Its population is lesser than Connecticut’s. Its GDP is on par with Montana’s. It is roughly the same size as Cambodia or Suriname. Its people have never won a Nobel Prize, nor an individual Olympic gold medal. So, I asked some natives recently: How? Why? What makes Uruguay so good at soccer?
Diego Rossi and Nicolás Lodeiro both anchored their answer in the very first gift they ever received, the same one thousands of Uruguayan kids unwrap each year: a ball.
Rossi is from the capital, Montevideo; Lodeiro is from a border town, Paysandú. Rossi grew up in the 21st century, and Lodeiro in the 20th. Rossi played at Peñarol, and Lodeiro at its archrival, Nacional. They took distinct paths to the upper reaches of their sport, to their national team, to famous European clubs. But they shared a commonality that explains why their country, Uruguay, the 135th biggest in the world, has won more World Cups than England and more Copa Américas than Brazil.
“We have football in our blood,” Lodeiro says.
And thus, football became an integral part of Uruguay’s identity, changing the nation forever. As Eduardo Galeano wrote, the sky-blue Uruguayan jersey was proof of the nation’s existence, and football pulled the country out of the shadows of universal anonymity. The sport became deeply ingrained in Uruguayan culture, with multiple Olympic and World Cup victories further solidifying its importance. Despite the fading of early advantages due to larger and richer nations, the lore of Uruguayan football persisted. It became a significant part of the country’s history, passed down from generation to generation. Soccer became a game that an estimated 85% of sporty pre-teen boys played, shaping their dreams and aspirations. It also served as a means for some to achieve a better future. However, the passion for the sport in Uruguay mostly stems from its rich history and cultural significance.
Uruguayan Soccer: A Tale of Resilience and Triumph
With a population dwarfed by its two neighbors, Argentina and Brazil; and by Colombia, and even Peru, and Mexico, and European superpowers, Uruguayan soccer’s margin for error in the modern era has been thin. Over the latter half of the 20th century, error — instability, coaching — left La Celeste lagging. It won just one World Cup game from 1974-2006.
But in 2006, Oscar Tabarez, El Maestro, came to the rescue. The professorial coach took charge and implemented “El Proceso,” the process, a now-legendary initiative that aligned all male Uruguayan national teams, from youth to senior, around core values and principles of play. Under Tabarez, Uruguay won its 15th Copa América, charged to a World Cup semifinal, and reached the knockout rounds of three consecutive World Cups.
His teams were often celebrated as warriors, for their Garra Charrúa, their courage and tenacity. Their ability to topple giants 37 times their size was often chalked up to mentality. “That’s a big part of our culture, to work hard for what you want to be,” Rossi says. It’s engraved in the national psyche, and instilled in Uruguayan youngsters, and as Cavani once said: “You will carry these feelings with you for your entire life.”
But, as an explanation for the phenomenon of Uruguayan football, it is incomplete.
Grit alone did not push a country smaller than Los Angeles back to global prominence, into the Elo top five. Grit alone did not score eight goals in Uruguay’s first two 2024 Copa América games. Grit alone did not win the 2023 Under-20 World Cup. Grit alone has not won 88 all-time World Cup points, more than 25 per 1 million residents, more than twice as much per head as any other country.
This, rather, is a story about how a single sport gave a small South American enclave a foothold in the world. It’s about a progressive society’s embrace of that sport. It’s about a pipeline that maximizes the sport’s ubiquity, and churns out player after player.
When you piece it together, it all makes sense, but still, as former defender Paolo Montero once said: “Uruguayan football is a miracle to me.”
following sentence:
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.
Rewritten sentence: The fast brown fox leaped over the sluggish dog.