There is great wisdom in this apparent contradiction, this argument that the absence of music is part of the success of the music. It applies to many things, and, in our case, specifically to the way that a calendar of football matches is arranged. We can go as far as to say that the non-observance of this law is one of the leading explanations for the fact that domestic Brazilian football is operating well below its potential.
If there is to be a challenger to the major championships, the Premier League, La Liga and so on, then it will surely come from Brazil., given the size of the country and the depth of its footballing tradition. Indeed, the Brazilian Championship, which kicks off this weekend, is clearly growing in quality. The economic boom and the strength of the currency are ensuring that stars come back from Europe earlier than before, and starlets stay in Brazil longer than before.
But the big breakthrough cannot be made without substantial changes to Brazil’s domestic calendar. And, unfortunately, this is not a subject that is widely understood in the country.
Since 2004 Brazil has adopted the league system, with all 20 teams in the first division playing each other home and away. This replaced the previous way of doing things which, while it changed every year, maintained certain basic characteristics – some form of league qualified teams for some sort of play off which would end up in some sort of final.
At the time of the change, TV Globo commentator Galvao Bueno was not happy. Bueno is a big figure, with an ego to match. He is superb at what he does, adding excitement to the match and expertly giving voice to the nationalism that football brings to the surface in Brazil. This, though, was not one of his more coherent moments.
“If this league format is so good,” he spluttered with indignation, “then why is it not used in the World Cup?”
He meant the question rhetorically, but the answer is easy enough. Because, just as the name says, it is a cup competition. Imagine a league of 32 national teams. It would take a year. Club football would have to close down.
One of Bueno’s most frequent catchphrases, brought out when Brazil’s opponents have narrowly missed the corner flag with an attempted shot, is, with suitable tone of superiority, “they don’t have the same intimacy with the ball.”
The line can be adapted and used against Brazilians- for all their ability, they don’t have the same intimacy with how to organise a calendar. League phases and play-off stages have been mixed up so much that there is no clear understanding of the merits and necessities of the different formats.
There was something I used to wait out for when the previous system was used for the Brazilian first division. For a while the action would lumber along and commentators would mournfully remark that “this is the worst Brazilian Championship in memory.” Then, into the play-offs the level of interest rose dramatically and people, often the same ones, would now proclaim that “this is the best Brazilian Championship in memory.”
This, of course, is the nature of a competition that builds towards a cup phase. It is a slow burner, that suddenly catches fire with short lived intensity at the end.
There is a price to be paid for this excitement. The vast majority of teams are excluded from the party, eliminated in previous rounds. And the title tends to go not to the best team, the one that was superior over the course of the competition, but to the one that hits form at the right time.
A league format is a completely different kind of animal. The best team wins – it is difficult to argue with the table after 38 games – and all the clubs are kept in activity throughout the season. But there is no guarantee of excitement at the end. The champion could be defined with several rounds still to go.
However, as every European fan is aware, in compensation, there is great excitement at the beginning of the championship. The big party of football is the opening weekend of the season. Every club is involved and all true supporters want to be there. The fan has convinced him/herself that however small the club and however modest its objectives, this is going to be the year when the team comes good. There have been new signings, maybe a new coach, and everything is looking good for the campaign ahead. And so the season starts hot. A momentum is built up that sustains the fan through the season.
But in order for all this noise to take place, it must be preceded by silence. As our tango master has taught us, the success of football is dependent on the absence of football. A crucial part of this momentum is the pause, which in Europe takes place between May and August. It is during these months that the magic of being a fan goes to work. It is the sleep during which the dream is born. Come the start of the season the supporter is desperate to return to his second home, the stadium of his club.
In Brazil, though, there is no pause, and thus there is no magic. The national championship kicks off this Saturday. The State Championships, one for each of the 27 states that make up this giant country, came to an end on Sunday, less than a week before. Midweek there are vital games in the closing stages of the Brazilian Cup and the Copa Libertadores. And so the opening weekend, which should be a huge party of Brazilian football, is greeted by a huge yawn.
The majority of teams have not won their state titles, and thus have already been branded as failures by their own fans. Those clubs still involved in the cup competitions will probably rest key players for their first league game this weekend. It is an object lesson in how not to organise a calendar of football.
A long league season must be preceded by a pause, just as a good silence is part of a successful tango – or samba, or forro, bossa nova or funk.
