It all started to go wrong in and around 1989. Strange details began to permeate the shirts of England’s old First Division: white, triangular, expressionistic flecks on Liverpool’s Candy sponsored
jersey, a terrible zigzag effect making a mess of Manchester City’s, and a
similar geometric mash-up staining Chelsea's and Everton’s. At least they still
fitted.
Meanwhile, on the continent the football kit was
reaching its zenith, Italy's Serie A at the epicentre of it all. AC Milan and Internazionale
were exploiting stripes in a manner rarely bettered, with away kits that were
possibly even smarter still. In Spain, Barcelona were strutting around in a
contender for the best football shirt of all time, a svelte little number that Gary Lineker was lucky enough to sport for the entire three years he spent
playing for the Catalan giants. Anderlecht, Auxerre, Ajax… You should see the jerseys
they were wearing in Brazil.
In fairness, English clubs too had contributed to this
wealth of taste. Adidas and Umbro dominated the market, refining classic
templates that would flatter the most incongruous of club colours: simple
collars, minimal trim, subtle micropatterning, pared-down club crests adorning
sensibly sized kits that flattered the physique. Back then it was not unusual
for teams to wear the same strip for as many as three consecutive seasons, and so
any changes came gradually. Tottenham and Arsenal, for example, were assured
sartorial clemency until the summer of 1990, protected from those bizarre
experiments introduced a year earlier.
It was during Italia '90 that it became evident that those strange goings-on in England were more
than a mere aberration. Ironically, Umbro did quite a good job with England's jersey. Sure, there was a spot of striped, buttoned-up
tomfoolery playing about the collar, but it fitted okay and
the colour scheme remained as it should (we’ll forget the third kit ever
happened). Indeed, the better teams that qualified for that World Cup got off
lightly, a slight loosening of fit being the worst crime committed against the
shirts of Argentina, Brazil, Holland, West Germany and the hosts, Italy. Instead,
it was in the strips of nations like Romania, Columbia, the USA, Cameroon and Czechoslovakia
(all manufactured by Adidas, incidentally) that one could see sewn the prophecy
of the football shirt gone mad – excessively silky fabrics, ultra-wide V-neck
collars, misplaced stripes, a looser fit.
Back to Serie A. What was it about those shirts that
resonates to this day? We need to start in the early 1980s when, like with cycling jerseys, football kits were beholden to their material: heavy acrylic with a
tendency to stretch and hang. They looked pretty good actually, but on
closer inspection, a little cheap. Take Michel Platini decked out in Juventus
colours: a flimsy excuse for a collar, plunging neck-line and, except when Juve
were reigning champions and wore the scudetto, no shield to speak of.
(This does seem to be a Juventus thing: other clubs more normally attached
their badge to the upper arm.)
Then for the 1986-87 season S.S.C. Napoli introduced
a real game-changer. Manufactured by newly conceived sports’ brand NR (Ennerre), it
was the jersey in which Napoli won their first Italian Championship, Diego
Maradona at the helm. There was nothing particularly technical about this jersey
– it was made from something called lanetta, which was really just acrylic – but it featured the club’s crest on the
chest, a classic V-neck collar, was sympathetically proportioned and a pleasing
shade of blue.
1987-88: Kappa was the next company to raise their game, tidying up Juventus’s kit (still no badge though) and making a good go of AC Milan’s: a thin, traditional collar with no trim, a satisfying gauge of stripe, the sponsor’s name MEDIOLANUM, replete with minimally obscure symbol, and the Kappa emblem – the silhouette of a man and a woman sat back-to-back – in white. AC Milan won the league that season, and the shirt looked even better the next with the scudetto sewn onto it.
At the same time, German firm Uhlsport was providing
for Internazionale and Bologna. These shirts were notable for their lack of
give, which may or may not have been a deliberate ploy to prevent players from
tugging at them. Back then Inter were using their short-lived ‘serpent’ logo,
which is a bit more interesting that the montage of letters they’ve employed since.
The hue of blue was slightly lighter than now, and the sponsor – Misura, a
health food manufacturer – brought with it red dots that, along with the gold
star denoting ten title triumphs, added some welcome colour to the otherwise
exclusively blue and black mix. The away strip was better still: same black socks,
same black shorts, but a white shirt with alternative blue and black diagonal rhomboids in a line across the chest.
[Courtesy: Fotboll.Farg.Form.]
1989-90: When Italian sportswear company ABM took on Fiorentina’s
kit the previous season, they’d provided a decent enough shirt, but there was a problem: they matched this with purple shorts. Moreover, these
shorts, as is often the case, were made from a different material than the
jersey. The effect was that Fiorentina weren’t actually playing in the same
colour, but in two shades of the same colour, and two shades of a colour as
vivid as purple. Perhaps sensing their error, Fiorentina were now issued with
white shorts, giving them maybe the best strip in the division; the sight of
Roberto Baggio battling against Juventus in that year’s UEFA Cup final is
one of the era’s iconic images.
Inter still had the same strip but as reigning
champions wore the scudetto in place of that serpent on a shield, with the
circular montage of letters present on the upper arm. And Kappa finally got
around to using the same template for Juventus that they’d been using for AC
Milan, a lovely looking shirt sponsored by department-store chain Upim.
1990-91: Had the World Cup not been held in Italy might things have remained as they were? Probably not, but if there’s a high
water-mark for kit design it can be found here. Torino had just been promoted from Serie B (as champions) and were rewarded with a contract with ABM: maroon shirts, white shorts with black
socks, sponsored by white goods manufacturer Indesit. (Sadly for Fiorentina, ABM decided to bring back the purple shorts.)
Ennerre was making similarly good work of Roma and Napoli's shirts. Replacing lanetta with polyester, these kits were micropatterned, creating subtle shifts in the fabric’s texture to make a motif out of the manufacturer’s logo.
Sampdoria
was now supplied by ASICS, but the kit looked very much the same. AC Milan had
gone over to Adidas but the kit looked very much the same – a rare triumph for
Adidas in this context. Juventus’s stayed with Kappa, but the kit looked
very much the same, save for the addition of the coccarda awarded for the previous season's victory in the Coppa Italia. The best shirt of the year was probably Bologna away:
white with maroon and navy equilateral triangles arranged in horizontal lines, their number diminishing as they worked their way down the front of the shirt.
Unlike many of my generation, it wasn’t Channel Four’s
Football Italia on a Sunday that
provoked my interest in Italian football, but a VHS tape entitled 110 Goals Italia Style – 1988-89 (quickly
followed by 110 Goals Italia Style 2 – 1989-90).
I was certainly grateful for Channel 4’s effort when it came but was a more
faithful viewer of Gazzetta Football
Italia on a Saturday morning (and Transworld Sport too, which would also round up the previous weekend's Serie A action). The reasons were threefold. First, I
preferred playing football to watching it, so on a Sunday I was normally
kicking a ball about a park wearing either my Internazionale away top, circa
1989-90, or my Fiorentina home shirt, circa 1990-91. Second, there was James
Richardson, who had much more to do hosting Gazzetta than he did introducing
Sunday’s games, sitting in front of cafes waving La Gazzeta dello Sport in our
faces, bringing us up-to-date with recent events. Third, all of this started off
the back of Paul Gascoigne’s move to Lazio in 1992, by which time I was taking
my A-levels, shortly to leave for university, which distracted me.
But aside from all that, I’d become disillusioned
with what I perceived to be a waning aesthetic. What had begun in the English
First Division in the late 1980s was spilling over onto Italian shores in the
early-to-mid 1990s. Umbro, who had hitherto made kits for Cagliari, Lazio and Parma,
got their hands on Napoli and Inter’s, absolutely destroying them in the
process. Italian brand Lotto muscled in on Torino, Fiorentina, AC Milan and
Atalanta, dressing them in shirts that resembled fake replicas sold down
weekend markets. ASICS started getting inventive with Sampdoria’s jersey,
adding drawstrings around the collar. Football fashion was suddenly kitsch.
Football shirts would never be the same, and probably never will be.
Lovely article!
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