil Must Dance
In September, Pedro Bravo, the president of the Spanish football agents association, used the phrase “stop playing the monkey” when criticizing the young black, Brazilian star Vinicius Jr for his dancing. In addition to that he says, “You have to respect your opponents. When you score a goal, if you want to dance Samba, you should go to sambodromo in Brazil.” Earlier that week, Vinicius had scored a goal for Real Madrid against Mallorca and proceeded to dance like he always does during his goal celebrations. Not even a week later, fans for Atletico Madrid chanted at Vinicius, “You are a Monkey, Vinicius. You are a Monkey!” Since then, Spanish courts have decided to drop the case involving the Atletico Madrid fans because the incident only lasted a few seconds. I guess hate crimes and racism have a minimum time rule. Thankfully, much of the soccer world has come out in support of Vinicius. Players from all over Europe spoke and tweeted about the incident and many Brazilian players throughout the world danced in celebration of goals that week to honor him. Pele wrote later, “Football is joy. It’s a dance. It’s more than that. It’s a real party.”
The support was encouraging, but I believe the soccer world should know that this prejudice and mistreatment is evident and ongoing in many other ways. It is commonplace for soccer pundits, commentators, and bureaucrats to negatively speak on the style of play and approach of black and Brazilian players. In addition to that, the narrative in soccer is that when a player plays boastfully, you are right to respond physically. These players are more often kicked to the ground and schemed against. Your style of play, especially if clever and entertaining, is punishable. Looking back at Neymar for Barcelona, while playing in a league with other great dribblers like Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo, he was still the most fouled player in La Liga in the 2015/2016 and 2016/2017 seasons — and it wasn’t even close. Now, the most fouled player in La Liga is Vinicius Jr. While at the World Cup, he mentioned in an interview that he was afraid he was going to get hurt before the tournament because of how he was being targeted in La Liga.
Growing up primarily a fan of other sports, I can approach this situation with an outsider’s perspective. From here, it’s disappointing. Soccer’s treatment of flamboyant players is an attempt to suppress expression; it diminishes the beauty and joy of the game. In the US, we often say, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” If you don’t like it, stop me. In soccer, it’s more like, if I don’t like it, I’ll kick you. Basketball is also a fluid and creative game with many parallels. Similar playing styles and philosophies exist, but they play out much differently. “Showing off,”, playing beautifully, and having a trick or two doesn’t make you more likely to end up in the hospital. The game protects its players and has harsh penalties for those who seek retaliation. I think soccer could learn from this, but basketball and American sports have also had a long history in criminalizing Black players’ expression and celebrations.
Until the 1970’s, college football in the United States was predominately white. It wasn’t until the 1980’s that a relatively unknown team, the University of Miami, took its recruiting efforts to urban neighborhoods with previously unwanted, black talent. This was revolutionary because prospects from these neighborhoods often had life issues and problems that big college programs wanted to avoid. The coach, Howard Schnellenberger, ended up with one of the richest recruiting pipelines in the history of the sport. These kids from Miami-Dade County ended up taking the college football world by storm, winning four national titles in eight years. They played fast, they won often, and they were flamboyantly confident — enough to be penalized for it. They carried the swagger of their neighborhoods with them, dancing and taunting with every touchdown, turnover, or highlight reel they made. Unfortunately, not everyone appreciated their approach. They were criminalized. 247sports published an article that ranked the 1986 Miami team as the most hated college football team of all time. Back then, Sports Illustrated writer Rick Reilly said, “Miami may be the only squad in America that has its team picture taken from the front and from the side.” This is only a year after the infamous “Catholics vs Convicts” shirts were made for the Notre Dame-Miami football game. For some reason, the way we play our sports in our backyards, our schools, and our gyms, is not okay on the bigger stage. This story of talent discovery reminds me of Brazil’s soccer generations. Sure, this Miami team had some reports of shoplifting, but not every boisterous, black kid from south Florida is a criminal. Minorities should not have to conform themselves to comfort the majority. And a joyful, Brazilian soccer player is not a monkey.
In the midst of these narratives and sometimes blatant hate, it is often said that the answer is to win. Goals on the scoreboard and points in the standings can do the talking for you. I am of the belief that we should not have to prove the positivity and joy our cultures give to us. Wins do not prove the rush I feel in my heart when I see Odell Beckham griddy after a touchdown or see Vinicius samba after Brazil scores in the World Cup. But for those who are deaf to our voices and fail to see the light in our stars, Brazil’s world cup drought serves as evidence that we should change. That we should conform. This is partially why my heart was so heavy after the loss to Croatia, like a black hole trying to slip out of this time-space. With European teams having won four consecutive World Cup titles, their opinions are only getting louder and more exalted. It reminds me of that 1938 World Cup where Brazil got third place and French-journalist Hanot wrote, “The Brazilians, mostly with black faces and mixed blood of black input, have possession of marvelous natural qualities that make them born football players. Unfortunately, the idea that football is a team sport did not arise in their brains.” It’s eerily similar to Irish pundit and former player Damien Duff’s analysis of Neymar in 2018 when he said, “I don’t like the way he plays. He’s selfish, he plays for himself… There’s too much showboating for me… He is so much better than that, he’s utterly world class. And I wish he played more for the team and not himself.” After 1938, Brazil had two decades filled with World Cup disappointments that bolstered similar criticism from home and abroad about their style of play and the color of their team. It wasn’t until Pele and his teammates won three out of four World Cups, between 1958–1970, that the critics and hate could be quieted. But…
Here we are, again, faced with a world where happy black boys are “monkeys” and our joy is disrespectful. Again, we are being told our way is the wrong way and that this is not our space. Again, we are being influenced to be more inauthentic. These voices just keep pumping out of the speakers when I turn on the television. They’re even at the games where our beloved teams play. Their presence has become so constant that it’s hard to keep them from pounding in even my own head. And it’s tiring, tiring enough that I will beg for the temporary relief that winning has proven itself to be. Because, Neymar’s talents and passion deserve to be appreciated without a “but”; Afro-Brazilians deserve to play soccer joyfully, anywhere on Earth; and Vinicius deserves to dance when he scores…whether Brazil loses or wins.
Antony, a young player on this Brazil team, explains it best when he wrote, “With a ball at your feet, you should only feel joy. I was born a dribbler. It is part of my roots. It is the gift that took me from the slums to the Theatre of Dreams. I will never change the way I play, because it is not a style, it is me. It is a part of me. A part of our story as Brazilians.” This is the story that drew me in as a little kid watching a sport I didn’t get to play. This is the identity that felt so familiar to the other personalities in my speakeasy of favorite athletes. It’s also the same dream we had when we were fledglings with a football and no college funds or allowances waiting for us. The connection is strong, stronger than it’s ever been. Thinking of our shared ancestors separated long ago, I still root for you Brazil. Please, dance for me. Again and Again. To 2026, we look with love and hope…
