Today, South America produces some of the best football players in the world. Such is its footballing success that Joseph ‘Sepp’ Blatter, FIFA’s president, pointed to South America as the ‘Old Continent’ of football. In Bolivia, however, professional football finds itself at a significantly lower level than in many other South American countries. Is there any particular reason for this? Given that Bolivians play as much football as their neighbours, where have they gone wrong?

British expansion in South America during the 19th century brought football to the continent alongside the railways. From the 1870s onwards, British railway construction employees would play football after work. Historically, railways have been a failure in Bolivia; today most trains are out of service. Nonetheless, the tracks themselves remain anchored to the ground. Football, similarly, has become rooted in Bolivian tradition and, although it cannot be dismissed as a failure, its development has been plagued with difficulties.

Football first gained popularity in South America in Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, and Chile, where British presence was most significant. The early-20th-century Argentinian journalist Juan José Soiza Reilly remembered observing a group of fair-skinned men kicking a ball around in the suburbs of Buenos Aires. He asked his father who they were, to which he answered, ‘Crazy English people’.

Bolivia’s Claustrophobia:

Bolivia, a landlocked country surrounded by mountains, took longer to adopt this sport. The country’s geography has been a setback for the development of many activities, and football is no exception. The British presence in Bolivia was far more limited than in other countries, mainly centred around the country’s mining regions, which affected the development of Bolivian football.

The iconic Latin American chronicler Eduardo Galeano talks about the English influence in Argentinean football in Futbol a Sol y Sombra. He notes that a football player could be forgiven for committing a foul only if he was able to excuse himself in ‘proper English and with sincere feelings’. Argentines knew and played football according to the professional rules of the time, but this was not the case in Bolivia. The absence of British presence meant that rules were improvised in many circumstances and, in most cases, Bolivians would opt to invent their own. Even today, Bolivian professional football has some variables that aren’t always consistent with standards around the rest of the world. For example, a few years ago, Bolivia had the youngest player in the National League, making his debut at the age of 12. Today, Bolivia is about to possess the oldest player and the first head of state to play in a professional league. President Evo Morales, 54, will play for ‘Sport Boys’, a Santa Cruz–based club in the Bolivian Primera División starting from next season.

Professionalisation:

The professionalisation of football came late to Bolivia. Compared to its neighbouring countries, Bolivia often struggled to keep pace. Argentina founded the Argentine Football Association League (in which the members would communicate exclusively in English) in 1893, while Bolivia established its own league in 1925, more than 30 years later. And while Brazil had already witnessed official football matches between the British Gas Company and the São Paulo Railway, in 1895, Bolivia did not even have a team — its first, Oruro Royal, was founded in 1896. Indeed, Bolivian football remained at an amateur level until the mid-20th century. Today, there is an underground football league, whose members, known as los Siete Ligas, are very skillful players but are unable to break into professional football.

Bolivian Society:

Mario Murillo, a sociologist specialising in Bolivian football, argues that a white elite has always run the game. This social class, according to Murillo, would discriminate against players for their surname and skin colour. Even though there were excellent players of Aymara and Quechua ethnicities, they were not even considered by the professional league. This colonial racism is no longer so prevalent today (although it remains entrenched, to a certain extent), but it has stunted the development of professional football.

Back in 1904, a club was founded in La Paz—The Thunders—composed of young men from the upper classes of the city. All of its members had the opportunity to study in Europe, where football was widely played. The Thunders were the pioneers of football in La Paz, and, due to their social background, it was seen as an upper-class sport. The Strongest, another paceño club, was also founded on similar grounds that allowed for no social integration; it consisted of a group of middle-class friends who had recently finished military service. This tended to hinder the spread of football to other social classes and small communities throughout Bolivia.

Is There a Future for Bolivian Football?

The future of Bolivian football relies on a crucial combination of advanced infrastructure and a passion for the game. In Bolivia, a significant lack of the former means that football is not taken as seriously as it could be. For Bolivia to transform into a successful footballing nation, both elements must coexist.

Watching a Siete Ligas match, one is struck by the paradox between the intense emotional involvement and the distinct lack of appropriate infrastructure. In El Tejar, a region in the north of La Paz, a match was played on a cramped, uneven surface with holes in the nets—almost comparable to a children’s playground. However, with a scoreboard, shirt sponsors, a pedantic referee who gave out yellow cards for incorrect shoes, halftime team talks from gesticulating coaches, and a crowd of at least 150 spectators perched on crumbled-down walls, passion for grassroots football is alive and well. Rather, it is the absence of professional funding that is holding Bolivian football back. Similar to how certain clubs are paralysed in Liga Nacional B for not meeting stadium requirements, Bolivia cannot progress into the top league because its infrastructure is unable to match the levels of involvement and interest.

The ex–Brazilian manager Carlos Alberto Parreira noted: ‘Today’s football demands magic and dreams, but it will only be effective when combined with technique and efficiency’. Solutions could start with a greater distribution of football academies covering the more remote areas of the country that would teach the tactical basics of the game. A structured network of scouts could be employed to recognise and nurture talent from a young age. Moreover, gym training and nutritional advice have become increasingly vital to a player’s physical development, and must be valued. These factors helped lead Argentina to excel in the sport, so why shouldn't this be the case with Bolivia?

Earth's riches join the game

The importance of football in Bolivia is in no way proportional to the country’s achievements in the sport throughout history. Despite being a country that only holds a single Copa América title and has only once qualified for the FIFA World Cup, the game is still able to stir the deepest of sentiments among the Bolivian people. To understand why, BX speaks to a former president, a sports commentator, the former head of the national football federation, and an iconic musical family.

Guayaquil, 19 September 1993

A historical moment for Bolivian football. For the first time in its history, Bolivia's national team qualifies for a FIFA World Cup by achieving a 1-1 away draw against Ecuador in their final match. The few Bolivians who were lucky enough to be at Monumental Isidro stadium in Guayaquil rise up as one in ecstatic celebration. Back at home, people are pouring into the streets, showing their red, yellow and green striped flags which flutter proudly in the wind. Others bear these stripes on their bare skin. People incredulously cram the streets partying. No matter their place in society, Bolivians stand united behind the same team.

'It was a fantastic explosion. People embraced the flag as a symbol of our nation’s achievement beyond racial or social distinctions’, says Toto Arévalo, who has been a sports commentator for almost four decades and has attended 9 World Cups. Arévalo was at the stadium in Ecuador that day and remembers the moment as a highlight in his career.

When I ask him whether any other event has caused similar sentiments among Bolivians, his answer is no. ‘It was the biggest event,’ he replies, ‘larger than any Presidential election’. After that day, Arévalo tells me, the hit single ‘Bolivia gana y se va al Mundial’ became Bolivia’s new national anthem.

Written by Familia Valdivia, the song played a critical and symbolic role in unifying the country. They wrote the song out of love for the team, even before Bolivia qualified. According to Noemí Valdivia, who is the mother of the musical family, they were convinced Bolivia would qualify that year. What they did not expect was the song to become a national hit.

So, why was the song so successful? ‘People identified with it’, is Noemí’s answer. What seems to have made the song so appealing, though, was its message of joy, collective victory and celebration. Also, after listening to the song a couple of times, the tune really catches on.

Bolivians have looked back at the 1993 qualifying season with nostalgia ever since. Books have been written and documentaries have been put together, all dedicated to that golden period in the country’s footballing history.

The World Cup of ’94 was Bolivia's moment to show itself to the world. The team had at last stepped into football’s biggest spotlight. Although Bolivia did not get past the first round of the Cup, the experience was, in Arévalo’s words; ‘una gran fiesta’. Bolivian people were proud of their footballing heroes. They were proud of being Bolivian.

In preparation for the event, coach Xabier Azkargorta played an important role as the team’s psychologist to instill, in the players’ minds, the sense of equality with their opponents. The aforementioned Valdivia anthem goes ‘y ju-gará de igual a igual’ - an allusion to the until-then unthinkable idea that Bolivia would play as equals against teams that had always seemed their superiors.

Tragedy, though, would define the experience. Only minutes into the opening game against Germany, Bolivia would lose its star player Marco Antonio Etcheverry. Etcheverry, who was known as ', received a red card for a misjudged tackle on Germany’s star player, Lothar Matthäus. As a consequence, he was forced to sit out of Bolivia’s remaining two games against Spain and South Korea.

Losing Etcheverry may have reduced the team’s chances of qualifying to the next round, but participating in the tournament was what mattered most at the time. Simply reaching the highest stage in world football was significant enough for Bolivia.

The question that puzzles me, though, is why football is so important in a country that holds very few victories in the sport. Bolivia doesn’t show up in FIFA's world ranking until the 68th spot, yet football is played and enjoyed everywhere — from windy dirt pitches in the Altiplano, to humid fields in the eastern tropics.

Could it be international recognition? Two of Bolivia's neighbours, Argentina and Brazil, have certainly succeeded in establishing an international reputation through football. This year, Brazil will get the ultimate chance to showcase itself as host of the World Cup. All the big channels from around the world will tune in and many foreigners will travel across the globe to see this sporting event live in action. Yet, Bolivia hasn’t come close to enjoying this level of international attention so the unwavering passion for the sport remains puzzling.

Perhaps the passion for football in Bolivia is rooted in the need for national unification rather than international recognition. As Guido Loayza, a former president of the Federación Boliviana de Fútbol (FBF), explains; ‘football emerged as a surprising meeting point for the country. The Cup of ‘94 showed us that we can stand behind a common objective and forget the things that separate us as a nation. It showed us that we can come together in a kind of catharsis’.

Former President Carlos Mesa also agrees that this was a rare moment of national unity. ‘Bolivia’s qualification to the World Cup constitutes a sociological phenomenon, not only linked to football itself. It constitutes a moment of unity in which people across the country could truly feel Bolivian. In later years we began to affirm our diversity through the constitution of the Plurinational state and the creation of local autonomies. The national football team comes second only to the sea as a symbol of unity’.

By now the 1994 celebrations have long died down and all that remains is a sense of nostalgia. It would be amazing to see Bolivia qualify again for a World Cup, if only to see Bolivia's true passion for football explode once more.

The results of last year’s qualifying rounds raise doubts as to whether that will happen anytime soon. Bolivia came second to last in South America's qualifiers which has left former FBF President, Guido Loayza, wondering about the future. ‘There has not been a detailed analysis of the non-football reasons for our success in ’93. I think this limits our ability to plan intelligently and achieve another classification. Those who don’t have a certain course will never have favourable winds’, he points out.

Bolivia’s national psychology remains blissfully trapped between a golden past which is at once half-imagined and half-remembered, and the undying promise of a glorious future which never seems to arrive. This is as true in football as it is in other domains. Away from international contests, football remains central to people’s lives across the country in neighbourhood league games and school playgrounds. In any case, Bolivia’s football history tells us that one can learn to love a sport without actually excelling at it. And it’s these everyday experiences of the game that show us just how deep this love can be.