THE INFINITE AURA OF PELÉ: THANKFULLY, I DIDN’T TRY TO STEAL THE BALL FROM HIM
His passing at 82 has triggered warm memories of the fútbol icon, such as the day he wooed the media with a unique meet-and-greet appearance in Europe, demonstrating his charm and global influence
Hungry, jet-slogged and fantasizing about a new life in one of those vividly colored canal rowhouses, I was startled by a sound. Tap, tap, tap. Was that a soccer ball being dribbled through the media center in Copenhagen?
It was, crazily enough, around the partitioned stalls where journalists sat and typed. I was in the Danish capital to chronicle whether Chicago would land the 2016 Summer Olympics. I should have flown home on the spot.
Because Pelé, with a grin as big as his native Brazil, was greeting each of us with his gift of showmanship and humanity. He didn’t have to make a pitch for Rio de Janeiro. He didn’t need to sell us on the beaches and bossa nova. All he had to do, as Brazil’s minister of sports at the time, was keep dribbling and leave us smothered in a charmed glow that still hasn’t faded.
If he had such a mesmerizing effect on the jaded Fourth Estate, imagine what happened when Pelé met with the voting members of the International Olympic Committee. Were the usual grimy bribes even necessary when one of the planet’s greatest sportsmen and fútbol ambassadors could melt the coldest, gruffest officials? Chicago’s organizing committee, quite foolishly, assumed the IOC muckety-mucks would be overwhelmed by the drop-in appearance of the 44th U.S. President, Barack Obama, and the all-week allure of Oprah Winfrey. In the somber end, it wouldn’t have mattered if Michael Jordan gave away $20,000 retro sneakers, Kanye West delivered a personal rap verse to each voter and Bill Murray got everyone drunk.
Rio won, in a landslide. Didn’t Pelé always score?
Chicago was the first city eliminated, leaving Mayor Richard M. Daley in a daze, perhaps rueing how he was so nonchalant about his city’s chances that he’d once shouted across a room at me during an Olympics-related party: “Hey, are the Sox going to trade Konerko?” Did he not realize that rival Brazil had the power of Edson Arantes do Nascimento? That Pelé was God? That a Nigerian civil war once paused for days so he could appear in an exhibition match? That the Shah of Iran didn’t mind waiting three hours to meet him at an airport? That Queen Elizabeth knighted him in Britain? That he posed no threat to national security when he doinked a ball off President Ford’s head?
In competition with Pelé, Obama had no chance. No dignitary did. When he came to America to market a sport we mocked and barely knew existed, he wasn’t required to introduce himself to someone who extended his hand first at a function. The man said, “My name is Ronald Reagan, I'm the President of the United States of America. But you don't need to introduce yourself because everyone knows who Pelé is.”
Around the world, they knew him as the magical, graceful maestro who commanded your eyeballs and made you watch the game. Pelé passed away Thursday, at 82, not two weeks after a breathtaking World Cup final starring Lionel Messi and Kylian Mbappé, both inspired by his eternal presence in the sport. Sensational as they were that night — Messi ascending to the platform of Greatest Player Ever in Argentina’s victory — let’s not abandon the grand picture. Neither will match Pelé in the all-encompassing category of global salesmanship. Messi hasn’t had to break down bias barriers and convince Americans why they should care. If Mbappé has endured racism in France, it doesn’t approach how Pelé endured monkey chants in Brazil and beyond. He transcended fútbol and sport, reaching out with warmth to kids everywhere, speaking the game into existence when he went to New York in his mid-30s and took over the town, as comfortable mingling with Mick Jagger and Liza Minnelli at Studio 54 as he was playing for the Cosmos at Giants Stadium.
“Pelé is one of the few who contradicted my theory,” said Andy Warhol, in a rare sports observation. “Instead of 15 minutes of fame, he will have 15 centuries.”
“There will be only one Pelé,” said Cristiano Ronaldo, also in the pantheon.
And to think he grew up in poverty, without shoes, kicking around rolled-up towels to learn the game. He was so small, 5 feet 8, that people mistook him for the team mascot in his first World Cup experience with Brazil. Pelé was the original crossover superstar athlete, wiping the boundaries of skin color, heritage and classism. Who didn’t love him? He placed his fame and riches in a compartment, protecting his sense of self even when it was being yanked by corporate interests. “People said, ‘Pelé! Pelé! Pelé!’ all over the world. But no one remembers Edson,” he once observed. “Edson is the person who has the feelings, who has the family, who works hard. Pelé is the idol.”
If soccer never exploded into American popularity, his time in the limelight certainly grew national awareness. The next generation made substantial advances, with the U.S. men’s team reaching the quarterfinals of the 2002 World Cup and the women’s team rising to international supremacy. His maiden voyage in the North American Soccer League created roots for Major League Soccer, which is making more inroads than expected.
A week doesn’t pass without another sports death. But few notifications prompt you to stop and drop everything. My thoughts instantly spun back when I was texted the sad news. By no surprise, I rewinded to the day in Copenhagen. Not until then had I experienced the infinite aura of Pelé, nearly face to face. Silly me, I wondered for a brief, feisty moment if I should try and steal the ball from him. Think of the line in my obituary, if not the inscription on my tombstone.
Good thing I thought otherwise. I’d have been deked out of my shoes, fallen on my ass and exposed as another American fool in Denmark. It’s comforting to know another such fool holds no grudge. “Pelé was one of the greatest to ever play the beautiful game,” Obama tweeted. “And as one of the most recognizable athletes in the world, he understood the power of sports to bring people together. Our thoughts are with his family and everyone who loved and admired him.”
He speaks for millions. Billions, actually.
###
Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.