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An acknowledged classic of football literature, although I confess it took me time to warm to it. The first half felt a bit too much like similar digests I read in childhood, Football Rongo and Cricket Rongo published by Sheba Prokashoni in the Bangladesh of the 1980s, equally episodic and disjointed. If there is any merit in that first half, it is for its deep dive into Latin American soccer in the pre-modern era, a history that is not easy to come by elsewhere.

But as he leaves rose-tinted (even exaggerated) history behind and emerges into our own times, Galeano's authentic voice of leftwing protest erupts from the page, an impassioned screed against this neoliberal capitalist world order with its endless mediocrity, homogeneity and cupidity that has also managed to fatally infect the beautiful game. Repeatedly he takes aim at the unholy trinity composed of FIFA, corporate advertisers and television, and one wonders what he would have made of today's club soccer dominated by petrodollar tyrants and corrupt oligarchs. Although he does not address these two groups directly, one can well imagine his sentiments from the evidence of his prose.

The structure of the book also changes - from the 1970s onwards, it becomes almost exclusively a discussion framed by the quadrennial World Cups. Potted history lessons are flavoured by a tongue-in-cheek joke - Well-informed sources in Miami were announcing the imminent fall of Fidel Castro, it was only a matter of hours. - shamelessly repeated every four years. Reminds me of that Newsweek cartoon featuring all the US presidents since Eisenhower predicting Castro's fall.

By the end, Galeano has pulled it off, he has written a fine homage to the game, its players and its fans, all while flying the flag of footballing flair and nonconformity. Odd then that the single passing mention of the twin gods of the last decade, Messi and Ronaldo, is as fleeting as it is unflattering. By 2013, these two were well on their way to godly status, so the side-eye is rather noticeable. The other pleasure, from the 60s onwards, is the ability to check up on Galeano's narrative in YouTube, clips of old games and old goals, not all of which necessarily live up to his nostalgic vision. But then, what is the memory of a sports fan, after all, if not unabashed hero-worship through the rosy filter of time? A celebration of the joy of life itself, and a reminder of its inescapable brevity...