Soccer is more than just a game. As a youth soccer coach in the United States, I’ve seen how it brings people together, fosters joy, and shapes lives. The sport has given so much to so many across the globe. But we need to look at it with a more honest lens, one that recognizes its complicated roots and the inequalities that persist. If we genuinely want soccer to be the global and inclusive game it aspires to be, we should be willing to explore its history and consider how we can make it more equitable moving forward. It's crucial that we, as a community, challenge the existing perceptions of talent in soccer, and pave the way for a more inclusive future.
Modern soccer as we know it emerged in England in the mid-19th century. British schools and communities began codifying rules and organizing formal leagues, setting the stage for the sport’s growth. But soccer didn’t simply spread because it was fun or accessible; it followed the paths of empire. As the British Empire expanded across Africa, Asia, and the Caribbean, so did the game. It was brought by missionaries, administrators, and soldiers, who used it to instill discipline and a sense of British culture. France and Spain also played pivotal roles in exporting the game. Soccer was introduced through colonial education and institutions in French colonies such as Algeria, Senegal, and Morocco. In many ways, it was a tool of assimilation and control. Spain’s influence was decisive in Latin America, where the game took root in places like Argentina and Chile, growing into something deeply embedded in local identity and culture. What started as a European export became something far more meaningful and uniquely adapted in each place.
Ultimately, soccer’s journey bears a striking resemblance to baseball's spread in other parts of the world. In Cuba and Japan, for instance, baseball gained popularity not organically but through American military presence and political influence. In Cuba, it became a form of cultural resistance and national pride, while in Japan, it evolved into a symbol of discipline and collective spirit. These sports didn’t spread because they were exciting; they were part of broader systems of power and influence. Most Americans are in some way aware of this fact, which is why it strikes us as odd that many in Europe are unaware that this is why soccer has spread. Instead, they preferred the beautiful game narrative where soccer caught on because it was fun and easy to play. The problem with this view is it prevents many in the core of soccer from recognizing the issues facing the game today. After all, we cannot address a problem if we continue to be ignorant to its existance.
Today, soccer is played and loved in every corner of the world. Yet the global structure of the game still heavily favors Europe. The wealthiest clubs, influential leagues, and powerful governing bodies are concentrated in countries like England, Spain, France, and Germany. UEFA’s Champions League is considered the pinnacle of club competition. It draws the world’s best players, media attention, and the highest revenues. Other regions have tournaments, like South America’s Copa Libertadores or Africa’s CAF Champions League, but these events rarely receive the same global spotlight.
Even nations with strong economies outside Europe, like the United States, Japan, or Saudi Arabia, find it challenging to rival Europe’s concentrated wealth, history, and infrastructure. Over many decades, European clubs have built training academies, scouting networks, and financial systems that give them a significant advantage. They often recruit the best young talent from countries across the Global South, bringing them to Europe long before they can contribute to their home clubs or leagues. Furthermore, European competitions such as the Champions League exceed what any of these nations can manage independently, preventing growth from occurring outside Europe.
In addition, it’s hard not to notice the pattern: when young players rise to fame in their home country, they’re almost immediately pulled to Europe. Take Neymar, who captured the world’s attention with Santos in Brazil, or Lionel Messi, whose prodigious talent was first recognized in Rosario, Argentina. The path forward was clear in both cases: they had to leave home. The best facilities, highest salaries, and excellent exposure could be found in Europe. In the case of Messi, his club in Argentina couldn't afford to pay for the growth hormones he needed. This not only highlights the financial disparities but also the human cost of these systemic issues, as it affects the mental health and well-being of these players. And while this move often means individual success, it also means that their home leagues struggle to retain or attract world-class talent, further widening the gap.
This dynamic reflects an unfortunate reality: the footballing infrastructure in many non-European countries is under-resourced, not because of a lack of passion or talent, but because of systemic disparities rooted in history. Europe didn’t just happen to become the center of the footballing world; it became that way through centuries of colonial wealth accumulation, global influence, and sustained investment. This European dominance has significantly influenced the development of soccer in other regions, often to the detriment of local leagues and talent.
These disparities are also present in how we talk about players. European players are often praised for their technical ability, tactical intelligence, and professionalism. Meanwhile, players from Brazil, Ghana, or Nigeria are described with words like "flair," "raw talent," or "instinctive." While not always malicious, these labels carry assumptions about refinement, discipline, and intellect. But the truth is that so much of what’s described as "technical" results from resources. When players grow up with access to elite coaching, advanced training methods, nutrition, and support systems, they develop in ways recognized and celebrated by the global footballing community. If those same resources were available in Lagos, São Paulo, or Jakarta, the so-called technical gap would shrink, perhaps even disappear.
And then there’s the way we talk about clubs. When conversations arise around "storied" or "historic" clubs, names like Manchester United, Real Madrid, or Bayern Munich dominate. But what about Santos, where Pelé once played? Or Palmeiras, one of Brazil’s most successful clubs? River Plate in Argentina has not only a long legacy of success but one of the most devoted fanbases in the world. These clubs have shaped the game as much as any European institution, but their stories are often sidelined in global discussions. That’s not just an oversight; it reflects how media, money, and cultural dominance skew our perceptions.
FIFA, the sport’s governing body, has historically reinforced these imbalances. Europe tends to receive more World Cup spots, more significant influence in decision-making, and the lion’s share of global coverage. Even when countries from Africa, Asia, or the Americas achieve great success, it is often portrayed as an underdog story, an anomaly, rather than evidence of depth and strength. FIFA's role in perpetuating these imbalances is significant, and its actions or lack thereof contribute to the systemic disparities in global soccer.
I say all of this not as a critic of European soccer but as someone who loves the game and wants to see it reach its full potential. Europe has contributed tremendously to soccer’s growth, and its leagues are rightfully admired for their quality. However, we can admire something while still acknowledging its shortcomings and inequalities. We can celebrate what’s been built while asking how to build something better for everyone.
As someone who coaches kids in a country still finding its place in the global soccer hierarchy, I’ve seen firsthand how much talent can be found in unexpected places. All it takes is opportunity. The same is true worldwide. Imagine what might happen if every country had the same access to development infrastructure, professional support, and international recognition. Imagine if young players didn’t feel they had to leave home to reach the top. Imagine if our global system didn’t just pull talent toward the center but allowed it to thrive in every direction.
Soccer has the power to be a truly global game, not just in who watches it, but in who shapes it, who benefits from it, and who gets to write its following chapters. But that requires us to acknowledge the lingering effects of history and work toward a more inclusive future. That means investing in clubs and youth systems across continents. It means challenging our assumptions about what makes a player "great." And it means telling a broader story, including Santos and River Plate alongside Barcelona and Chelsea.
The beautiful game has always belonged to the world. Let’s make sure the world truly belongs to it.
Add comment
Comments