The Swan of Utrecht – The Missing Swansong of Marco van Basten

Written by Samarjit Acharjee on December 8, 2019

With enviable statistics and after winning almost everything, it is difficult to believe he played his last match at 28. Yet, Marco van Basten transcended the realms of numbers and analysis. Watching him play was a visual oxymoron of artistic grace and robotic precision. Samarjit Acharjee shares his impact far away in pre-Satellite, pre-Internet Calcutta – and an unlikely encounter in 2017.

Part 1 – Life as Usual: The Joy and Agony in Football

When I was 13 and still believed in prayers, amongst other mundane things – I fervently prayed for a miraculous recovery of a much-operated ankle. It belonged to my most favourite footballer and was already battered and shattered numerous times through years of his dazzling supremacy. In 1993, at the peak of his career and at only 28 years, it had been dealt with a death knell. How would he make up for the horrible malfunction of his team in Italia ’90 in the upcoming World Cup? Who else could get the Netherlands their due crowning as the world champions for inventing and playing a style of football that was as cerebral as it was skillful?† The Swan of Utrecht, the revered ‘San Marco’ of all-conquering AC Milan, of course!

Like all prayers devoid of any human effort and resigned entirely to divinity, this one, too, fell flat on its face. Let alone being fit for the 1994 World Cup (where the challenge fizzled out further because the other mainstay, Ruud Gullit, opted to sit out of the team1 because he did not like the coach, Dick Advocaat!), Marco van Basten never managed to get on the field again. When the last hope of a comeback was extinguished, he came on the San Siro pitch to do a laboured run across the stadium acknowledging the Milan faithful chanting his name. 18 August 1995. I felt devastated and sulked for days. I did well for a 15-year-old not to cry and showed some teenage steel: the iron persona of Milan coach Fabio Capello had melted in copious tears on that day. FIFA soon outlawed (a straight red card) the dreaded ‘tackle from behind’ that had cut his career short2. ″Marco van Basten is the most famous victim of such sabotage but, unfortunately, only one of many,″ said Sepp Blatter on the introduction of the rule in 1994. But no prayer, dejection, tear or amendment could bring the man back on the field. Twenty-four years on, the maverick Dutch are still winless – coming close to glory and failing to make the cut in equal measure.

Their only international success – despite the undisputed brilliance of Cruyff, Bergkamp, Robben and the like – remains the fabled German campaign of Euro ‘88. The team had the stoically effervescent van Breukelen at goal and Ronald Koeman fortifying the defensive half when not launching outrageous long passes or taking ballistic free kicks and penalties. Gullit and Frank Rijkaard ran rampant all over the field like untamed horses – the other two of the most formidable 8-9-10 trio of all time. Gullit’s goal in the final still confounds everyone as to where the power behind the thunderous header came from. But the Netherlands needed the injured van Basten to come off the bench and score goal after goal to take them across the finish line, fittingly ending with the wonder goal in the final from an impossibly angled and outrageously timed airborne volley. The startled and devastated opponents was an accustomed sight when van Basten played, but the improbability of scoring from that angle had even his own coach, the legendary Rinus Michels, shaking his head in disbelief instead of celebrating the 2-0 lead.

Ever since the Oranje brigade and its fluorescently clad supporters mesmerized me in 1988 as an 8-year-old, Marco van Basten has remained my most favourite footballer, a source of sporting-joy unmatched by subsequent favourites.

Weekly round-ups of the European leagues (where Serie A was miles ahead in terms of competition, talent and quality) presented by PK Banerjee on national TV were the only window to watch quality football back in the day. Every week, his presentation would attain his trademark frenzy at the matches of AC Milan, almost always culminating in the awe of the usual assassin. “… and, like an ‘eagle-bird’, Marco van Basten pounced on the ball and scored yet another fascinating goal.” The screen images of that running celebration, mostly next to the dreadlocked Gullit, arms up in the air and the ever-serious, sculpted face breaking into a beaming joy is a sight I can remember with vivid liveliness even after all these years. Later in the days of the Internet, these images gained immortality through various compilations of his times at Ajax, AC Milan and the Dutch National Team. A couple of times he put on his boots again for testimonial matches – bringing back the magic through a bicycle kick at the Ajax-Arsenal showdown for the Dennis Bergkamp’s testimonial; and a flying header to score at that of Demetrio Albertini at Milan. In Euro 2008, dapper and sculpted as ever in his black trousers and white shirt, he commanded a fabulous Dutch side that routed France and Italy like minnows only to crash out of the tournament when, inexplicably yet familiarly, they made a giant out of a weak Russian team.

Part 2 – A Dream Comes True: One Prayer Answered

Around the 1990 World Cup, in school, we fashioned a fantasy of naming ourselves after footballers. On the small ground simultaneously shared by other classes, our batch called out and responded only to those assumed names. Little did it matter that our Maradona and Cannigia were dreaded defenders, Dasayev often played as a striker, and so on. To bring this circus to its comic conclusion, Van Basten (who else it could have been) mostly stood idle and scored few and botched most chances, always from offside positions. As proud as I am of my sporting heroes and passion, I cannot say the same about my own sporting abilities. In that cavalcade of the best names of football, I had Gullit next to me – the only other Dutch name. Two of us, it can be said with a fair amount of certainty, are the only die-hard Netherlands fans in Calcutta. Or in India, if you will – for, other cities may now play better football, but can never match its soul-stirring passion and sleeve-rolling, animated debates intrinsic to the City of Joy.

In early-October 2017, I was gifted the 1988 edition of the jersey (featured as a part of the iconic 50 football shirts exhibition in London) by my brother. Little did I know I would get the chance to immortalize the precious gift so soon! Flying down from Hyderabad was not difficult, and I had to resort to the help from my ‘school-time Gullit’ once again. I needed to know where the legend was staying during his visit to Calcutta, for the final of the FIFA under-17 World Cup. Being in the hospitality industry, it did not take him long to confirm the details. ‘He has a dinner reservation tonight, too. That should be a good time to go.’

Since he had already walked in and sat down for dinner, I had to wait till he finished eating. It looked like a semi-business meeting and took painfully long to finish. As I sat down with a coffee, I watched his goals in YouTube on my phone to make the wait less agonizing. It was already a surreal feeling – to see him in flesh and blood across the hall. Other than the auburn crop turning silvery atop his head, he looked every bit of the statuesque figure that could run into the field any time. He was less than a week shy of 53!

When he finally walked out and I approached him, I was happy he turned close to his genial yet introverted persona even to a random fan. I could only get a couple of minutes – the time it took for him to sign that jersey, stand smilingly for a picture and walk down to the elevator. I kept saying whatever I could muster in that state of exalted joy. He offered to shake my hands twice, smiled often and seemed happy to find a fan at an unexpected place and time. Yet, reserved and refined in the typical Dutch fashion that I have come to learn over the years. I tried to keep my excitement in check as well, to make it look as tepid and formal, to remain within his comfort zone. In my mind, I kept thinking I could go on telling him about my memories, Dutch football and earlier performances for hours o end. The few minutes passed in that tumult as I saw him walk away.

It was my childhood dream coming true in some way – when I’d think up a magical transportation to Amsterdam or Milan and watch him play, and of course scoring a bunch of unbelievable goals. It has been two years and I have often recalled those few minutes of that interaction in my mind in a rather childish way. Sometimes, meeting your hero in person may turn rather disheartening – with stories rife of them ignoring, abusing or punching fans in whatever state of intoxication, frustration or tantrum. Marco van Basten came across as an ideal idol.

† Totaalvoetbal is as artistic as art can be up front, while operating with a machinery precision at the back. Of course, with everyone expected to play at every position, one had to be a master of both the art and the machination to be donning that orange jersey.

References:

• Gullit walks out on the Dutch Squad (The Herald 30 May, 1994)
• Tackle From Behind On Way out, Too Late for Van Basten (AP June 4, 1994)

About Samarjit Acharjee

Samarjit is passionate about Dutch football and its exponents, and enthusiastic about sports and fitness. One can reach him at samarjit.acharjee@gmail.com

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