The Greatest Soccer Story You've Never Heard

The crowd of 30,000 erupted. The impossible was happening. Rocky Balboa had just knocked Apollo Creed to the canvas; the Bad News Bears were beating up on the mighty Yankees. Only this was real: the top-ranked English soccer team was a goal down and the Americans were on their way to pulling off what remains the most astonishing upset in the history of World Cup soccer.

June 29, 1950 was a chill, overcast day in the Estadia Independencia in the small Brazilian mining town of Belo Horizonte, reminiscent of a spring afternoon along the Eastern Seaboard. Eleven American amateurs lined up in white shirts with a red sash to face the finest soccer team in the world in the first round of the World Cup finals. Only one of the Americans, the Scottish-born Ed McIlvenny, had ever played professional soccer before. His teammates included a meatpacker, a schoolteacher, a knitting machinest, a paper stripper and two mailmen, all selected from low-budget try-outs in Los Angeles, St. Louis, Chicago and New York. They were outsiders in every sense of the word. In their last seven international matches, they had lost by a combined score of 45 goals to 2 and were 500-1 rank outsiders to win the World Cup.

"We didn't get much respect from any place," remembers Bahr, now 73. To the rest of the world, especially the British tabloids, the motley crew were painted as amusing caricatures. "The Americans came strolling into the dressing rooms, surely the strangest team ever to be seen at a World Cup," reported the Belfast Telegram. "Some wore Stetsons, some smoked big cigars, and some were still in the happy, early stages of hangovers . . ." Bahr laughs off the report: "Half the players didn't drink at all. And we only ever smoked cigars after dinner."

The colorful characters understandably presented an irresistible target to the world press: Frank Borghi, the big-handed goalkeeper, was a former minor league baseball catcher who drove a hearse for his uncle's St. Louis funeral parlor. The foul-mouthed and intimidating defender, Charley "Gloves" Columbo, inexplicably wore a pair of stained leather boxing mittens in every game and was known to play a little dirty.

Joe Gaetjens, the dishwasher and Columbia University accounting student, constantly smiled into the faces of his opponents and played soccer like his life depended on it. John "Clarkie" Sousa, a skillful dribbler who could, reportedly, bounce the ball on his bald head while brushing past opponents, wasn't even a U.S. citizen yet. And neither were two of his teammates. The world snickered at them while their own newly-hired coach, Bill Jeffrey, quietly admitted to British reporters, "We don't have a chance."

They were the sons of Ellis Island and Fishtown and Dago Hill. They played like guerillas, not gentlemen, honing their talents on neighborhood teams with names like Uhrik Truckers and Zenthofer Furs. They had to request time off from their "real" jobs to compete in the World Cup, and each received a letter from the U.S. Soccer Federation gently reminding him to bring his own equipment. They played only two games together before traveling to the finals, were paid $100 a week during the tournament, and each had to do his own laundry after the game. They were a bunch of ordinary working men in their twenties on vacation in South America, with no ambitions beyond playing a game they loved.

In contrast, the English were the epitome of soccer professionals, hailed by the Brazilian papers as the "Reyes de Futbol," the Kings of Soccer. "I don't know of any game where there was such a disparity between the two teams," notes Harry Keogh, the U.S. right-back. The English had recently demolished a Rest-of-Europe team 6-1, had beaten Italy 4-0 in Turin and Portugal 10-0 in Lisbon. They were expected to beat the Americans by at least 8 to 12 goals. "People forget how much of a power England were," says Bahr. "They were clear-cut favorites to meet Brazil in the final."

In fact, the English were so confident of victory that they put their star player on the bench: the legendary Stanley Matthews was considered the greatest player in the world at the time. But they still had such world-renowned figures as record goal-scorer Tom Finney, captain Billy Wright and Alf Ramsey. All well-groomed, well-mannered and, perhaps, a little unprepared for the rebellious onslaught that faced them that day.

Five minutes from the end of the first half, Walter Bahr, a stocky 23 year-old physical education teacher from Philadelphia, slipped past a couple of English defenders and, from about 25 yards out, let fly with a stinging right-footed drive. The ball zipped past the royal blue shirts of the opposition and was met by the diving head of teammate Joseph Gaetjens, a Haitian-born accounting student and part-time dishwasher from New York City. His stunning header whistled past the outstretched fingertips of the English goalkeeper and tore into the back of the net.

After the miraculous goal, Coach Jeffrey anxiously paced up and down the touchline, willing the half-time whistle to blow. He was an affable, mild-mannered Scotsman who had been given the job just six weeks before the tournament kicked off. "He knew he didn't have time to change the way we played. He just saw himself as a cheerleader, a morale builder," says Keough. "I think that's one of the reasons we did as well as we did."

The American amateurs never expected to hold England to 1-0 for the next 45 minutes. And to their credit, they didn't try. They played the second half just as they had the first, by attacking. And it nearly paid off with a second goal late in the game. Frank "Pee Wee" Wallace's swerving shot beat the English goalie, only to be agonizingly cleared off the line by an English defender. But then Wallace, a Missouri liquor truck driver, knew all about close calls. As a member of the 191st Tank Battalion, he was involved in the Normandy landings of WWII. His tank was hit by a German shell at the famous Anzio beachhead and he was captured and confined to a German POW camp for 15 months.

But if there were to be one hero singled out that day, it would be Frank Borghi. The U.S. goalkeeper had seen his own share of battles before he faced the English, earning a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star and a case of shellshock for his heroics as a combat medic in WWII. He proved unbeatable between the posts. The English players fired in shot after shot, only to see Borghi deflect every single one.

Then, with just 8 minutes left, American hearts stopped. The speedy English forward Stan Mortensen broke free from the tiring U.S. back line. Borghi was the only obstacle between him and the goal. "Barring a miracle, that would've been a goal," admits Keough.

That miracle came in the snarling form of Gloves Colombo. Hopelessly outrun, he made a desperate lunge for Mortensen with his arms. He flung himself at the astonished Englishman's waist, upending the helpless player by the penalty spot. "It had nothing to do with a tackle in soccer," says Keough. "It was straight out of American football." When the English missed the resulting free kick, the spirit seemed to drain from them. As McIlvenney told Keough afterwards, "It was a play that you and I would never have made. But there's no doubt it saved the game."

The final whistled rang out in the packed stadium and 30,000 stunned Brazilians ran on to the field to hail the Americans as heroes. Gaetjens and Borghi were carried off the field on the fans' shoulders. "They were really cheering because they knew Brazil wouldn't have to face England now," smiles Bahr.

The travesty was that there were so few Americans to witness the historic result. The single American reporter present, Dent McSkimming of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, was there only because it coincided with his summer vacation. There were, however, a group of American GIs stationed in the area, and the soldiers helped the plucky American soccer team celebrate their victory in true American style: they played a game of softball.

When the BBC announced the news back in England, most listeners assumed there was an error. The New York Times received the wire report and suspected it was a hoax so didn't even print the story. Not that anyone in America cared. On the day the story would have been published - June 30, 1950 - the US went to war with Korea and American thoughts were with their servicemen, not their obscure soccer players. The GIs stationed in Brazil shipped out the same day.

Though their paths would occasionally cross through the years, the eleven teammates never again played together. Tragically, in Haiti, 1964, the ever-smiling scorer of the goal that beat England - Joe Gaetjens - was accused of subversive activity and executed by the special death squads of dictator Papa Doc Duvalier. "Joe was such a carefree, likeable guy," reflects Bahr. "Probably the least political person you could meet." The goalkeeper/hearse driver, Frank Borghi - "El Magnifico" to the Brazilians that day - earned a new nickname, "The Merry Mortician," along with the dubious honor of transporting both Charley Colombo and Pee Wee Wallace to their graves.

For the five of the eleven players still living, the game remains a bright memory even fifty years later, an achievement without easy comparison in modern sport. "The nearest I can think of," says Keough, "would be if Angola had beaten the U.S. Basketball Dream Team in the '92 Olympics. And England was even better than that."