In 1896, a Brazilian journalist noticed British railway and gas company employees playing a game in Sao Paulo.
''It gives them great satisfaction or fills them with great sorrow when this kind of yellowish bladder enters a rectangle formed by wooden posts,'' he wrote, as related by Alex Bellos in ''Futebol, The Brazilian Way of Life.''
It didn't take long for Brazilians to fully grasp the joys and disappointments of soccer. And they quickly figured out how to play – and play very well.
Club competition was created in 1900, the national team debuted in 1914, and by the late 1930s, Brazilian soccer was recognized worldwide as offering something special. In 1950, the Brazilians hosted the World Cup and were heavily favored. But they didn't win it, losing to Uruguay, 2-1, in Maracana Stadium.
Their first world title came in 1958 and their fifth was won last month in Japan.
Admirers of the Brazilian game cite it as proof that entertaining soccer can be successful soccer. Indeed, Brazil's success is unparalleled. No other nation comes close at the World Cup level. Italy and Germany have won three each, but Brazil is the only nation to win outside its own continent. (It is also the only world champion that has not won the title at home.)
Overall, Brazil has won more official world championships than any other nation: U-17 (two), U-20 (three), futsal (three). It lacks only an Olympic gold medal.
Brazil is also the greatest exporter of talent. According to the Brazilian soccer federation, 5,000 Brazilians play abroad. Each year, about 700 players move to foreign leagues.
But Brazil didn't depart for the 2002 World Cup amid praise. Besides on-field struggles – six losses in qualifying – the Brazilian game was engulfed by scandal to the extent that the Brazilian congress initiated two investigations. Last December, the Senate released a 1,129-page report.
DEN OF CRIME. Senator Alvaro Dias described the federation as ''a den of crime, revealing disorganization, anarchy, incompetence and dishonesty.'' The report recommended criminal investigations into 17 men, including club officials, agents, coaches and Ricardo Teixeira, the federation president for the past 13 years.
''Brazilian soccer, the fifth World Cup notwithstanding, is in deep crisis,'' says Andre Fontenelle, editor-in-chief of Brazilian soccer magazine Placar. ''The soccer clubs are down to their knees, due to decades of mismanagement. The national federation and the state federations have lost all of their credibility. TV Globo, the main network, sets the calendar of Brazilian soccer.
''The governing structure of soccer here is rotten. There are three levels: the clubs at the base, the 27 state federations in the middle and the national federation, CBF, at the top. The clubs elect the presidents of the state federations, who in turn elect the president of CBF every four years. It has been this way for more than half a century. That sounds democratic, but as the years passed, all levels were dominated by fewer and fewer people.
''The clubs, the state federations and CBF are miniature dictatorships which suppressed any opposition. As a result, they reign without control.''
SABOTAGE. Because clubs are able to keep their finances secret, Fontenelle says, soccer is a safe haven for corruption. In the late 1990s, when Pele served as the country's sports minister, he lobbied to force clubs to adhere to corporate laws. The so-called ''Pele Law'' was sabotaged, according to most accounts, by the CBF.
''[Clubs] don't need to publish their accounts,'' Fontenelle says, although new laws are on the horizon. ''Often they don't pay taxes. And no one is accountable for their mismanagement. That obviously attracts corrupt people to this kind of activity.''
That Brazil's most popular club, Flamengo, ousted its president, Edmundo Santos Silva, on charges of corruption is considered a groundbreaking move. Flamengo's debts are estimated at $70 million.
''That was a good sign,'' says Fontenelle. ''I think change has to come from the bottom. Part of the press believes that honesty will be imposed by the law. The laws do have to change, but that will not bring change on itself.''
Ninety percent of Brazil's professional players earn less than $150 per month. The well-paid stars are plagued by schedules that would humble the Europeans who have been complaining about overwork.
Carlos Alberto Parreira, coach of Brazil's triumphant 1994 team and currently boss of Corinthians, says Brazilian soccer survives the sell-off of players because it produces their replacements so quickly: ''Not in a laboratory, but naturally. We'll always have enough for the clubs and the national team.''
But Parreira recognizes that Brazilian clubs, which struggle to meet payrolls and play in dilapidated stadiums, need to find the better revenue sources.
''Maybe the optimism of the World Cup win will bring back sponsors and attract new ones to the game,'' Parreira told Sao Paulo daily Estado.
POPULAR PASSION. Fontenelle is weary about what impact the triumph could have.
''That is the main fear here: that the World Cup will make people forget all the problems,'' he says. ''No doubt it gave some breathing space to Teixeira. Also, presidential and congressional elections will be held in October. Until Jan. 1, when the new government takes charge, I think initiatives to 'clean' soccer will be slower.''
So how does Brazil manage to lift a World Cup amid the mess?
''Soccer in Brazil survives thanks to the popular passion,'' Fontenelle says. ''Every boy dreams of becoming a player, and to be considered a good player is very, very hard in Brazil.''
by Soccer America Executive Editor Mike Woitalla