They couldn’t believe it. The decision made no sense. Why was their own government standing in their way? This was the greatest Spanish national side of all time. They boasted the likes of Paco Gento, László Kubala, and the current and future Ballon d’Or winners Alferdo di Stéfano and Luis Suárez ( No, not Luis Suárez of Uruguay) . The core of the side was made up of players from Real Madrid, who had conquered their fifth consecutive European Cup title with a 7-3 demolition of Eintracht Frankfurt just a week earlier, and from Barcelona, the two time defending La Liga champions.
Now, together, they had an opportunity to prove themselves on the international stage and to atone for the embarrassment of failing to qualify for the last World Cup. Only the Soviet Union stood between them and a spot in the inaugural European Nations’ Cup. Not a task to be taken lightly by any means; the Soviets, after all, were defending Olympic champions and had keeper Lev Yashin in goal. But this was a golden age for Spanish football, and the players were confident of success.
“We were sure that we would beat them and become champions of Europe,” said Suárez.
They never got the chance. On the morning of 25 May, 1960, two days before the squad was set to depart for Moscow for the first leg of their qualifier against the Soviet Union, they were informed that they would not be making the trip. Di Stéfano, incredulous, demanded an explanation from the President of the Spanish Football Federation, Alfonso de la Fuente Chaos. ”Orders from above,” he replied. “We’re not going to Moscow. Franco said so.”
The Stage is Set
The very first European Championship, or European Nations’ Cup, as it was known at the time, was unrecognizable from its modern day incarnation. Seventeen teams entered the competition – West Germany, Italy, and England were not among them – and, after Czechoslovakia defeated the Republic of Ireland in the preliminary round, the remaining sixteen entered the qualifying stage. The format of qualifying was akin to today’s knockout stage of the Champions League; sixteen teams drawn against each other in a two-legged affair, the winner advancing through to the next round. Only four teams took part in the tournament proper, the host of which was not decided until the completion of the qualifiers.
The scheduling of the qualifiers was extremely erratic. The Soviet Union and Hungary played the first leg of their opening round on 28 September, 1958, while East Germany and Portugal did not kick off their qualifying campaign until June of the following year. Gaps between legs were massive; the 2nd leg of the USSR- Hungary tie did not take place until a year after the first.
The Soviets ended up defeating the Hungarians 4-1 on aggregate, while Spain easily advanced past Poland with a 7-2 aggregate victory. The draw for the next stage took place in Paris in early December 1959. Spain was drawn against the Soviet Union and the winner would advance to the final stage. This was an intriguing match-up, on both a sporting and political level.
Grudges
Official diplomatic relations between the Soviet Union and Spain had been nonexistent since the end of the Spanish Civil War. The Soviets were the only major power to actively support the Republican cause during the conflict and, as a result of the Franco-British arms embargo they were only supplier of arms and material. Beyond material support the USSR sent over 2,000 military personnel, including nearly 800 pilots. After the fall of the Republic, the Soviet Union severed all diplomatic ties with Francoist Spain.
Franco, in return, permitted and even encouraged Spanish volunteers to join the German Army during the Second World War, despite Spain’s officially neutral position. To avoid antagonizing the Western allies, he made it clear that the volunteers were only to fight against the Red Army on the Eastern Front. Over 18,000 Spaniards ended up fighting against the Soviets.
Relations deteriorated even further after 1953 when Spain emerged out of its post — War isolation and entered into a military and political alliance with the United States.
These political grudges would soon spill over into the sporting arena.
Buildup
Soviet football officials, keenly aware of the political undertones that come with playing against a hated Cold War adversary, began making preparations immediately after the draw. The Soviet Top league did not begin until April of 1960, leaving the national team plenty of time to train together before the start of the domestic season. While the Spanish national team players were in the midst of a fiercely competitive La Liga campaign, the Soviet national team spent February and March on a tour of East Germany and the Netherlands playing a series of friendlies against local clubs.
A curious episode involving Andrey Starostin, an executive secretary of the Soviet Football Federation, reveals how seriously the Soviet authorities were taking the upcoming fixtures. On the 9th of April, the opening day of the Soviet season, a newspaper published a lengthy interview with Starostin in which he was asked to compare the Spanish national to team the Brazilian side that defeated the USSR 2-0 at the World Cup two years prior. Starostin was full of praise for the Spaniards, calling Di Stéfano the “a central forward for all ages” and saying that he did not think that this Spanish side was inferior to the Brazilians in any way.
At its next meeting on April 25th, the Presidium of the Football Federation censured Starostin, issuing a decree that stated:
“Instruct comrade Starostin to inform the representatives of the sporting press about the harmfulness of exaggerating the qualities of the Spanish team and of giving complimentary accounts aboutthe style of play and the skill of the Spanish players.”
Heaping praise on the opponent was deemed to be detrimental for player morale.
At the same meeting it was decided that the Soviet national team would reconvene on 14 May at a resort house in the Moscow region that was normally reserved for members of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. The Soviets were clearly sparing no expense.
The Spanish national team, meanwhile, had only gotten together once in 1960; a 3-1 friendly victory over Italy in the middle of March. The domestic season finally came to an end on 17 April, Barcelona winning the title over Real Madrid on goal average, but just four days later the two met again in the first leg of their European Cup semifinal. It wasn’t until 15 May that the Spanish national team played their next match against England in Madrid.
Vladimir Moshkarkin, another executive secretary of the Soviet Football Federation, was on hand to witness Spain’s 3-0 victory. Upon returning to Moscow he gave an interview in which he began raving about the quickness and technical skill of the Spanish players when, as if suddenly remembering the official rebuke received by Starostin, changed his tune completely, saying “and yet this Spanish side hardly even surpasses the Hungarian sides of the mid 1950s, with whom we played on equal terms.” The next day he told a journalist from Pravda that England fielded a youth side, a complete fabrication.
On 19 May, just ten days before the first leg was scheduled, the USSR hosted Poland in their final warm-up. This time, Spain manager Helenio Herrera traveled to Moscow to scout out the opposition. He was surely impressed – perhaps even disheartened – by the Soviet performance. The Soviet Union won 7-1, scoring as many goals in one match against Poland as the Spaniards managed over two legs in the first round of qualifying.
Crisis
USSR’s rout of Poland unleashed a wave of doubt among the Spanish authorities. On 20 May an emergency meeting of the Council of Ministers was called to address the issue of “the appropriateness of holding international matches between Soviet and Spanish players and of the visit of Spanish citizens to the Soviet Union and of Soviet citizens to Spain.”
No decision was made, though rumours began to circulate. All mentions of the match had begun to mysteriously disappear from the papers. “Something happened, we heard things, but we did not think that the match wouldn’t be played,” remembers Suárez. He was wrong.
On Tuesday, 24 May, the same day that the Council of Ministers was deciding whether the match was to go ahead, the squad got together in Madrid in preparation for their departure to Moscow, scheduled for Friday. They never left Madrid. The Council said no.
Jimmy Burns, in his book La Roja, writes that Franco was “partly influenced by consideration for the Spanish veterans of World War II… some of whom were reportedly still detained in Soviet concentration camps.” Later on Franco claimed that he made the decision after receiving reports warning of significant support for the Soviet national team at the Santiago Bernabéu. This, in addition to the requirement that the Soviet flag be displayed and their national anthem played on Spanish soil, was simply too much for Franco to stomach, according to Burns.
Miguel Angel Lara, in an article published on the Marca website in 2011, writes that two powerful members of the Council of Ministers, Luis Carrero Blanco and Camilo Alonso Vega were the driving forces behind the decision. Not only were they fearful that a Spanish defeat would be exploited for propaganda purposes by the Communist regime of the USSR, they were adamantly opposed to the sheer idea of a Soviet delegation, including members of the security services, stepping foot in Spain.
Whatever their reasoning, the decision had been made. Fuente Chaos, President of the Spanish Football Federation, rushed to Paris to seek a solution. According to both Burns and the renowned Soviet sports historian Aksel Vartanyan, Franco was only willing to let the matches go ahead if both took place on neutral ground. Miguel Lara, however, claims that the Spanish authorities were also amenable to holding one match at a neutral venue and one in Moscow, or even to having Moscow host both fixtures.
Whatever may have been on the table, the Soviets unsurprisingly rejected it all. Given their own fear of losing the match, perhaps they were not too bothered by the decision of the Spanish authorities and therefore weren’t open to compromise. They launched a formal protest and demanded monetary compensation – the Central Lenin Stadium had already been sold out. UEFA had no choice but to expel Spain from the competition and the Soviet Union advanced through to the final stage.
On 26 May a brief statement appeared in every Spanish newspaper:
“The Spanish Football Federation has informed FIFA that the European Nations’ Cup matches between the national teams of Spain and the Soviet Union are suspended.”
Just like that, the Spanish national team was denied a chance at glory. For Di Stéfano this was an especially cruel blow. He had not been able to participate in the 1950 and 1954 World Cups because Argentina refused to enter, and Spain, his adopted national team, failed to qualify in 1958. Now, it was the Spanish government’s turn to stand in his way.