The Cathode-Ray Revolution: Pelé, Television, and Global Commodification

In June 1970, under Mexico’s harsh sun, players moving with brilliance were projected—in that very instant—into living rooms in London and households in Tokyo, and in color, no less. For the first time in history, satellites carried a festival on the far side of the earth, in color, to the entire world. A fervor that had once belonged only to the tens of thousands present became, overnight, the property of hundreds of millions. In this moment, football was reborn as a “global commodity.” At the heart of that transformation were one genius and one machine.

A Seventeen-Year-Old Shock and the Completion of a “Kingdom”

The story goes back to the end of the 1950s. Brazil, beaten down by the Maracanã Tragedy, was waiting for a chance to reclaim its pride. The one who achieved it was a boy. Pelé. At the 1958 tournament held in Sweden, he appeared at just seventeen years of age.

His performances were dazzling. In the final, Brazil defeated host nation Sweden 5 to 2, achieving the first title it had so longed for. Pelé made his name known to the world in that tournament, and the victory healed a years-old wound for Brazil. Eight years after the silence of the Maracanã, the great power of South America had finally reached the summit of the world.

The brilliance of one individual, Pelé, and the underlying power of the national team. When these two came together, Brazil became more than a mere powerhouse—it became a “story” admired by people the world over. And the device to carry that story to every corner of the earth was just then reaching maturity. Television.

A Festival of Color, Carried by Satellite

In 1970, the tournament was held in Mexico. What made this tournament a turning point in history was not only the strength of the winning team. It was because a revolution in broadcasting technology had occurred.

Earlier World Cups had been broadcast in various countries, but delivering live footage to the other side of the globe—and in color—was technically difficult. In 1970, a broadcast relayed via communications satellite sent the matches, along with Mexico’s vivid scenery, around the world in live color for the first time. The audience swelled all at once, from the tens of thousands in the stadium to the hundreds of millions in front of cathode-ray tubes.

Before that vast new audience, Brazil—led by Pelé—played football of overwhelming quality. In the final, they defeated Italy 4 to 1, and Brazil achieved its third title. This team, featuring Carlos Alberto, Jairzinho, and Pelé, is still spoken of today as one of the greatest sides in history. People all over the world witnessed its artistic play—at the same hour, in the same color.

What the Trophy Symbolized

This victory carried one more symbolic meaning. Under the rules of the time, a nation that won the World Cup three times could keep the Jules Rimet Cup permanently. Having claimed their third title, Brazil earned the right to keep the trophy forever.

When the National Story Becomes a “Product”

What made the 1970 tournament truly revolutionary was not the content of the football but the way it was delivered. Television carried more than just the matches. It brought with it an audience market of an unprecedented scale—hundreds of millions of people.

Hundreds of millions of eyes fixed at once on the same screen—for advertisers, this was a dreamlike stage. Wherever there is an enormous audience, vast sums of money inevitably flow in. Sponsorship fees, broadcasting rights fees, the elevation of players into stars, and the sale of related merchandise. The World Cup, which until then had been a stage for speaking of national prestige and popular feeling, began from here to transform into one of the largest business arenas in the world.

Symbolic of this was how the players themselves became “products” that could be sold across borders. Pelé was at once the hero of a single nation and a face the whole world knew. For people everywhere to watch the same footage meant that people everywhere admired the same star and saw the names of the same companies. The more television spread, the more the value of “having” the World Cup soared. The right to host it, the right to broadcast it, the right to sponsor it—everything became something to be fought over. In time, the organization that would hold all these rights in a single hand—FIFA—would accumulate power beyond imagining.

The national story, and the colossal business. The 1970 Mexico tournament was the starting point at which these two became firmly bound together. Football’s character as “a vessel for a nation’s emotions,” seen at the Maracanã and at Bern, remained—and to it was added a new face: that of a “global commodity.” A single match delivered to the living room could generate immense wealth. Those who grasped that fact were now beginning to gather toward the stage.

The more the fortune swelled, the more impossible the festival became to ignore. And where there is great wealth and dazzling attention, politics will always draw near. Next time, with the stage set at a certain World Cup held under a military dictatorship—the 1978 Argentina tournament—we depict the prototype of “sportswashing,” in which football is exploited for the convenience of the state.