Mike Devlin's Definitive World Cup Goals DWC Weekly Issue 96

Just eleven years after a global war, and with the world in the grip of a widespread recession, it was hardly surprising that most countries turned up their noses at travelling to a country most people could not point to on a map, let alone pronounce — all to kick a ball around for little to no pay.

But you really cannot get more important than the first World Cup goal ever scored.

Laurent had been playing with Cercle Athlétique de Paris for nine years, and by the time of the World Cup he had been taken on by Sochaux — a true giant in French football, conveniently owned by Peugeot, his employer.

His international career was, by any measure, odd. He was called up for the 1928 Olympics but never played. Then came the very first World Cup and the first ever match — only for him to lose the following game and miss the last through injury. The 1934 World Cup came and went while he was injured again, and just as things were improving, the Second World War broke out and he spent three years as a prisoner of war. His international career was over.

The host nation, Uruguay, would normally have opened the tournament — as eventually became standard — but their new Estadio Centenario was still being finished, so Uruguay did not play until five days later. As it happened, the USA and Belgium were also kicking off at precisely the same time.

And it was just 19 minutes in when Laurent, a semi-professional player, volleyed it into the back of the net to put France in the lead. As an aside, French goalkeeper Alex Thépot was taken off shortly afterwards after being kicked in the jaw, with halfback Augustin Chantrel replacing him — there being no substitutions in those days. France won 4–1.

Laurent beat Scottish-born Bartholomew "Bertie" McGhee by just four minutes — the USA were playing (and beating) Belgium at exactly the same time — in what might be described as a typically tardy American fashion. It is doubtful that the Scot playing under an American flag was aware he would forever be known as the first man to lose the race.

Laurent was the only surviving member of the 1930 French squad when France lifted the trophy on home soil in 1998.

Of course we must include this wonder goal by some unknown young upstart who, in all likelihood, never went on to bigger and better things.

Edson Arantes do Nascimento began his career at the tender age of fifteen, was sixteen when he received his first call-up for the Brazilian national side, and just seventeen when he went to Sweden in 1958 — leading much of the press to question why on earth Vicente Feola would take a young, unproven boy to something so important.

The phrase "the Beautiful Game" was all his, and his alone. For a time he was the highest-paid athlete in the world, before becoming the Global Football Ambassador — whatever that actually meant — and eventually settling into acting (Escape to Victory, with Michael Caine and Sylvester Stallone), and lending his name to advertising campaigns in America.

A striker and forward by trade, he nonetheless possessed the skills and vision of an attacking and central midfielder — something rarer, even today, than a team other than Bayern Munich winning the Bundesliga.

His first international goal came in his first international appearance, a 2–1 defeat to arch-rivals Argentina in 1957. He arrived at the World Cup with an injured knee, missing the first two matches, but the team psychologist — and yes, South American sides were considerably ahead of their European counterparts in this regard — advised Feola not to pick him for the third match against the USSR, deeming him too immature. Feola promptly ignored the advice, and Pelé got an assist in a convincing 2–0 win.

Wales in the quarter-finals (yes, that Wales) were beaten with Pelé becoming the youngest Brazilian scorer in World Cup history. He then scored a second-half hat-trick against France in the semi-final.

The final was against the hosts. Both sides played in yellow, so — after Sweden insisted on choosing — Brazil were left to find something else. White was their alternative kit, but following a devastating defeat to Uruguay eight years earlier, they opted instead to buy 22 blue T-shirts from a local shop and have their badges sewn on.

Then it all happened. The 17-year-old Pelé, ball in Sweden's penalty area, sublimely chipped the defender and hammered it into the net as though it had been fired from a cannon, making it 3–1. The technique would be celebrated today; in the late 1950s, nobody had ever seen anything like it. He then put the result beyond all doubt in the 90th minute with a header.

Pelé collapsed and lost consciousness at the final whistle, and was revived by Garrincha on the pitch.

"When Pelé scored the fifth goal in that final, I have to be honest and say I felt like applauding." — Swedish midfielder Sigge Parling.

Four years prior, these two nations had gone to war with each other. So obviously this match was always going to be dull and boring.

In truth, the intense rivalry between Argentina and England is considerably older than the Falklands conflict. The father of Argentine football was actually Scottish — which may go some way to explaining the underlying animosity — and virtually all the players and officials who shaped the game there in its early years were British.

It was not until the 1966 quarter-final that things became truly fractious. Argentine captain Antonio Rattín was sent off for dissent (yellow and red cards did not arrive until 1970), requiring a police escort off the pitch — and his side were convinced the German referee was working in cahoots with England. A German, they alleged. The audacity. England manager Alf Ramsey then forbade his players from swapping shirts and described the Argentines as "animals" to the press. The nation was not impressed.

Fast forward to 1986. The match ended 2–1, with Maradona scoring both goals. The first was the infamous "Hand of God" — a 5ft 5in man somehow outjumping six-foot goalkeeper Peter Shilton, then realising he could not quite reach it and punching it in instead. This has never once been discussed since.

The second goal, however, has practically its own mythology. Maradona collected the ball in his own half, and over the course of ten seconds weaved his way through Beardsley, Reid, Butcher (twice), and Fenwick, before leaving Shilton on the ground as the ball hit the back of an empty net.

There was no doubting it. Even the English admitted it. But because of the cheating that preceded it, the second goal was largely lost in a sea of vitriol for years.

Maradona knew he had cheated at the time, pleading with his teammates to celebrate hard so the referee could not rule it out. Over the years that followed, he began to believe his own myth — and so the "Hand of God" was born.

When we begin a sentence with "with all due respect", it almost invariably means there is no respect forthcoming whatsoever. And that was very much the mood when Saudi Arabia arrived at USA '94 — expected by most observers to be little more than cannon fodder.

Until 1994, the country had not featured at a World Cup. This was partly explained by the fact that they were not a FIFA member for the first five editions, did not enter the following five, and failed to qualify for the four after that. When they finally arrived in America, expectations were negligible.

Their opener against the Netherlands was anticipated to be a walkover but ended as a closely contested 2–1 to the Dutch. A one-off, everyone assumed. Then came Belgium.

Al-Owairan had joined Al-Shabab in 1988 and remained there until 2001, scoring 60 league goals and 33 cup goals — and in doing so became, by many accounts, the greatest Asian player of his generation.

In the fifth minute, Al-Owairan channelled his inner 1986 Maradona. He took control of the ball and simply steamrolled his way through the entire Belgian side. From that point, Saudi Arabia held firm — backs firmly against the wall — and somehow prevented Belgium from finding an equaliser.

It is considered one of the finest World Cup goals ever scored. Saudi Arabia won 1–0 and reached the Round of 16.

Immediately after the tournament, Al-Owairan was inundated with offers from clubs across Europe. Due to the law at the time, however, Saudi players were not permitted to play abroad — and so he stayed.

Important because it was the opening goal, and the first goal scored at the first World Cup ever held on the African continent.

As proud as South Africa was to host the tournament, the glee quickly became sobered when the country realised what they had drawn in their group: 1998 champions and 2006 runners-up France, twice-winners Uruguay, and Mexico — a side that perennially proved a thorn in everyone's side and could be relied upon to reach the knockout stages. The host nation had their work cut out.

Tshabalala had heard in 2004 that South Africa would be hosting the tournament, and at that point he was essentially nowhere as a footballer. He was also considered too short. He ignored both facts entirely, made his mark in midfield, and got himself there.

The speed and directness with which South Africa ripped through the Mexicans on the 55th minute was matched only by Tshabalala's left-footed thunderstrike — the sort of finish that might have ripped completely through the netting. The entire stadium erupted. Commentators lost their minds. And the players tore off to perform a touchline dance that became as iconic as the goal that preceded it.

The match ended 1–1, but South Africa showed the world they deserved to be there. Tshabalala retired in 2021, leaving behind an eighteen-year senior career and the permanent distinction of having made history.

The vuvuzela became the defining sound of South Africa 2010 — beloved by some, maddening to others, and entirely unforgettable to all.

When these two countries meet, it is rarely a dull affair. Not quite at the animosity level of Brazil and Argentina, but not far off — and when you want to beat the other, you want to do it in a way nobody is ever going to let you forget.

The match carried extra spice following Liverpool's Luis Suárez being barred from playing after biting Italy's Giorgio Chiellini — receiving a four-month ban from all football and nine additional international games. Uruguay were going to struggle without him.

Every World Cup must have a breakout star. Colombia's established talisman Radamel Falcao had been ruled out through injury, and so Rodríguez stepped into the spotlight. The man was on fire throughout the group stage — and in the Round of 16 opener, he controlled a bouncing ball off his chest from a side-on position, swivelled, and half-volleyed it from well outside the penalty area into the underside of the bar and in. It was completely unstoppable.

The Colombian contingent lost their minds. So did everyone watching.

"One of the greatest goals the World Cup has ever seen. I believe he is the best player at this World Cup." — Uruguay manager Óscar Tabárez, on Rodríguez.

He won the Golden Boot despite Colombia being eliminated in the quarter-finals — the furthest they had ever reached — and was named in the World Cup All-Star XI. Even Maradona argued that Rodríguez should have won the Golden Ball over his own compatriot Lionel Messi.

Ask most Americans about their feelings towards football — sorry, soccer — and while the sport is constantly growing, the honest answer has often been one of mild indifference. That is what happens when a nation raised to believe it excels at everything discovers there is a sport the rest of the world has been beating it at for over a century.

What they needed was a moment of unbridled, last-gasp joy. One performed by a player the rest of the world at least vaguely recognised — and one the American public could elevate, in their estimation, to the status of a True Great, regardless of the wider evidence. Enter Landon Donovan.

To be fair to him, Donovan had cut his cloth in Europe with Bayer Leverkusen, and had loan spells with Bayern Munich and Everton. But he will always be best known for his time at LA Galaxy — and for this goal.

Two points from two games left the USA knowing nothing short of a win would send them home. Tim Howard made a point-blank save in the dying seconds that would have sealed an Algerian victory, then launched the ball forward with such force the cameras barely tracked it, sending what amounted to the entire American side — now effectively all makeshift forwards — onto goal.

Dempsey latched on and fired, only for it to be parried away — directly into the path of Donovan, who had intelligently continued his run. He tucked it in. 91st minute.

What followed on the pitch might charitably be described as joyful chaos. Americans watching in bars and at home suddenly understood, for a moment, exactly why the world calls it the Beautiful Game.

The Major League Soccer MVP award was subsequently renamed the Landon Donovan MVP Award. Because of course it was.

These two sides have never got on. Not ever. So this was never going to be a quiet affair.

England were up against it from the start. Gabriel Batistuta, Diego Simeone, Javier Zanetti, Hernán Crespo, and Juan Sebastián Verón. That lot. After ten minutes it was 1–1 — both goals from the penalty spot, because of course they were.

Then, in the 16th minute, David Beckham chipped the ball over the centre circle. Michael Owen brought it down, got it under control — and just ran.

He had every right not to. He was eighteen years old. He had been taught, as all players are, to look up, assess, play the sensible pass. He ignored everything he had ever been told and went straight at the Argentinians.

Several seconds later he was in the corner, arms aloft, having scored one of the finest World Cup goals ever scored — cementing his place in history and, for a brief moment, silencing one of the fiercest rivalries in international football.

Owen went on to have a stellar career at Liverpool, Real Madrid, Newcastle United, Manchester United, and — yes — Stoke City. He scored 222 goals and earned 89 caps. Some have suggested his managers pushed him far harder than was sustainable for a player of his physical profile, with an early onset of serious injury problems that curtailed what might otherwise have been an extraordinary peak.

Owen was, at the time, the youngest Englishman to play at a World Cup. He is now occasionally found boring television audiences with his punditry.

FIFA can be an absolute — well, let us leave that there — and in 1950 they decided that groups and a straight knockout were insufficient. What was needed was another round-robin phase to determine the actual winner.

The 1950 World Cup had just 13 teams, with most European nations either unwilling or unable to travel to Brazil — which also, for reasons best known to FIFA, produced two groups of four, one group of three, and one group of two. Take a moment.

The Maracanã was built purely for the World Cup and opened just eight days before the tournament began — unfinished. It was not actually completed until 1965. It cost a staggering $13m. For context, when Brazil hosted the 2014 World Cup, refurbishment of the same stadium ran to $500–600m.

Everyone expected the trophy to be lifted by a triumphant Brazil in their own stadium, in front of their own people. Alcides Ghiggia had other ideas.

The final round-robin match was Brazil against Uruguay — the inaugural winners. The maths were simple: Brazil could not lose; Uruguay had to win. Brazil were leading until the 66th minute, when Uruguay equalised. No matter, thought Brazil — a draw was still enough, and the stadium began to celebrate anyway.

Then, in the 79th minute, Ghiggia ran down the right flank. He noticed the goalkeeper shift slightly — exactly as he had for Uruguay's first goal, where Ghiggia had squared the ball across. The goalkeeper anticipated the same. There was no square ball. Ghiggia found the smallest of gaps and put it straight in.

"Only three people have ever silenced the Maracanã — the Pope, Frank Sinatra, and me." — Alcides Ghiggia.

Just nine years after the end of the Second World War, Germany was in an absolute mess — and literally divided. Into this context arrived the Magnificent Magyars, who were, by any measure, extraordinary.

Between 1950 and 1956, Hungary played 50 matches and lost just once, winning 42 of them. They were practically unstoppable — and had famously dismantled England 6–3 at Wembley in 1953, the first time England had lost at home to a side from outside the British Isles. Not satisfied, Hungary then returned the following year and won 7–1 in Budapest.

Hungary's success was built on tactical innovation: a deep-lying centre-forward who drifted back into midfield, with players constantly moving out of formation in ways opponents had simply never encountered. It was, at the time, unprecedented.

During the 1954 World Cup, Hungary had already beaten West Germany in the group stage, 8–3. A repeat seemed inevitable. And after just eight minutes, Hungary were 2–0 up. Ten minutes later, inexplicably, it was 2–2.

West Germany needed something to reclaim their place in the world. Hungary were on the brink of a triumph that the communist-authoritarian regime back home had been riding for years. Sometimes politics does come into the Beautiful Game.

With minutes remaining, the ball was floated into the penalty area, a half-clearance fell to Rahn, and he feinted a pass before driving low and hard into the net.

Back in Hungary, where the regime had been papering over its cracks with the football team's success, the defeat triggered street protests in Budapest, which some historians see as a forerunner of the 1956 uprising. The Miracle of Bern, as it became known, is arguably the greatest final the World Cup has ever produced.

Depending on who you ask, this was either a moment of utter brilliance or utter diabolical cheating. It was the former. And it saw England lift the trophy at Wembley Stadium for the first, and so far only, time.

It had been a cagey affair — not helped by the fact that it was broadcast in black and white — and both sides left the pitch at half-time at 1–1, though West Germany's opening goal had been the result of some catastrophic English defending.

England went in front in the 78th minute and came close to holding on, before Jack Charlton's foul on Uwe Seeler led to a free kick that eventually found the net in the 90th minute.

Extra time. In the 11th minute, Hurst hammered the ball from close range onto the underside of the crossbar. It bounced down. And back out. Nobody — including the Swiss referee, Gottfried Dienst — was entirely sure it had crossed the line. He consulted his linesman, Tofiq Bahramov of Azerbaijan, who confirmed that it had.

The crowd celebrated. England rejoiced. West Germany were furious.

The goal has been debated and modelled ever since — including by engineers at the University of Oxford and Imperial College London, who concluded the ball needed to travel a further 2.5 to 6 centimetres to have fully crossed the line. The UK press still raise it whenever the two nations meet; German opinion on the matter is, apparently, mostly one of indifference.

Until 2022, Hurst was the only player in history to score a hat-trick in a World Cup final. They thought it was all over. It was.

For the second time, Pelé appears on this list — and rightly so. Because if this goal had not happened, the one scored in the final almost certainly would not have either.

Wales — yes, that Wales — were in the quarter-finals of the World Cup. It is something the country has never come close to repeating. So proud were the BBC of this fact that their archived match report barely mentioned Brazil at all.

Nobody knew who this precocious 17-year-old was. That anonymity did not last long.

In the 66th minute, Didi gently headed the ball towards Pelé, who chested it upwards, flicked and lifted it over Melvin Charles as he grappled with the Brazilian in the Welsh penalty area, and smashed it into the corner without allowing the ball to touch the ground.

Pelé then scored a hat-trick against France in the semi-final, and a brace in the final — completing Brazil's record-breaking first of five World Cup titles. After Sweden, everybody knew who Pelé was.

"The most important goal I ever scored." — Pelé, on his quarter-final strike against Wales.

To this day, he remains the youngest player ever to score at a World Cup: 17 years and 239 days old. It is a record that has stood for 68 years. It shows no sign of falling.