FROM ROYAL RECREATION TO ORGANISED SPORT IN COCHIN

Rama Varma XV and the emergence of a sporting culture in Cochin

At the turn of the twentieth century, Cochin stood at an important point in its long history. The kingdom's traditions continued to shape its social and cultural life, while new influences were changing the way people lived, worked and spent their leisure. Education was expanding, new professions were emerging, communications were improving, and the towns of the kingdom were becoming more closely connected with the outside world.

It was in this changing Cochin that Maharaja Rama Varma XV ruled from 1895 to 1914.

His reign formed part of a wider transition from a largely traditional society towards a more modern institutional life. Sport was only one aspect of that transformation, but it offers a revealing way of understanding how change took place.

Modern sport did not emerge in Cochin through a single dramatic event. It developed gradually through the palace, the school, the club and the open ground. Games that had begun as recreation acquired regular participants, playing spaces, teams and competitions. Improved communications brought people and places closer, educational institutions brought young men from different regions together, and clubs provided settings for organised recreation. In time, associations began to offer a framework for competition.

The story is therefore not simply about a Maharaja and the games played during his reign. It is about a changing society and the sporting culture that grew within it.
Rama Varma XV's place in this story must be understood in its proper historical setting. He did not personally introduce every modern game that later flourished in Cochin. Some developments belonged to the younger generation of the royal family, while others arose through the efforts of schools, clubs, administrators, teachers and sporting enthusiasts. Yet his reign coincided with important early developments. 

The establishment of the Rama Varma Club in 1897 was a landmark in organised recreation, while improved communications brought Cochin into closer contact with neighbouring regions. In the years that followed, cricket, football and other games attracted increasingly wider circles of participation.

By the 1920s, sport was becoming more than a private pastime. Schools and colleges were producing teams, clubs were developing institutional identities, public grounds were hosting competitions, and associations were beginning to organise tournaments. The foundations had been laid over time, but the generations that followed would carry the transformation much further.

The Rama Varma Club and a New Culture of Recreation

The Rama Varma Club was founded in 1897, during the reign of Rama Varma XV. Its establishment marked an early stage in the organisation of recreation in Cochin.
A 1997 judgment of the Kerala High Court, delivered in a case unrelated to sporting history, provides valuable independent evidence about the club. It records that the Rama Varma Club was founded in 1897 in the former State of Cochin during the reign of Rama Varma, who ruled from 1895 to 1914. The Court described it as the first recreation club in Cochin and noted that it stood in the heart of present day Kochi, facing the Durbar Hall Ground. The activities and facilities it recorded included tennis, badminton, billiards, cards, chess and ping-pong.

This list offers a glimpse of a changing culture of leisure. These were activities that required space, equipment and opportunities for regular participation. The club provided a setting in which recreation could become a continuing part of social life rather than an occasional diversion.

Its location was equally significant. Facing the Durbar Hall Ground, the club stood close to the centre of Ernakulam's emerging urban life. The palace, administrative institutions, open ground and club occupied the same developing social landscape. Traditional forms of life were beginning to encounter new forms of organised recreation.

The change was not merely in the games themselves, but also in the way people came together to play them. A club offered opportunities for regular participation, practice, competition and social interaction. It could foster a sense of belonging among those who shared an interest in sport.

The Rama Varma Club was therefore more than a place for leisure. Its foundation marked an early step towards the institutionalisation of recreation in Cochin and helped establish a club culture that would become increasingly important in the development of organised sport.

The Palace, the Ground and the Sporting Life of Cochin

The emerging sporting culture was not confined to the clubs of Ernakulam. The Cochin royal family also became an important setting in which modern games found an audience, although the chronology of their arrival deserves careful attention.

Cricket provides a revealing example. The history preserved by the Cochin Royal Family records that the game was already familiar in British Cochin because of the British presence, but that it entered the Residential Palace before the 1920s. Rama Varma Kuttappan Thampuran is remembered as one of its pioneers. After visiting cousins who were studying in Madras, he returned with a cricket kit, and enthusiasm for the game spread through the palace. By the 1930s, cricket had reached Ernakulam and Tripunithura.

This distinction matters. Cricket's arrival in the palace should not be attributed to Rama Varma XV simply because the game formed part of the wider sporting transformation associated with Cochin during the period. The royal family's own account points instead to a younger generation taking up the game and carrying it into new surroundings.

That movement would eventually make Tripunithura an important centre of cricket in Cochin. The remarkable story of Pooja Cricket belongs to this later phase and deserves separate treatment in its own right.

The palace was not merely a place where games were watched. It became a setting in which they were learned, played and passed from one generation to another. Royal recreation was thus one of the channels through which modern sporting habits entered the wider social life of Cochin.

Beyond the palace, the open ground played another important role. Before permanent stadiums became common, the maidan was a natural stage for public sporting life. It offered space for games, competitions and gatherings, bringing players and spectators together in a way that a private club could not.

In Thrissur, the Palace Ground would acquire particular importance in the history of football. By the 1920s, clubs and schools were producing teams, spectators were following competitions, and the need for organised tournaments was becoming increasingly evident. The ground would provide one of the settings in which this next phase of Cochin's sporting history unfolded.

The Railway and the Movement of People and Ideas

Another development during the reign of Rama Varma XV had consequences far beyond transport. The Shoranur-Ernakulam railway line, opened to passenger traffic in 1902, connected Ernakulam more closely with the interior and the wider region. The metre gauge line extended for approximately 65 miles and became an important link between the growing centre of Ernakulam and places beyond it.

A railway carries more than goods. It carries people, ideas and ambitions. For sport, improved communication mattered because it made travel between towns and institutions easier. Schools and colleges could draw students from wider areas, young men could travel to matches, and teams could meet opponents from places that had previously been more difficult to reach. Players also carried news of games, styles of play and forms of organisation from one sporting centre to another.

The football history of Malabar Christian College (MCC), Kozhikode, offers a valuable perspective on this wider movement. The college became an important educational centre where students from different parts of the region came together. Its annual magazines preserve the names and achievements of its football teams, while photographs provide a visual record of the players and the sporting life of the institution.

In 1976, during my final year as a degree student at MCC, I edited and brought out a Sports Souvenir of the College. By consulting earlier annual magazines held in the college library and interviewing alumni and local sports historians, I traced the institution's sporting history from 1909. Among the material documented was a photograph of the 1912 college football team, with the players identified by name.

This archival material is valuable because it takes the history beyond later recollections. The photograph provides direct evidence of a college football team at that time, while the annual records help establish the wider context of organised sporting activity. Together, such sources offer a glimpse of the people and institutions through which football developed in the region.

The names preserved in MCC annual souvenirs include students Mathan Chandi and Jacob John (drawn from the historic Mavelikkara Cherukovil / Aattupurathu lineage), alongside K. O. Umman and Joseph Eapen from Eraviperoor and Kurian from Ernakulam, who helped anchor the squad. From British Malabar, local standalone talents such as Andy and Laben from Calicut completed the line-up.

The ultimate validation of this residential recruitment model came on the pitch in the Rao Sahib Vaidyanatha Iyer Cup, Malabar’s premier football tournament of the 1910s. MCC achieved an unprecedented treble, capturing the coveted trophy in 1911, 1912 and 1918. A photograph of the MCC football team with its principal, W. E. Hoare, offers a particularly evocative record of the players and the educational leadership of the period.

The railway was not the sole cause of this movement. Education, employment, family networks and existing roads all played their part. Improved rail communication, however, made journeys between sporting centres less formidable. Cochin, Thrissur and Kozhikode were not isolated sporting worlds; they were increasingly connected through the movement of students, players and ideas.

The Cochin Athletic Association and the 1925 Tournament

By 1925, football in Cochin had reached a stage at which the enthusiasm of schools, clubs and individual players could be brought together in organised competition. The Cochin Athletic Association was an important part of this development and is associated with a major football tournament held at the Palace Ground in Thrissur that year.

The tournament formed part of a wider sporting awakening across the region. In Malabar, the West Coast Tournaments were giving Calicut an important place in interinstitutional competition. Cochin was developing its own sporting organisations and competitions. These were separate developments, but both reflected a broader transition from informal recreation towards organised sport involving schools, clubs, grounds and regular contests.

Church Mission Society (CMS) High School Union of Thrissur is identified in later accounts as the first winner of the 1925  tournament. This achievement marks an important moment in the development of football in central Kerala, where the game was moving beyond occasional matches towards a more organised competitive structure.

A tournament provided teams with an occasion to meet, a public ground on which to compete and an organised setting for the contest. The associated trophy gave the competition a lasting identity and connected it with the sporting history of Cochin. Accounts indicate that the competition continued annually for several years, ending around 1930. Its early period coincided with the consolidation of football in the sporting life of central Kerala.

Thrissur provided a natural setting for this development. Its schools and clubs had created an active sporting environment, while the Palace Ground offered an open public space where players could compete and spectators could gather. Football was becoming more than the recreation of a few enthusiasts. It was developing into a public sporting culture, with teams, tournaments, trophies and memories that could be passed from one generation to the next.

The Silver Cup of the Abdicated Highness

The football tournament had another remarkable connection with the old royal order. Its trophy is reported to have been a 100-tola silver cup presented by Maharaja Rama Varma XV. By then, Rama Varma XV was no longer the reigning Maharaja. He had abdicated in 1914. After spending some months in Ernakulam, he moved to Thrissur in 1915, where he lived at Merry Lodge Palace until his death in 1932. The site of the former palace later became the home of Sree Kerala Varma College, established in 1947, enabling present day readers to identify the location with a familiar landmark. According to a historical account drawing on the recollections of I. K. K. Menon, Rama Varma also called the residence Sukha Vasathi, a name conveying the idea of a comfortable or happy dwelling.

This gives the silver cup an added historical dimension. The former ruler of Cochin, known as the Abdicated Highness, was living in the very town where football was acquiring an organised competitive character. Though he had withdrawn from the throne, he remained a figure associated with Cochin's changing history. The man whose reign had coincided with the early growth of clubs and improved communications was now living away from the centre of political power, while a new sporting culture was taking shape around him.

The silver cup brings two phases of Cochin's history into view. On one side stood the older world of the Maharaja, the palace and royal patronage. On the other was an emerging sporting world of schools, clubs, associations, public grounds and competitive teams. The trophy belonged to the new world of organised competition, while its donor belonged to the old royal order.

The transition had not occurred overnight. The Rama Varma Club had helped give organised recreation a place in urban life. The palace had become receptive to new games through later generations of the royal family. Improved communications had brought people and places closer, while schools, colleges, clubs and public grounds offered young players opportunities to meet and compete.

By the time the silver cup was being contested, recreation was acquiring the permanence and structure of organised sport. The cup was therefore more than a prize for a winning team. It represented a link between two phases of Cochin's history, carrying something of the old royal world into the emerging sporting age.

From Royal Recreation to Organised Sport

Looking back from the present, it is tempting to search for a single starting point in the history of sport. There was no single beginning. Cochin’s sporting culture emerged in layers, each generation adding to what had come before. The reign of Rama Varma XV formed one such layer. The establishment of the Rama Varma Club in 1897 was more than a milestone in the history of an organisation; it marked an early stage in the emergence of organised recreation in Cochin.

In the years that followed, cricket spread among the younger generation of the royal family, football developed through schools and clubs, and the railway made travel between sporting centres easier. Thrissur became an important football centre, while educational institutions in Kozhikode brought students and players from across the region together. 

By the 1920s, these strands were beginning to converge. Sport has entered schools, colleges, clubs and public grounds. It had teams, trophies, spectators and associations, and was beginning to cross geographical boundaries. Students from southern and central Kerala could meet on the playing fields of Kozhikode; clubs in Ollur could become part of Thrissur’s football story; and tournaments could draw teams and attention from beyond their immediate localities. The railway helped make such encounters possible.

This transformation did not begin with a grand announcement. It grew through the steady movement of people, ideas and games. Individually, a club, a school team, a playing ground, a railway journey or a tournament might have seemed modest. Together, they changed Cochin’s sporting landscape.

Rama Varma XV’s significance lies not in having personally created modern sport, but in having ruled during a period of social change, when organised recreation was finding new spaces and audiences. The generations that followed carried the process further. The club became more than a meeting place, the ground more than open space, and the game more than recreation.

As sport moved beyond the kingdom through students, players, teachers, clubs and competitions, the sporting currents of Cochin, Malabar and Travancore began to feed into a wider regional culture. From those early clubs, schools and grounds grew a tradition that would eventually become part of Kerala’s sporting identity.

References

1. Kerala High Court. Commissioner of Wealth-Tax v. Rama Varma Club. Judgment dated 24 January 1997. (1997) 226 ITR 898 (Kerala). Available at: https://indiankanoon.org/doc/80280/
2. Cochin Royal Family. “History of Cochin Royal Family: Cricket.” Official Cochin Royal Family history website. https://cochinroyalhistory.org/pages.php?menu_id=6
3. Raghunandanan K G. Sports Souvenir, 1976. Malabar Christian College, Kozhikode. Edited by Raghunandanan. A historical account of the college’s sporting activities compiled using earlier college magazines, archival photographs and interviews.
4. Menon I K K. Recollections concerning Maharaja Rama Varma XV and Merry Lodge, quoted in “The Merry Lodge – Trichur.” Historical Alleys, March 2025. https://historicalleys.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-merry-lodge-trichur.html
5. Government of Kerala, Department of Economics and Statistics. Infrastructure Statistics 2012–13. Section on railways in Kerala. https://ecostat.kerala.gov.in/storage/publications/156.pdf
6. Raghunandanan K G. “Calicut and the Religion Called Football.” Sahapedia

Coming up next: SUNDAY FIELD & FLAME – 01st November 2026 - THE TOURNAMENT THAT WOKE KERALA FOOTBALL: 1960 SANTOSH TROPHY

MOSCOW OLYMPICS 1980: SEVEN GAMES, ONE OLYMPIC MEMORY, Part 2

Beyond the Scoreboard

The first match had ended in defeat, but the journey was only beginning.
India had stood before the Soviet Union, one of the great powers of world basketball. For a brief and memorable period, the newcomers had not looked out of place. The scoreboard had recorded a loss, but the players had crossed a historic threshold. Now came the rest of the Olympic journey.

Ajmer Singh rises

India’s next opponent was Czechoslovakia, another powerful European team. The result was difficult. Czechoslovakia defeated India 133-65. Yet the match produced one of the finest individual performances of the tournament.

Ajmer Singh scored 35 points.

For the Indian team, it was a moment of pride in a demanding contest. Ajmer had not merely contributed to India’s score. He had shown that an Indian player could stand out against some of the strongest opposition in the Olympic tournament. His performance was not forgotten.

Across seven matches, Ajmer scored 149 points and averaged 21.3 points per game. He scored 22 points against the Soviet Union, 35 against Czechoslovakia, 14 against Brazil, 25 against Poland, 15 against Senegal, 13 against Sweden and 25 against Australia.

FIBA’s statistical record credits him with 66 successful scores from 114 attempts, 17 successful free throws from 22 attempts and 38 rebounds. Statistics can preserve achievement, but they cannot fully express the responsibility carried by the Indian scorer. Every basket came against opponents accustomed to international basketball at a level India had rarely encountered.

Ajmer was not merely collecting points. He was announcing the presence of Indian basketball on the Olympic stage.

The challenge of Brazil

Brazil was India’s next opponent.

Brazil defeated India 137-64, bringing the preliminary round to a close. India then moved into the classification phase.

The results were difficult, but every game offered a new lesson. The Indian players were learning the speed, strength and discipline of international basketball. They were facing opponents whose experience had been built through years of competition at the highest level. For India, each match was also a classroom. There were lessons in ball movement, defence, positioning and decision making. There were lessons in physical endurance and in the need to remain composed when a stronger opponent began to pull away. The players were absorbing an education that no domestic competition could provide.

Learning through defeat

Poland defeated India 113-67.

Senegal followed, and India lost 81-59. Sweden then defeated India 119-63. The results were not what Indian basketball had wished for. But defeat did not mean that the journey had become meaningless.

The players were discovering what the international game demanded. They were learning how quickly an opponent could change the rhythm of a contest, how much discipline was required without the ball and how important it was to remain united when the pressure increased.

Ajmer later reflected that the team learned a great deal in Moscow, including aspects of ball movement and defense. But perhaps the most important lesson was not technical. It was confidence. The Olympic experience taught the Indian team to believe more strongly in itself. Moscow showed the players the distance they still had to travel, but it also showed them that they belonged on that road.

A test of character

There is a difference between losing and being defeated in spirit. The Indian players lost their matches, but they continued to compete. They continued to run, defend, pass and shoot. They continued to represent their country in an unfamiliar and demanding environment. Their opponents had greater experience and greater international exposure. Yet the Indian players did not surrender the dignity of the contest. Harbachan Singh remembered the sportsmanship shown by the stronger teams. Once an opponent had established a comfortable lead, the players did not seek to humiliate India. They allowed the Indian team opportunities to score and showed what Harbachan described as the true Olympic spirit.

That memory gives the story another dimension. The Olympic Games were not only about victory. They were also about dignity, fellowship and respect between athletes from different countries.

The unexpected dope test

After the opening match against the Soviet Union, Harbachan Singh was randomly selected for a dope test.

The procedure came as a surprise to the Indian camp. P. N. Sankaran accompanied him. For the players, it was another introduction to the formal world of the Olympic Games. They had come to play basketball, but they were also entering a system of rules, procedures and protocols unlike anything they had previously experienced. Such moments may not appear in an official score sheet. Yet they remain part of the memory of an Olympic journey.

The matches formed the public record. The cold, the village, the dope test, the friendships and the unexpected encounters formed the private record. Together, they made the experience complete.

The final challenge

The last match was against Australia.

Australia was a strong and experienced team, but this time India produced one of its most competitive performances. Australia eventually won 93-75, but the game remained close enough to give the Indian players genuine satisfaction.

Paramjit Singh later recalled that India had led at half time. He believed the team lost because it lacked experience of playing major international matches. That reflection contained both disappointment and pride. India had shown that it could compete. The players had discovered that the difference between the teams was not always a lack of ability. It was often a lack of exposure, experience and opportunities at the highest level.

Ajmer Singh scored 25 points. Australia’s Ian Davies scored 36, creating an individual contest that gave the match an added edge. For once, the Indian team was not simply watching a margin grow and trying to survive. It was playing basketball. It was competing.

When the final whistle came, India had lost the match. But the team had gained something important. It had shown coaches and officials from other countries that Indian basketball could stand on the same Olympic court and play its own game.

Beyond the Sidelines

The story of Moscow is incomplete without the men who stood beyond the players. Manager P. N. Sankaran brought more than administrative experience to Moscow. His long association with international basketball and tennis had given him friendships across FIBA, including with its Secretary General Borislav Stanković, who fondly called him the “Professional Tennis Player of FIBA.” In Moscow, those relationships mattered. When a representative from Adidas enquired for him - Bill Sweek, whom Sankaran knew through international circuits, it led to a complete Adidas kit for the Indian team. For a young side new to the Olympic stage, it was more than a kit. It was a moment of recognition. They had entered the Village as newcomers, and they were now being welcomed by the world basketball fraternity.

Beside him stood Coach Captain Rajan, the team’s basketball mind and its steady human presence. A yoga exponent, he understood that an Olympic debut is as much about the mind as it is about tactics. He used simple breathing exercises to release tension among the players, to calm them before they faced opponents of far greater experience and resources. An Olympic debut demands more than strategy; it demands belief and calm, and Rajan gave the team both.

Moscow Beyond the Court

Moscow was more than matches; it became a meeting place, even with Indians from outside the team, and it left behind memories that no score sheet could capture.

The first time, after all, can happen only once. It remembers the crackle of the radio in Patiala when the players first heard that India was going to Moscow. It remembers the cold of the arrival and the inadequacy of single blazers against it. It remembers the unexpected generosity of the Adidas gesture, the awe of the Olympic Village, and the surprise of a dope test. It remembers the first Indian basket on an Olympic court and ten remarkable opening minutes against the Soviet Union when the newcomers did not look out of place.

There was no victory to celebrate when India finally left Moscow. There was no medal waiting at the end of the journey, no cheering crowd at the airport. The results had been difficult, and the scoreboards had been unforgiving.

But there was something larger than victory. For seven games, Indian basketball had stood on the same court as the best in the world and had played its own game. The players had learned, endured and represented. They had returned with an education that no domestic tournament could have given them and with a dignity that no margin of defeat could take away.

History does not always remember winners alone. Sometimes it remembers those who arrived first. Indian men’s basketball reached the Olympics. It happened once. And the first time can happen only once.

Sources and Primary Testimonies

1. Personal Interview with P. N. Sankaran, Manager of the Indian basketball team at the Moscow Olympics.
2. Interview with Lt. Col. Rajan Makkolath, conducted by the author in Calicut before his death. Col. Rajan was a family friend of the author and had served as Captain Rajan, coach of the Indian basketball team at the 1980 Moscow Olympics.
3. Personal notes and recollections of Harbachan Singh, member of the Indian Olympic basketball team.
4. Personal notes and recollections of Ajmer Singh, member of the Indian Olympic basketball team.
5. Official and statistical sources - FIBA historical records of the 1980 Olympic men’s basketball tournament.
6. Olympic and historical records consulted for the team roster, match results, tournament standings and player statistics.

Coming up next: SUNDAY FIELD & FLAME – 25th October 2026 - FROM ROYAL RECREATION TO ORGANISED SPORT IN COCHIN - Rama Varma XV and the emergence of a sporting culture in Cochin

MOSCOW OLYMPICS 1980: WHEN INDIA'S BASKETBALL DREAM CAME TRUE, Part 1

The Olympic journey that happened only once

Some sporting journeys are remembered for the medals they bring home. Others are remembered because they open a door that had never been opened before. When the Olympic door opened for Indian basketball in Moscow 1980, it was exactly that kind of journey.

It was the first time an Indian men’s basketball team entered the Olympic arena. It was also the only time. More than four decades later, that appearance still stands alone in the history of Indian basketball.

The final record may appear stark. Seven matches. Seven defeats. Twelfth place in a twelve team tournament. But the meaning of Moscow cannot be found in the final standings alone.

It lives in the memory of a radio announcement in Patiala, in the excitement of a journey towards an unfamiliar city, in the cold of a Moscow arrival and in the sight of Indian players standing beneath the Olympic lights for the first time.

It lives in the voices of the men who were there. It lives in the story of a team that did not return with a medal, but returned having carried Indian basketball to a stage it had never reached before.

This article has been prepared from interviews with Manager P. N. Sankaran and coach Lt. Col. Rajan Makkolath, who was Captain Rajan during the Moscow Olympics, together with personal notes and recollections shared by Harbachan Singh and Ajmer Singh. Official Olympic and FIBA records have also been consulted for dates, results and other historical details.

When the Olympic door opened

India’s road to Moscow was anything but straightforward. At the 1979 Asian Basketball Championship, India finished fifth. Under normal circumstances, that position would not have been enough to take the country to the Olympics. Japan, China, the Philippines and South Korea stood above India among Asia’s leading basketball nations. Then the world around sport changed.

Following the Soviet intervention in Afghanistan in December 1979, the United States called for a boycott of the 1980 Moscow Olympics. The boycott spread to several other countries, and the basketball tournament was among the competitions affected. Several teams that would normally have occupied places in the Olympic field withdrew.

India, which had finished fifth in Asia, suddenly found the Olympic door open.

It was not a route anyone in the Indian camp could have confidently predicted. Yet when the invitation came, the country had to decide whether it was ready to accept the moment. India did. And with that decision, a distant dream acquired a destination.

The news in Patiala

The players were at the Netaji Subhas National Institute of Sports in Patiala when the news reached them. Ajmer Singh remembered the players gathering around a radio and hearing that the Government of India had cleared the team’s participation in the Moscow Olympics. For athletes, there are moments when a dream that has lived in the imagination suddenly acquires a place, a date and a name. For these basketball players, that name was Moscow.

Ajmer had always regarded the Olympics as the highest stage an athlete could reach. He had once believed that his own Olympic dream might never come true. Now, without warning, the impossible had moved within reach.

The excitement passed through the group like a sudden current. These players, who had followed international sport through newspapers, magazines and radio reports, were now preparing to enter that distant world themselves. The radio in Patiala carried more than news that day. It carried the sound of a door opening.

The men behind the dream

The Indian team that travelled to Moscow comprised Baldev Singh, Ajmer Singh, Parvez Diniar, Dilip Gurumurthy, Harbachan Singh, Jorawar Singh, Amarnath Nagarajan, Pramdiph Singh, Paramjit Singh, Radhey Shyam, Hanuman Singh and Tarlok Singh Sandhu. Paramjit Singh was the captain. Behind them stood two men whose contributions deserve to be remembered alongside those of the players, Coach Captain Rajan Makkolath and Manager P. N. Sankaran, both from Kerala.

Every Olympic team has its visible heroes and its quieter architects. The players take the court, but their journey is shaped by people whose work begins long before the opening whistle. Captain Rajan Makkolath was the coach of the Indian team. He was a highly respected coach of the Services side and later guided India at the 1982 Asian Games and other international competitions.

For the players, however, Rajan was more than a tactician. He was the coach who stood beside them as they entered an unfamiliar Olympic world. He had to prepare them for opponents of immense strength, but also for the emotional weight of an occasion none of them had previously experienced.

P. N. Sankaran was the team manager. His international associations had already taken him into the wider world of basketball administration. His friendship with Borislav Stanković, the Secretary General of FIBA, was one of the relationships he remembered with particular warmth.

Sankaran’s recollections reveal a manager who carried not only the formal responsibilities of the team, but also a deep concern for the players and the atmosphere surrounding them. Most importantly, he remembered the affection they held for their coach. “The team was very fond of him,” Sankaran recalled of Captain Rajan. That simple observation perhaps tells us more about the coach than any list of appointments.

A national farewell

A week before departure, the Indian team met then  Prime Minister Indira Gandhi at her residence. The following day, the players met President Dr. Neelam Sanjiva Reddy at Rashtrapati Bhavan. These meetings gave the journey a national significance even before the team left India.

The Indian contingent was led by Chief of Mission Air Vice Marshal H. L. Kapoor, while shooter Raja Randhir Singh carried the national flag.

The players were no longer travelling only as individuals or as a basketball team. They were carrying the hopes of a country that was about to see one of its teams enter the Olympic arena for the first time.

Towards Moscow

From Delhi, with a stopover in Tehran, the team travelled towards Moscow. The excitement of the journey was matched by uncertainty about what awaited them at the other end. The players had trained for competition and prepared themselves for strong opponents. Yet nothing in training could fully prepare them for the scale of the Olympic experience.

As the aircraft moved towards Moscow, the dream that had begun as a radio announcement in Patiala was becoming a reality. The players were no longer waiting for the Olympics to come to them. They were on their way to the Olympics.
Cold arrival, warm welcome

Moscow greeted the Indian players with intense cold. Each player had only one Indian blazer, wholly inadequate for the freezing weather. They had arrived prepared for the Games, but not fully prepared for the climate.

According to the recollections shared for this article, the players were received at the airport by Soviet basketball legend Aleksander Belov.

Later, at the Olympic Village, the inadequacy of their winter clothing became even more apparent. One night, P. N. Sankaran led the cold and tired players to the dining hall. There they encountered an Adidas representative, Bill Sweek, whom Sankaran knew through his international basketball connections.

When the Adidas representative saw that the Indian players did not have sufficient warm clothing, he invited them to a warehouse the following morning. The team was provided with tracksuits, shoes, windcheaters and socks.

For the players, it was more than a supply of clothing. It was an unexpected gesture of welcome from the international sporting community.

They had arrived as newcomers from India. Yet someone from the wider basketball world had noticed their difficulty and reached out to them.

Life in the Olympic Village

The team stayed in double occupancy rooms. Harbachan Singh shared a room with D. P. Irani.

Around them were athletes from nations across the world, all brought together in the Olympic Village. The dining hall offered food from many countries. Shared tables created conversation, friendship and curiosity, even when language stood between people.

For players who had previously followed international sport through newspapers and radio, the Olympic Village itself was a revelation. It was a living map of the sporting world.

Ajmer Singh remembered being impressed by the cleanliness and discipline of Moscow. He recalled roads being washed at night with powerful jets of water. These may seem like small memories beside an Olympic basketball match. Yet such details often remain with athletes long after the scores have faded. For the Indian players, Moscow was not simply a basketball tournament. It was an encounter with another sporting world.

The court was waiting

Soon, the sightseeing and wonder gave way to the real purpose of the journey. The basketball court was waiting. India played the opening match of the Olympic basketball competition against the host nation, the Soviet Union. It was an imposing beginning for a team making its Olympic debut.

The Soviet Union was one of the great powers of international basketball. Its coach, Alexander Gomelsky, was a celebrated figure in the game. Around him was a team accustomed to playing on the largest international stages.

For India, the contrast could hardly have been greater. One team was a world basketball power. The other was entering the Olympic basketball tournament for the first time. Yet something in the Indian camp could not be measured by rankings or previous titles.

They were there.
They had made it.
And for a brief period, they were not overawed.

Ten minutes of possibility

P. N. Sankaran’s recollection of the opening match remains one of the most fascinating memories of India’s Olympic campaign. Before the game, he spoke with the Soviet coach. Sankaran explained that India was playing its first Olympic match and that the Soviet Union was one of the great powers of world basketball.

According to Sankaran, for the first 10 minutes India had stood on par Orin level. He remembered the score as 18-18. For the Indian officials watching from the stands, it was a moment of extraordinary excitement. For ten minutes, India had stood level with the Soviet Union.

The official record preserves the final result, 121-65 to the Soviet Union, and records the hosts’ 60-38 half time lead. But Sankaran’s memory preserves something the final score cannot show, a brief glimpse of possibility. For ten minutes, the newcomers had not looked like strangers. They looked like participants. A newspaper published in Moscow during the Games captured the movement of the Indian team in a memorable line:

“One Singh to another Singh and the third Singh takes the shot.”

It was a light hearted description of an Indian side whose players’ names seemed to echo across the court. But it also captured something larger.

Indian basketball had entered the Olympic arena and had given the Moscow crowd a glimpse of its own character.

India’s first Olympic basket

Hanuman Singh carried another special memory from that historic game. He scored India’s first basket in its first Olympic basketball match.

Somewhere in Moscow, the scoreboard changed by two points. For the match, it was only the beginning of India’s total. For Indian basketball, it was an event that could never be repeated. There would never be another first. As the game progressed, the Soviet Union imposed its strength on the contest. The final score was 121-65, with the hosts leading 60-38 at half time. India had lost its opening match.

But it had crossed the most important threshold. Indian basketball had entered the Olympic arena.

The journey continues

The first match had ended in defeat, but the journey was only beginning.
India would next face. Czechoslovakia, another powerful European team. Ajmer Singh would produce one of the finest individual performances of the tournament.  More matches, more challenges and more memories awaited the Indian players. The scoreboard had recorded a defeat. History had recorded an arrival. The dream had not ended with the final whistle. It had only begun to reveal what it meant.

Sources and Primary Testimonies

1. Interview with P. N. Sankaran, Manager of the Indian basketball team at the Moscow Olympics.
2. Interview with Lt. Col. Rajan Makkolath, conducted by the author in Calicut before his death. Col. Rajan was a family friend of the author and had served as Captain Rajan, coach of the Indian basketball team at the 1980 Moscow Olympics.
3. Personal notes and recollections of Harbachan Singh, member of the Indian Olympic basketball team.
4. Personal notes and recollections of Ajmer Singh, member of the Indian Olympic basketball team.
5. Official and statistical sources - FIBA historical records of the 1980 Olympic men’s basketball tournament.
6. Olympic and historical records consulted for the team roster, match results, tournament standings and player statistics.

Coming up next: SUNDAY FIELD & FLAME – 18th October 2026 - MOSCOW OLYMPICS 1980: SEVEN GAMES, ONE OLYMPIC MEMORY - Part 2

Football: A Game That Unites the World

The conceptual and practical purity of football as a game that unites people from all races, cultures, and backgrounds makes it one of the world's most enduring cultural expressions. In its professional form, at the highest level, it provides a spectacle to rival anything else of comparable standing.

Did you know that hundreds of millions of people worldwide play football? It is played absolutely everywhere. FIFA has 211 member associations, divided into six regional confederations: CAF (Africa), AFC (Asia), UEFA (Europe), CONCACAF (North and Central America and the Caribbean), OFC (Oceania), and CONMEBOL (South America). That is more than the number of independent countries in the world, since some regions and territories field their own national teams. But the spirit holds: nearly every corner of the globe gets a shot at qualifying for the FIFA World Cup, and few things unite a country quite like a qualification run.

FIFA estimates that over 300 million people play organized football. Billions more play casually. That is the boy in Kozhikode Vellayil with a plastic ball, the girls on a school ground in Kannur after 4 pm, the old men at Kottappadi ground in Malappuram who still argue about the 2022 Manjeri Santosh Trophy as if it were yesterday. In Kerala, we do not count in millions. We count in maidans. Every open space becomes Brazil versus Argentina the moment school ends.

No other sport can say that.

Purity in Simplicity

To play football, you need three things: the ability to kick a ball, a ball to kick, and an empty space. That is why it travelled faster and farther than any other modern sport. Football has moved far beyond the country where its modern laws were first written. It has crossed oceans and continents, entered schools and universities, travelled with soldiers, sailors, workers, and students, and eventually found a home in societies with traditions and cultures very different from those of nineteenth century Britain.

Within India, few regions embraced football with the emotional intensity of Kerala. No boots. No nets. Just the dream that one day a scout would see you and you would get a call to play in Super League Kerala. The simplicity was the point. It democratized greatness. Yet from this simplicity has grown one of the greatest sporting cultures the world has known.

Wherever it went, people gave the game something of their own character. In South America, it acquired traditions of individual skill and improvisation. In Europe, different football cultures developed around technique, tactics, physical strength, and organisation. In Africa and Asia, the game became woven into local sporting life. Everywhere, the same basic Laws created space for different expressions of the game.

The football field became a meeting place.

A player did not need to speak the language of an opponent to understand a pass. A goalkeeper's save required no translation. A perfectly struck free kick could be admired by people who knew nothing about one another.
A goal was understood everywhere.

That is the extraordinary language of football.

Football became a game of schools, colleges, clubs, factories, government institutions, neighbourhoods, and villages. The game travelled from one generation to another. Boys who watched older players became players themselves. Players became coaches, referees, and administrators. Spectators became club workers. The football ground became part of community life.

Football in Divided Times

We live in an age of walls. Nations argue. Communities harden. Phones make us lonelier together. And yet, for 90 minutes, none of that matters.

In 2005, Didier Drogba went on national television after a match and begged two sides of a civil war in Ivory Coast to lay down their arms. They listened. A game did what diplomacy could not.

FIFA stamps "No to Racism" on every board, every tunnel, every major and minor event. It is not perfect. But the intention matters: a global body declaring that the game belongs to everyone.

Look closer to home. Sevens football fills entire evenings. Hindu, Muslim, Christian, all on the same bench, shouting for the same jersey. For those 60 minutes, we are not from different places. We are from the same stand. That is football's quiet politics. It does not preach unity. It practices it.

The Religion of Fandom

The relationship between football and its spectators is particularly strong. Supporters do not always behave like passive observers. They sing. They argue. They celebrate. They criticise. They travel. They remember.

A football match thus becomes a community event.

The continuing attraction of the game was visible in Kerala when the inaugural Super League Kerala final was played in Kozhikode in 2024. Calicut FC defeated Forca Kochi 2-1, with an attendance of 35,672 recorded for the final. An estimated 4,53,000 people attended SLK matches across four venues in the inaugural season, surpassing even Kerala Blasters ISL home crowds.

The significance lies not simply in the number of spectators, but in what such a crowd represents. A game that can bring tens of thousands of people together around a local team has become part of the emotional geography of the place. And that is perhaps where the larger story of football returns to its beginning.

Soccer fans live the game like a creed. Once you choose a team, you do not un-choose it. You inherit it, and you pass it on.

A father in Manchester hands down a United jersey. A grandfather in Kolkata tells his grandson about East Bengal versus Mohun Bagan. On World Cup nights, the city goes quiet. Even the buses slow down. People gather around one TV and become one crowd.

That loyalty is irrational and beautiful. It is not about winning. It is about belonging.

Rhythm, Dance, and Art

Football is beautiful because it moves like dance. It has rhythm, coordination, balance, and, at the same time, ruthless skill.

The game rewards creativity within structure. A midfielder must think three passes ahead. A striker must know where the ball will be, not where it is. A goalkeeper must become both a wall and an artist. And unlike many sports, everyone gets a moment. A defender can score from a corner. A goalkeeper can win it in the last minute. Even a throw-in can become a goal. The spotlight rotates. That is why we watch. Because on any given night, an unknown name can become eternal.

Epic Stories from Humble Beginnings

Every sport has its great stories. Football has hundreds, and most of them begin in poverty.

Pele sold peanuts on the streets of Bauru before he sold the world on the idea of "the beautiful game." Sunil Chhetri came from an army background and became India's all time top scorer. Malayalees know this story too. I.M. Vijayan was born poor, sold newspapers as a child, and rose to win the Arjuna Award and lead the national team. Kerala's football ambassador T. Abdul Rahman, an Olympian footballer from Kozhikode, started on the grounds of the Court Maidan and Railway Institute, from four stones to the national jersey. These are not exceptions. They are the rule. Football is one of the few ladders left that still reaches from the street to the stadium.

And now the girls who once played on school grounds after 4 pm are joining academies, youth leagues, and the emerging women's football scene across Kerala. The Indian women's team, led by players like Ashalata Devi and Dalima Chhibber, has inspired a new generation. Kerala's own Anju Pappachan and others are carving their names in history, proving that the ladder reaches for everyone.

Why It Stays Ahead

For an abundance of reasons, football remains ahead of other sports. It is cheap to start and expensive to master. It is simple to understand and impossible to fully solve. The twentieth century professionalized it. Better coaching, sports science, nutrition, and the standardization of pitch dimensions turned it into a laboratory. Countries that built clubs, academies, and school leagues created pipelines. Success stopped being about geography and started being about systems.
And yet, the soul did not change. Greece could win Euro 2004. Leicester City could win the Premier League in 2016. A team with no money could beat a team with everything. That possibility keeps eight billion people watching.

Social Cohesion in an Atomised Age

Sociologists call our time "atomised." We live alone, scroll alone, eat alone. Football is one of the last things that forces us into a room together. "To be a footballer means being a privileged interpreter of the feelings and dreams of thousands of people." That line is true because 22 people on a field carry the hopes of neighbourhoods.

In Kerala, in earlier days, Premier Tyres and later Kerala Blasters turned an entire state into a yellow wall. Gokulam Kerala FC and now Calicut FC make Kozhikode believe again. Clubs do not just play matches. They stitch districts together. A boy from Kannur cheers for a boy from Thiruvananthapuram because the crest is the same.
That is cohesion. Not a slogan. A habit.

Beyond the Trophy

On the Mananchira Maidan. On the grounds of the Court maidan where Abdul Rahman once ran. In the backwaters where kids kick a ball between boats. In the slums of Rio and the suburbs of Berlin. Trophies tarnish. Stadiums empty. But the game remains.

The paradox of football is that it is both tiny and infinite. Tiny: 22 players, one ball, 90 minutes. Infinite: eight billion people finding, in that small rectangle of grass, a common language.

It does not ask your caste. It does not ask for your passport. It only asks if you can run, if you can pass, if you can believe for 90 minutes that something bigger than you is possible.

That is why we love it. That is why it endures.

The question is no longer whether football can unite us. It is whether we will let it.
22 Players. One Ball. Eight Billion People. One Game. A Sport That Unites the World.

References

1. FIFA. Member Associations.
2. FIFA. Big Count 2006: 270 Million People Active in Football.
3. The All India Football Federation
4. The New York Times. Didier Drogba and His Dressing Room Intervention in Ivory Coast's Civil War. January 9, 2026.
5. Olympics. com

Coming up next: SUNDAY FIELD & FLAME – 11th October 2026 MOSCOW OLYMPICS 1980: WHEN INDIA'S BASKETBALL DREAM CAME TRUE - Part 1

THE HISTORY OF THE BANANA KICK IN FOOTBALL

How Footballers Learned to Make the Ball Bend

There was a time when football entered our lives through the printed word. Their stories reached  us through newspapers and magazines. Pele, Garrincha, Didi, Puskas, Bobby Charlton and many others were familiar names long before we had the opportunity to see them play. Their exploits reached us through match reports, photographs and stories carried across continents. We could imagine the goals, the dribbles and the great matches, but the players themselves remained distant figures, almost like characters in a story. Then television changed everything.

Football entered our living rooms, and for football lovers in Kerala it was almost like opening a window to another world. Brazil, Argentina, England, Germany, Italy, France and the other great football nations were no longer simply names in newspapers. Their players became moving figures on our television screens. We could watch their dribbles, their passes, their goals and, perhaps most fascinating of all, their free kicks.

We watched a player stand several yards away from a stationary ball while a wall of defenders formed between him and the goal. The goalkeeper took his position, waiting for the expected shot. Then came the measured run-up and the strike.

The ball would rise, apparently travelling away from its intended target, and then something extraordinary seemed to happen. As it moved through the air, it would begin to bend, sweeping around or over the defensive wall before turning towards the goal. What had appeared to be a straightforward kick became a graceful curve through the air.

For a generation of football lovers, it was one of the game's most beautiful pieces of magic.

We called it the banana kick.

But the banana kick was not born in the age of television. By the time television brought its magic into our homes, footballers had already been experimenting with the art of making the ball bend for generations. What television did was give that art a worldwide audience.

The story of how footballers learned to manipulate the flight of the ball is almost as fascinating as the kicks themselves.

The Art of Making the Ball Bend

At its simplest, a banana kick is a curved football shot, most often associated with a free kick. Instead of travelling in a straight line, the ball follows a pronounced arc through the air, allowing a player to send it around or over a defensive wall and towards the goal.

It may look simple when performed perfectly. Footballers gradually discovered that the behaviour of a football could be changed by the way it was struck. The point of contact, the movement of the foot, the speed of the kick and, above all, the rotation imparted to the ball could influence its flight.

There was no single moment when somebody invented the banana kick. It evolved through experimentation, observation and imitation. Players tried different ways of striking the ball and learned, often through repeated practice, that a football did not always have to travel where its initial direction seemed to suggest. Some players became particularly gifted at exploiting this behaviour. Among the early celebrated masters of unusual free kick techniques was a Brazilian whose name would become closely associated with one of the game's most distinctive dead-ball techniques.

Didi and the Folha Seca

Brazil's relationship with imaginative free kick taking goes deep into its football culture. One of its earliest celebrated exponents was Didi, the elegant midfielder who helped Brazil win the 1958 and 1962 World Cups.

Didi became famous for a distinctive free kick technique known as the folha seca, or “dry leaf”. The name itself captured the imagination. A dry leaf caught in the air can float, drift and suddenly fall, responding to movements in the air that are not always visible to the eye. Didi's free kick could create a similarly deceptive impression. The ball could travel with an apparently controlled trajectory before suddenly changing its movement and dropping towards the goal.

Didi's importance lies not only in the goals he scored but also in what he represented. He belonged to a generation of Brazilian footballers who treated the ball as something that could be manipulated through touch, technique and imagination. The football was not simply an object to be kicked towards a target. Its flight could be shaped.

That Brazilian tradition of imaginative free kick taking would continue through succeeding generations. Techniques were refined, new variations appeared and the art of the dead ball became increasingly sophisticated.

Then television brought the great practitioners of that art into homes around the world. For football loving youngsters in Kerala, the television screen became an informal classroom. We could watch the approach of a player, the position of his supporting foot, the movement of his kicking leg and, most importantly, the extraordinary journey of the ball after it left his foot.

We watched the masters, admired them and tried to imitate them on our own playing fields.

Among all the free kicks that entered football's visual memory, however, one would eventually stand apart.

Roberto Carlos and the Ball That Seemed Impossible

It was 3rd June 1997. Brazil were playing France in the Tournoi de France at Lyon, and Brazil had been awarded a free kick roughly 35 metres from the French goal.
Standing over the ball was Roberto Carlos. The Brazilian left-back took his familiar approach and struck the ball with his powerful left foot. At first, the trajectory seemed completely wrong. The ball travelled towards the right, apparently moving away from the goal. Then, as it continued through the air, it began to curve back towards the target.

It swept around the defensive wall and passed inside the post, beyond the reach of goalkeeper Fabien Barthez. For those watching, it seemed almost impossible.
The goal quickly became one of the most famous free kicks in football history. Its extraordinary trajectory attracted attention not only from football followers but also from scientists. Years later, French physicists studied the kick, seeking to understand how a ball could travel on such an apparently improbable path.

For the football world, it was a spectacular goal. For scientists, it was a fascinating problem. How could a ball that appeared to be travelling away from the goal suddenly curve back towards it?

The explanation lay not in magic but in the interaction between a spinning football and the air around it. The physics was there all along, although most spectators needed no explanation. We simply watched the ball bend and marvelled.

Roberto Carlos had shown the world just how dramatic that bending movement could become. Five years later, another Brazilian would produce a free kick that demonstrated a different way in which the flight of a football could deceive the eye.

Ronaldinho and the Ball That Kept Rising

At the 2002 World Cup in Japan and South Korea, Brazil faced England in the quarter-final at Shizuoka.

Ronaldinho stood over a free kick more than 35 yards from goal and towards the right side of the field. England goalkeeper David Seaman was positioned away from his line.

Ronaldinho struck the ball.

It rose high into the air, travelled over the English goalkeeper and dropped into the top corner. For a moment, it was difficult to know exactly what Ronaldinho had intended. Had he attempted a shot or was he trying to cross the ball?

The uncertainty became part of the story. England's players believed he had intended to cross the ball, while Ronaldinho maintained that he had been trying to shoot. He later acknowledged that the ball had travelled farther and swerved more than he had expected.

Whatever the original intention, the goal became unforgettable.

It demonstrated something important about the relationship between a footballer and the ball. A player can determine the manner in which he strikes it, but once the ball leaves his foot, its journey is shaped by forces beyond his direct control. Football has entered a different world, where speed, spin, gravity and the surrounding air begin to determine what happens next.

The great free kick taker learns to anticipate that journey. The greatest seem to make it look effortless.

Beckham and the Age of Precision

By the beginning of the new millennium, the curling free kick had become one of football's most admired skills. Few players made it more recognisable than David Beckham. If Roberto Carlos was associated with extraordinary power, Beckham became renowned for precision. His free kicks often seemed to follow an invisible path chosen before the ball was struck. Over or around the defensive wall, towards a particular part of the goal, the ball would rise, bend and descend with remarkable accuracy.

His technique became familiar to millions of viewers: the measured approach, the carefully planted foot and the distinctive swing of the right leg. The result was often a ball that seemed to obey an instruction written into the kick itself.

One of the defining moments came against Greece in 2001, when Beckham's stoppage time free kick secured England's qualification for the 2002 World Cup. Another memorable example came against Ecuador at the 2006 World Cup.
By then, “bend it like Beckham” had entered popular culture.

The banana kick had moved beyond the football field and into everyday language. Yet football's experimentation with the flight of the ball was about to take another turn.

When the Ball Refused to Behave

The traditional curling free kick depends heavily on spin. But another Brazilian, Juninho Pernambucano, became famous for a different kind of dead ball technique. During his remarkable spell with Lyon, Juninho became one of the most feared free kick specialists in European football. He could produce the familiar curling shot, but he also became famous for a technique that appeared to challenge the very idea of predictable ball flight.

The knuckleball
Instead of giving the football substantial spin, the player attempts to strike it in a way that produces very little rotation. The result can be a ball that dips, swerves or changes direction unexpectedly as it travels towards the goal. One of Juninho's most celebrated examples came against Bayern Munich in the Champions League in 2003. From around 30 metres, he struck a free kick that dipped dramatically before going into the net off the inside of Oliver Kahn's left-hand post.

The traditional banana kick had a graceful, recognisable curve. Juninho's knuckleball seemed far less willing to follow a predictable path. It was another chapter in football's long experimentation with the behaviour of the ball.

And once again, television allowed millions of spectators to witness something that earlier generations could scarcely have imagined.

Messi and the Modern Generation

The art of bending a football continued into the modern era, and Lionel Messi became one of its finest practitioners.

His free kick against Liverpool in the 2019 Champions League semi-final has become part of the modern collection of great curling free kicks. From a central position outside the penalty area, Messi lifted the ball over the wall and sent it bending into the top corner, leaving goalkeeper Alisson with little chance.

The scene was familiar, even though the football world around it had changed enormously. The equipment had changed. The football itself had changed. Goalkeepers had become taller, stronger and more extensively prepared. Set piece coaching had become increasingly sophisticated, with coaches and analysts studying angles, positions and patterns in ways earlier generations could hardly have imagined.

Yet there was still room for the old art. A footballer could still stand over a stationary ball and make it bend.

From Didi to Roberto Carlos, from Ronaldinho and Beckham to Juninho and Messi, different generations developed different ways of communicating with football. Some relied on power, some on precision, some on extraordinary spin and others on almost no spin at all.

But they were all searching for essentially the same thing: a way to make the football travel somewhere the goalkeeper did not expect.

From Magic to Science

For a long time, the explanation seemed simple. It was talent, skill and, perhaps, a little magic.

But behind every bending football was something more than the eye could see. The ball was responding to the way it had been struck and to the forces acting upon it as it travelled through the air. What appeared mysterious on the television screen was, in fact, nature at work.

The great footballers did not need to know the language of physics to master it. Through countless hours of practice, they learned to make the ball do things that seemed almost impossible.

References

1. Dupeux, B., Le Goff, A., Quéré, D. and Clanet, C. “The Curve Kick of a Football.” New Journal of Physics, Vol. 12, 2010.
2. Croxford, Saul Marcus Benedict, Joel Thomas Best and Matt Jackson Duggan. “S4_4 Roberto Carlos’ ‘Impossible’ Free Kick.” Physics Special Topics, University of Leicester, Vol. 16, No. 1, 2017.
3. FIFA. “Wonder Goal or Fluke? Ronaldinho’s 2002 Strike Remembered.” 
4. UEFA. “The Best Free-Kicks in UEFA Champions League History?” UEFA.com.
5. Banana Kick,Football History,Football Skills,Free Kicks,Roberto Carlos,Football Legends,Sports Science
6. FIFA. “Brazil’s Prince and King of ’58 - Didi.” FIFA.

Coming up next: SUNDAY FIELD & FLAME – 04th October 2026 Football, A Game That Unites the World