Germany’s place in the pantheon of footballing greatness is unquestionable. Four World Cup titles, three European Championships, and an enduring reputation for resilience and tactical brilliance mark them as one of the sport's true powerhouses. Yet, the narrative surrounding their triumphs often feels less celebratory and more begrudging, as though their victories were products of pragmatism rather than artistry. Perhaps it is the Germans’ methodical approach, their capacity to grind down opponents, that renders them less romantic than other nations. Whatever the reason, history has not always been kind to their accomplishments. Three particular triumphs—1954, 1974, and 1990—offer a lens through which we can examine this paradox.
The Miracle of Bern, 1954: Tactical Mastery vs. Romantic Tragedy
The 1954 World Cup Final, often dubbed the "Miracle of Bern," is a story where the pragmatic and the poetic collide. West Germany’s 3-2 victory over Hungary is steeped in myth, controversy, and drama. It marked the end of Hungary’s 36-match unbeaten run—a team heralded as one of the greatest of all time. Led by the imperious Ferenc Puskás, the Hungarians had thrashed the Germans 8-3 in the group stages and were overwhelming favourites.
Yet, the final told a different tale. Germany, under Sepp Herberger, executed a tactical plan that exploited Hungary’s weaknesses. While Puskás and his team embodied the romantic ideal of football as art, they were physically and mentally spent by the time they reached the final. Injuries, a brutal schedule, and questionable officiating marred their performance. Puskás, nursing an ankle injury inflicted earlier in the tournament, was a shadow of himself. The Germans, by contrast, benefited from strategic squad rotation and superior preparation.
Hungary dominated the early stages, scoring twice within eight minutes, but Germany clawed their way back. Helmut Rahn’s winning goal in the 84th minute encapsulated the underdog spirit, yet it also symbolized football’s harsh truth: beauty alone does not guarantee victory. The Hungarians struck the woodwork three times and had a late equalizer controversially ruled offside, fueling decades of lamentation.
While the Germans were celebrated at home, internationally, their victory was framed as a theft of Hungary’s rightful coronation. The romantic narrative of Hungarian tragedy overshadowed the tactical brilliance and resilience that defined Germany’s triumph.
1974: Beckenbauer's Germany vs. Cruyff's Netherlands
The 1974 World Cup Final is a tale of two golden generations and the clash of competing footballing ideologies. The Dutch, led by Johan Cruyff, were the architects of Total Football—a fluid, dynamic system that redefined the sport. Their journey to the final was marked by artistry, efficiency, and innovation. They humiliated Argentina, dismantled defending champions Brazil, and captivated the world.
West Germany, the reigning European champions, were no less formidable but lacked the Dutch aura. Franz Beckenbauer, the cerebral sweeper, orchestrated his side with poise, while Gerd Müller’s predatory instincts provided the cutting edge. Yet, their campaign was not without blemish; a group-stage loss to East Germany had cast doubt on their invincibility.
The final began dramatically. Within two minutes, Cruyff glided past the German defense, earning a penalty converted by Johan Neeskens. For the next 20 minutes, the Dutch toyed with their opponents, showcasing the very essence of Total Football. But they faltered, lapsing into complacency. The Germans, galvanized by adversity, grew into the game. Paul Breitner’s penalty equalized matters before Müller’s unconventional finish on the cusp of halftime sealed the contest.
Cruyff, shackled by Berti Vogts, was a peripheral figure for much of the match. The Dutch abandoned their principles, resorting to long balls and hurried attacks, while Beckenbauer’s composure dictated proceedings. Despite their defeat, the Dutch became cultural icons, their failure romanticized as the price of uncompromising artistry. Germany, in contrast, was perceived as efficient and opportunistic—a team that won but failed to enchant.
Italia '90: A Triumph Amid Mediocrity
If 1954 and 1974 were tinged with controversy and stylistic clashes, Germany’s 1990 victory in Italy came amid a tournament derided as one of the worst in World Cup history. Defensive football, cynical fouling, and a lack of goals marred the spectacle. Yet, West Germany was undeniably the best side, led by the indomitable Lothar Matthäus and the tactical nous of Franz Beckenbauer, now a manager.
Their route to the final was characterized by grit and discipline, overcoming Yugoslavia, the Netherlands, and England. The final itself, a dour affair against Argentina, was settled by Andreas Brehme’s late penalty. While effective, Germany’s triumph lacked the aesthetic appeal of Diego Maradona’s Argentina in 1986 or the freewheeling brilliance of Brazil in 1970. It was a victory of substance over style, and the tournament’s overall mediocrity tainted their achievement.
The Price of Pragmatism
Germany’s triumphs in 1954, 1974, and 1990 highlight a recurring theme: their success often comes at the expense of more romantic narratives. The Hungarians of 1954, the Dutch of 1974, and the global audience of 1990 all serve as backdrops to Germany’s unrelenting march to victory. This dynamic, while cementing Germany’s place in history, has also fueled a perception of them as efficient but uncharismatic—a team that wins but seldom inspires.
Yet, this view is reductive. Germany’s triumphs were not merely the product of pragmatism but also of adaptability, tactical acumen, and individual brilliance. Beckenbauer’s elegance, Müller’s predatory instincts, and Matthäus’s leadership are as integral to their legacy as any system or strategy.
In football, the line between artistry and efficiency is often blurred. While the romantics may yearn for the beauty of the Dutch or the flair of Hungary, the Germans remind us that winning, too, is an art form—one forged in discipline, resilience, and moments of genius. Their story is not one of poetry denied but of a different kind of poetry: one written in the language of victory.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
