That one Club World Cup that nearly ended all Club World Cups

Gianluigi Donnarumma would have loved the 1969 game.

Not a fan of the Club World Cup: Néstor Combin (Public Domain, via Wikipedia, censored for Substack)

With the new FIFA Club World Cup drawing to a close, it’s as good a time as any to remember that the concept of having champions from all over the the world battle for a global title is not a novel one.

In fact, this tournament has existed for several decades in different (better) forms and under various (better) titles.

One of them was the Intercontinental Cup.

In theory, the Intercontinental Cup was a lovely idea. A civilised contest between the champions of Europe and South America. Culture clash meets football.

In practice, the 1969 edition very nearly ended the whole concept with a homicide charge.

Back then the tournament – if you could call it that – took place between two teams across two legs. Barebones, but effective.

The 1969 edition kicked off with AC Milan winning 3–0 at home against Estudiantes from Argentina. No surprises there. The real fireworks were reserved for the second leg in Buenos Aires.

What followed was, depending on your perspective on football and your general outlook on life, either the greatest or most atrocious game of all time. Definitely one of the most memorable.

Estudiantes welcomed their guests to Buenos Aires with a level of hospitality normally reserved for home invasions. Milan arrived under armed escort, which in retrospect feels like a sensible bit of planning.

The atmosphere was sulphuric. Before the game even began, the Argentine players threw balls at Milan during warm up like it was a bloody dodgeball tournament. Milan’s Rivera later claimed they were threatened with death before kick-off. Whether that’s hyperbole or not doesn’t really matter – the match confirmed the general sentiment.

Estudiantes’ manager had obviously discovered time travel and put Vinnie Jones, Eric Cantona, Gennaro Gattuso and a chimp on meth in a blender and fed the smoothie to his players, because they began the match with the sort of intensity that tends to end in dental records.

Within minutes, the goalkeeper – a man called Poletti, whose approach to goalkeeping appeared to be borrowed from Krav Maga – punched a Milan player off the ball. He wasn’t even pretending to go for it. He just swung. After the game, he continued brawling with supporters. Jamal Musiala really got lucky.

Eduardo Manera, a spiritual ancestor of Luis Suarez, went full 28 Days Later all over Saul Malatrasi. Ramón Aguirre Suárez, highly motivated by this benchmark, attacked Pierino Prati after having already broken Néstor Combin’s face.

No metaphor here. Just bones. Combin, who had the misfortune of being both Milan player and Argentine-born (now playing for France), was considered a traitor for dodging military service.

So they hunted him. He was kicked in the head, in the ribs, in the nose. He was stretchered off unconscious, then promptly arrested for avoiding military service. He woke up in a police station.

The uncensored picture of Combin (Public Domain, Wikipedia)

Ramón Aguirre Suárez, by the way, was still part of the game at that point. The referee believed in second and third chances. But even he had enough when Suárez LARP’d Manhunt and assaulted (I believe assault is the right word here) Gianni Rivera.

The final whistle brought little relief.

Estudiantes’ players returned after showering, just to start another fight. Commitment right there. Not to football, obviously, but to mayhem. Milan’s players were attacked again in the tunnel. Bloodied and bruised, they locked themselves in the dressing room until they could be smuggled out under police guard.

The UFC FIFA, in its usual way, pretended to be shocked. Bans were handed out. Poletti was banned for life. Surprisingly, our little darling angel Ramon Suárez only got five years.

Combin recovered. Sort of.

And the match went into history as the most violent club game ever played, which is quite a title when you consider what Wilde Liga in Bielefeld looks like on a Sunday.

European clubs were appalled. For a while, many refused to take part. The Intercontinental Cup limped on.

By 1980 all was forgiven and forgotten, and Toyota bought the naming rights for the cup, until it was replaced by the FIFA Club World Cup in 2005.