Deep in the bowels of Downing Stadium on Randall’s Island — a tiny, decrepit stadium tucked under an expressway in New York City — Pelé sits on a stool at his locker. It’s June 15th, 1975 and it’s halftime of his first game with his new team, the New York Cosmos of the fledgeling North American Soccer League. They’re down 2-0 to the Dallas Tornado, but right now, Pelé has bigger problems.
Pelé’s feet have made him a very rich man and brought him more fame and notoriety than any other athlete in the history of sport. Over the preceding two decades, they guided him to glory and fame at Santos, his long-time club, and to an unprecedented three World Cup championships with Brazil. His arrival in the United States, still a nascent soccer nation, has caused a global sensation.
Now, as Pelé removes his boots and socks, he stares down in disbelief. His feet are covered, absolutely covered, in some sort of green substance. He’s apoplectic. What on earth has he gotten himself into? Has he contracted some sort of airborne disease?
He turns to Professor Julio Mazzei, his longtime confidant and translator, and begins talking
Advertisement
“I have contracted a fungus,” he says. “And this will be my last game with the Cosmos.”
Charlie Martinelli, the Cosmos equipment manager, is seated at the locker directly next to Pelé’s. He also knows exactly what the green substance is. The playing surface at Downing Stadium is an atrocity, and the stadium itself is a Depression-era relic, a crumbling hulk that Martinelli describes as “a dungeon, in Rome, in the year 100.”
Pelé’s debut at this place is being watched by an audience of millions on national television, so Martinelli, along with a handful of other Cosmos employees, had spent
Read on theathletic.com