Why the dramatic quality of World Cup finals has declined since 1986

After an exciting, high-tempo group stage, some felt the standard slipped since the knockout stages. Soccer America Daily writer Paul Kennedy for example noted the relative lack of goals (and ergo excitement, one surmises), and lamented:

If you exclude the Brazil-Germany match, the five matches in the quarterfinals and semifinals produced a grand total of five goals, the sign of a tournament running out of steam.

And not exactly the thrills we had come to expect from Brazil 2014.

Complaining about the boring nature of the “business end” of the World Cup is nothing new. It is now generally understood that certain teams will focus more on preventing goals than scoring them in the knockout rounds, convinced that “defense wins championships.” For every thrilling contest after the group stage, there will be at least two deadly dull defensive duds to cancel them out. And no match is more affected by this negativity than the final itself.

There is a tacit understanding among most journalists and supporters that the the last “truly great” World Cup final was in 1986, one that incidentally featured current finalists Germany and Argentina. That game followed a fairly good match formula—Argentina were up by two goals and coasting early in the second half only to concede two set piece goals to Germany. It took a gorgeous Maradona assist to put Burruchaga through for the winner in the 84th minute.

Those fans and journalists have a point. The Italia ‘90 final was a turgid foul fest decided by a dubious penalty for Germany. USA 1994 finished 0-0 and then went to penalties. The World Cup final in France was intriguing but not a classic, with Zidane heading an out-of-sorts Brazil into oblivion. The 2002 final felt more like a friendly, with Brazil effectively steamrolling Germany, taking advantage of an Ollie Kahn mistake.

In Germany 2006, a lively start between France and Italy petered out quickly after a rapid exchange of goals, and the 2010 final was more remembered for Netherlands’ negativity and Nigel De Jong’s kick to the chest than any attacking football on the part of Spain.

There are a number of explanations for why the quality of the final has declined, including the expansion of the tournament from 16 to 24 and eventually to 32 teams. A bigger tournament means more games and more tired finalists, less able to attack in style. It also means more teams of varying quality in the knockout stages, which can result in smaller teams attempting to “shell” rather than attack. This might also explain why the Euros (16 teams in 2012) and Copa America (12 teams) have been, by comparison, far more entertaining tournaments over the past three decades.

Another reason for the drab finals involves the increased importance of progressing in a World Cup, whether it be increased bonuses, means to increase funding for player development, sponsorships etc. Managers may believe it’s safer to play defensively than to attack and risk leaving space in defense (though really a good defense at the risk of any offense just takes you to penalties).

But I believe one of the more compelling reasons for the decline in quality involves a fundamental shift in football tactics since the 1986 World Cup in Mexico. To get a sense of how things have changed, it’s worth rewatching the final that year between Germany and Argentina.

First, a few caveats. No single game is necessarily representative of the style of the day, and this certainly applies to this final, played at altitude in Mexico City’s Azteca stadium under a summertime, noonday sun. Moreover the pitch was in less than ideal shape, and it’s clear as passes bounce to their intended targets like a rock skipping over water.

That said, there are some obvious tactical differences between then from now. First, there are sweepers in both teams, José Luis Brown for Argentina and Ditmar Jakobs for Germany. They wander casually in front of goal with the two actual centrebacks playing much further forward than you’d see in most modern football matches. Today the sweeper would be overwhelmed on the counter or the high press.

Yet the biggest difference, and the most crucial, is the comparative lack of pressing, a feature which makes the standard of play almost unrecognizable to modern eyes. At one point in the early stages an Argentinian player is in possession with three Germans within a yard of him. NONE choose to press the player, and so he leisurely sends a long ball forward.

The pace of the game itself is very slow as a result, but this also affects attacking play. The German wingbacks stay very far back, in part because Germany have the time and space to work passes through the middle (which they often don’t—there is very little short passing but rather balls hit English-style “in the mixer”).

The standard of defending by modern standards is also very poor, though this may have been a hallmark of this particular matchup. The German keeper Harald Schumacher rushed out of goal and was a yard behind the play when Brown scores Argentina’s first; Ditmar Jakobs appears to needlessly play Jorge Burruchaga onside for their second; Rummenigge is completely unmarked for Germany’s first goal, prone with Sergio Batista standing a metre behind him; Rudi Voeller is again left unchallenged for Germany’s equalizer.

It may or may not be coincidence that the introduction of modern pressing to continental football via Arrigo Sacchi with Milan (1987-1991) corresponded with the decline in drama for the World Cup final. Certainly by 1994, when Brazil and Italy (coached by Sacchi) pressed and fouled each other to bits in the midfield over 120 minutes ending in a 0-0 draw, the game begins to look more familiar.

This development wasn’t intended to be negative. Sacchi employed pressing as a means to win possession and attack in numbers within a 4-4-2.  It also helped spur the modern generation elite footballers like Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi, capable of beating even the most disciplined of defenders.

But beating modern defenses takes incredible attacking precision and coordination, the kind best reproduced at the club level where players become intimately familiar with one another (a reason why the Champions League is probably the best football competition in the world). Even Germany, with its powerhouse midfield, had trouble breaking down Algeria. And despite the presence of Lionel Messi, Argentina are not exactly a thrilling counter attacking team at this World Cup.

The World Cup final has sadly suffered for this development, yes, but football overall—with increased pace and technical skill—has arguably gained. Finally, and most importantly, we should also be wary of holding today’s football to the almost alien standard of 1986 and its antecedents. The game has changed, though the intrinsic demands of the World Cup have not.