“Unexpected victories by small clubs generate collective joy because they restore the idea that football, unlike most institutions, can still challenge power and money.”
This phrase, by British sociologist Richard Giulianotti in the book “Football: A Sociology of the Global Game”, reflects the feeling of intense contentment that many sports fans feel when a small club triumphs.
How many times have I found myself enchanted by the campaign of a smaller team, with few resources, that drew attention for its dedication and enthusiasm that seemed to be enough to, like a David, overthrow the powerful Goliaths?
It was like that with Cameroon, with goalkeeper N’Kono and striker Milla, in the 1982 Spanish Cup, which stopped in the first phase without losing a single game (three draws, including a 1-1 with later champion Italy), and in the 1990 Italian Cup, still with Milla, beating Maradona’s Argentina in the opening match and only falling in the quarter-finals, against Maradona’s England. Lineker, in extra time (3 to 2).
It was like that with São Caetano, from ABC Paulista, today at the bottom after legal and financial problems, who almost won the Brazilian Championship in 2000 and 2001 and the Libertadores in 2002, being finalists in all three.
It was like that with Leicester in the 2015/2016 English Championship. I still don’t know exactly how, but top scorer Vardy, who remained at the club until this year, and company convincingly won the most prestigious national competition on the planet, beating financial powers such as Manchester (City and United) and Chelsea.
An underdog standing out in football is unusual. Even more unusual is lifting a trophy. And when that happens, anyone who follows football finds themselves numb with an inexplicable happiness… or explainable?
There is a psychological phenomenon called the Underdog Effect, in which people root for those who have little chance of winning. Identification with the zebra arises from the desire that overcoming adversity results in success – something very present in the world, since for most people nothing comes without a kiss. It is the triumph of the weak against the strong, the poor against the rich, the nobody against the celebrity.
Take the case of Mirassol, from the interior of SP, a team with the lowest market value in the Brazilian Championship, which is taking steady steps towards, in its first year in the elite, obtaining a place in the Libertadores. Who doesn’t marvel at Reinaldo (“Kingnaldo”) and a handful of strangers dodging the improbable day after day?
This text, which brought back football memories and superficially navigated the terrain of sociology and psychology, has its reason for being: this week, Mjällby (pronounced Miélbi), a team from a fishing village (Hällevik) with around 1,500 inhabitants, won the Swedish Championship, with a single defeat in 27 matches.
No medallions, no poster, no illusions. With unity, with hope, with determination. It’s the most recent sporting example of someone from an inferior situation, against all odds, getting there.
Even an ocean away, I identify with the Mjällby pitico. Next challenge: reaching the group stage of the next Champions League. If that happens, Real Madrid, tremble!
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