From Montevideo to New Jersey: A Century (Almost) of the World Cup

Every four years, the planet pauses for a month and agrees, however briefly, to care about the same thing. That habit is now 96 years old. Here is how a modest tournament in Uruguay grew into the biggest show on Earth — and the players who made us fall for it along the way.

1930: A Trophy Named Jules Rimet

The first World Cup kicked off in 1930 in Montevideo, Uruguay, the reigning Olympic champions and a nation confident enough to build a brand-new stadium for the occasion. Just 13 teams entered — most European sides balked at the three-week boat journey — and the hosts beat Argentina 4–2 in the final to lift a small, art-deco statuette of winged victory. It was named the Jules Rimet Trophy, after the FIFA president who had pushed the tournament into existence.

For four decades, the Jules Rimet Cup toured the world, surviving a world war (no tournaments were held in 1942 or 1946) and, famously, a 1966 theft in London before a dog named Pickles sniffed it out from under a hedge. In 1970, Brazil beat Italy 4–1 in Mexico City to win their third World Cup — and, under the rules of the time, got to keep the trophy outright. FIFA commissioned a new prize, the golden FIFA World Cup Trophy still lifted today, first awarded in 1974. (Brazil’s original Jules Rimet Cup was itself stolen again in 1983 and never recovered, reportedly melted down.)

The Maestros: A Different Genius Every Era

If the trophy changed, the game’s capacity to produce singular geniuses never did.

Pelé announced himself as a 17-year-old at Sweden 1958, scoring twice in the final, and went on to win three World Cups (1958, 1962, 1970) — still the only man to do so. Alongside him in that 1970 Brazil side was Garrincha’s heir in spirit, but it was Garrincha himself who had carried Brazil to the 1962 title almost single-handedly, dribbling defenders in pairs on a bent right leg that should have ended his career before it began.

Hungary’s Ferenc Puskás never won a World Cup — his “Mighty Magyars” lost a stunning 1954 final to West Germany after being unbeaten for four years — but the “Miracle of Bern” only cemented how good Hungary, and Puskás, truly were. Portugal’s Eusébio carried a wildly talented side to third place in 1966, finishing as the tournament’s top scorer and becoming Africa-born football’s first global superstar.

The 1970s brought a philosophical shift: the Netherlands’ Johan Cruyff, architect of Total Football, mesmerized the world at West Germany 1974 without ever lifting the trophy, losing the final to the host nation and their imperious sweeper, Franz Beckenbauer — “Der Kaiser,” who redefined what a defender could be and later became one of the few men to win the World Cup as both captain (1974) and manager (1990).

Then came Diego Maradona in 1986 — the “Hand of God” and the “Goal of the Century” scored four minutes apart against England, en route to arguably the greatest single-tournament performance in the sport’s history, dragging an otherwise ordinary Argentina to glory almost alone.

Brazil produced a different kind of phenomenon in Ronaldo Nazário, who suffered a mysterious pre-final collapse in 1998 before answering with redemption in 2002, scoring both goals in the final to win it his own way. Two decades later, Cristiano Ronaldo became one of the sport’s most decorated players in club football and continental competition — yet the World Cup, across five attempts, remained the one trophy that eluded him.

The Dark Horses Who Broke the Script

Not every unforgettable World Cup story belongs to a superstar. North Korea, at England 1966, arrived as 1,000-to-1 outsiders and beat mighty Italy 1–0, reaching the quarterfinals before famously blowing a 3–0 lead against Portugal (and Eusébio). Zaire, in 1974, remains a cautionary and occasionally comic footnote — the first sub-Saharan African team at a World Cup, remembered today mostly for a defender charging out of the wall to clear a free-kick before it was even taken, amid a tournament of heavy defeats. Both teams reminded the world that the World Cup’s magic lies partly in its unpredictability — that a small nation can, for ninety minutes, matter.

2026: The Biggest Stage Yet

Which brings us to 2026 — the 23rd World Cup, and the largest ever. For the first time, three nations — the United States, Mexico, and Canada — co-hosted, spreading 104 matches across 16 cities and an expanded, 48-team field. It was the longest World Cup in history, running from June 11 to July 19. In the end, it was Spain who triumphed, beating Argentina 1–0 after extra time in the final at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey.

Nearly a century after Uruguay lifted that first small trophy in Montevideo, the tournament looks almost unrecognizable in scale — yet it still runs on the same currency it always has: moments, and the players brave enough to create them.

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