The Miracle of Berlin — A Prewar Challenge and a Postwar New Start

With both an association and a national tournament in place, Japanese football craved a true contest against the world. That stage was the highest level of the day — the Olympic Games. In 1936, the Japan national team made the long journey to Europe. Everyone, surely, expected them to lose quickly and come home. Yet on a night in Berlin, the whole world would come to speak Japan’s name.

A comeback from 0–2, the night in Berlin

The 1936 Berlin Olympics were a vast political festival staged by Nazi Germany with all the prestige of the state at stake. In one corner of it, the Japan national team, making its football debut, ran straight into a powerhouse in the first round. The opponents were the Scandinavian side Sweden — counted among the favorites, and unmistakably the stronger team.

The match began just as everyone had expected. In the first half Japan conceded two early goals and trailed 0–2. Outmatched in physique and experience alike, they seemed to have no answer to Sweden. The spectators, too, must have felt the contest was already settled.

In the second half, however, Japan were like a different team. With quick passing that made the most of their small frames, and a workrate that never flagged to the end, they bore down on the Swedish goal. First Taizo Kawamoto pulled one back, and then Tokutaro Ukon drove home the equalizer. As the stands roared, Teiichi Matsunaga snatched the winner just before the final whistle, completing the comeback at last to make it 3–2.

A vivid comeback by a small Eastern nation against one of the favorites: the match became the talk of all Europe. The story that the Swedish radio commentator, unable to keep up with the names of the attacking Japanese players, simply chanted the Japanese, the Japanese, and the Japanese again captures well the shock of the game. It was the birth of what would be handed down ever after as the Miracle of Berlin.

The rupture of war that swallowed the miracle

The elation of Berlin, however, did not last long, for the world — and Japan with it — sank deep into an age of war.

From the late 1930s into the 1940s, the flames of war spread without pause. Cross-border sporting exchange was severed, and enjoying football at home became impossible. Young men were sent not onto the grass but to the battlefield. Many players were torn away from the game, and from life itself. Among those very players who had astonished the world in Berlin, more than a few were tossed about by the war. The first growth of Japanese football, so newly sprouted, was here, for a time, cruelly cut off.

Then, in 1945, came Japan’s defeat. The cities had burned, and people passed their days short even of tomorrow’s food. Sport must have seemed a matter from some far-off world. On literal scorched earth, Japanese football had to rise once more from zero.

A second start, from the ashes

And yet, astonishingly soon, people began to kick a ball again.

While the chaos of defeat still lingered, football tournaments and leagues resumed across the country. In towns that had lost everything, people still chased a ball. Modest though it was, this too was a powerful symbol of recovery. People gathering on a pitch, raising their voices, swept up in the joy and sorrow of victory and defeat — that very ordinariness was a source of hope for a battered society.

What sustained this fresh start were the company teams. The steel, machinery, and electrical firms that had grown strong in the postwar recovery kept football clubs for the sake of employee welfare and publicity, hiring players as company staff to support the game. The players worked at the office by day and kicked a ball after work, or on their days off. This was so-called company-team football, and it became the foundation that would long carry Japanese football in the postwar years.

Then, in 1965, these company teams came together and a groundbreaking system was born: the founding of the Japan Soccer League (JSL). Eight company teams — among them Toyo Kogyo, Yawata Steel, Furukawa Electric, and Mitsubishi Heavy Industries — gathered to launch Japan’s first full-fledged league competition, contesting the standings nationwide across an entire year. Until then, Japanese football had centered on knockout-style national tournaments. The very idea of a round-robin league, fought out match by match, was a fresh challenge for the time.

Still missing something decisive

Thus Japanese football overcame the rupture of war and, with the company teams as its foundation, set out on its second journey. It had gained the backbone of a nationwide league, and the number of players grew steadily. On the surface, it looked as though the preparations to face the world were taking shape.

And yet the Japanese football of the day was still missing something decisive. The Miracle of Berlin had been vivid indeed, but it was no more than the brilliance of a single night, and the gap in ability with the world remained as wide as ever. Why could they not reach the world? What had to be changed, and how, to close that gap? No one within the country could yet answer that question clearly. The players ran their hardest and poured out their sweat. But the very path that led to the world was not yet in sight.

The one who came bearing the answer was an unexpected figure: a single German coach who had crossed the sea to Japan. He would remake Japanese football from its very foundations — its technique and its way of thinking alike. The name of the man who would later be called the father of Japanese football is the protagonist of the next story. The story moves on to the 1960s, heading toward the first golden age——