Pele and the cult of invisible legends

Kolkata: Quite like the Loch Ness Monster, Pele became a legend on pure hearsay, written and spoken. A rather sharp departure from the legends of the day, subject to both legitimate and kangaroo courts.

On invisible icons, the list is both lengthy and impressive, as we were late adopters of TV technology. Puskas the Magyar, Bobby & Bobby of England, Cryuff the conqueror and the majestic Lev Yashin earned Oscar stature in the soccer world. While the list is eminently extendable to other sporting heroes, where the power of black-and-white reportage built a Colosseum of genius, is rarely questioned.

It seems rather incredulous that without a global video footprint, even an apprenticeship to the annals of legend-ness could be possible. Then, of course, the crowning of GOAT, a prerogative increasingly of the opinionated citizenry without, truthfully, a contextual lineage. How exactly could Pele acquire his universal statesmanship without even making a physical appearance?

Perhaps the answer lies in an underrated but compelling human insight - we do tend to ascribe exceptional weightage to what we have not witnessed personally. Kapil Dev's 175 at Tunbridge Wells acquired a timeless conversation quotient courtesy of the BBC Union strike, as imagination still runs riot. Gavaskar's legendary debut series in the West Indies can only be experienced in written accounts while the unbeatable Indian Hockey team of the Dhyanchand era is forever sepia enriched, with no room for debate.

It's actually the difference between a book and a movie in terms of licensing the imagination. Pele was like a finely crafted book, permitting the explorer to conjure bespoke interpretations, while visible legends like Maradona and Messi are full-length feature films, the loop rather firmly closed. For most, the first visible exposure to Pele was the electrifying 'Giants of Brazil', followed by the artificial 'Escape to Victory', by which time the man was already superannuated.

Many folks in India go happily ballistic on the 1977 New York Cosmos visit to Calcutta, which I really thought was a massacre of his iconicity. More than a football match, it was a circus exposition, the fact that Mohun Bagan was competitive proves its fallacy. A few entitled worthies earned their autographs while a packed house at Eden Gardens enjoyed a photocopied flavour of exceptional acumen. Quite like nursing Bacardi as a Breezer, in this case, tarnished and not embellished by dilettante accompanists.

Pele honestly played a larger Ambassadorial role as well, in his own dominion and the developing world at large. By giving impressionable youngsters a very good reason to stay off the streets, football being a greater addiction than marijuana. Also, by evangelizing the romantic beauty of this otherwise physical combat, the franchise was suitably extended.

If Pele was born in these overloaded times, the social media avalanche would surely have eroded his aura. Or perhaps, his greatness would find comparative context, as much of the departed soul's epic emerges from awestruck hearsay. Especially the triumphs of 1958, 1962 and 1970 and the permanent transfer of the Jules Rimet Cup to Brazil.

As a curious five-year-old, I have faint memories of viewing the Calcutta encounter on the chronically hazy Doordarshan. Pele was an easy name to pronounce, so it stuck with me then just as his game sticks with me now.