Liberos might not exist but Beckenbauer’s soul is still integral part of modern football

It was a slap that changed the course of German football. Growing up in Giesing, a war-ravaged working-class suburb of Munich, now in the vicinity of the Olympic Stadium, young Franz Beckenbauer was a pacy centre forward who wanted to play for 1860 Munich, the strongest German club in the 1950s. But as destiny charted, during an U-14 game for local team SC 1906, he was fiercely marked and supposedly slapped by Gerhard König, the 1860 youth team defender. In anger, he refused to join 1860 and signed for then minnows, Bayern Munich.

At Munich, a sharp youth coach realised that he was so skillful and quick, he was prone to rugged tackles and injuries. So he decided to hide him in the midfield, probably knowing that the kid was so intelligent and technically sound that his attacking prowess would not be stifled wherever he played. He would spend his early days as the base of midfield, more like a deep-lying playmaker as well as a defensive cover, before he was shifted to the heart of the defence. But his instincts meant he would carry the ball upfield and score goals (he scored seven in his first 13 appearances for his country).

But after the 1966 World Cup, he had a rethink. Why not sit behind the centre-back in the sweeper role and then maraud forth? The sweeper—the discovery of the role credited to Austrian coach Karl Rappan who found success with Swiss club Servette and the Swiss national side in the 1930s and 40s with this method— was the deepest defender, whose primary duty was to roam around and avert danger. Ridiculed as a hyper-defensive strategy, it would become a fundamental part of Italy’s catenaccio.

So Beckenbauer would lurk behind the back four. He offered cover behind the defenders, when the latter were