Santiago Formoso was born in Vigo, Spain, and moved with his family to New Jersey before starring at Kearny High School and the University of Pennsylvania. He represented two timeless elements of Cosmos club culture: an appreciation for foreign seasoning, along with the elevation of local talent.
Slight but speedy and skillful, Formoso signed with the Cosmos in late 1977 and was an unheralded yet important member of the 1978 NASL championship squad. The defender/winger also earned seven caps with the U.S. national team, appearing in qualifiers for the 1976 Summer Olympics and the 1978 FIFA World Cup.
Formoso left the Cosmos after the ’79 campaign but returned to New Jersey after retiring. In 2017, he sat for an interview with Panenka, a Spanish magazine, and shared some fun stories and memories from that unprecedented moment in American soccer history. As the Cosmos gear up to return to competition next spring, we thought fans would find the conversation compelling.
This interview was republished with permission from Panenka. It can be read in the original Spanish here. For more of Panenka’s journalism, visit their home page here.
“Santi, welcome to the club.” Just that little detail, that Beckenbauer knew my name.
By Jorge Giner
Santiago Formoso was part of one of the most high-profile teams in football history. During the North American Soccer League’s heyday in the late 1970s, he had the privilege of sharing a locker room with some of the greatest footballers of all time.
Pelé, Franz Beckenbauer, Johan Cruyff, Giorgio Chinaglia and Carlos Alberto were just some of the names that graced the Big Apple during that era. Among them was a young Galician man who, at 63, has revisited those days in the documentary Alén do Cosmos (Beyond the Cosmos), produced by Quadra Producións and directed by Pedro Pablo Alonso.
In July 1969, your father decided to take the family to the United States: from Vigo to Newark, NJ. Why this family move?
The family’s move was due to the loss of documents in the 1930s. My grandfather, who was living in the United States, told my father to move so he wouldn’t have to participate in the Spanish Civil War. It wasn’t for political reasons. It was a matter of life or death.
The United States was on the opposite side of [Francisco] Franco, and all the documentation from the American embassy in Madrid was lost. It resurfaced in the early 1960s, and a giant envelope arrived at our house with an eagle, stars and stripes, inviting my father to live in the United States. Without hesitation, my father said, “We’re going.” It wasn’t because of political beliefs or the economic situation. He did it because it was an opportunity for us, his children, that he didn’t want to miss.
What kind of America did your father find?
He didn’t have a clear picture of what was there. The image he had was from cowboy movies and little else. There was a stark contrast in culture, but soccer was the link that connected him with people. There were Galicians, Portuguese, Argentinians, Brazilians, Italians, Romanians, Poles and Germans—all from elsewhere. There were very few Americans and they were all Black, so they didn’t live in the same neighborhood as us. There was a very strong divide.
What was your first contact with American soccer like?
The first thing I saw was a ball. It was a matter of hours. I went to a park, saw a ball, started playing, and the kids I was playing with noticed me. I hadn’t yet decided whether to study or work, but they convinced me to play on their team and explained how the whole sports scholarship system worked in the United States.
From playing at the University of Pennsylvania you went to the Hartford Bicentennials, your first team in the NASL.
My father had passed away during my junior year of college and in 1975, Pelé arrived [in New York]. I thought to myself, “This is serious.” At first, I didn’t follow the North American league. I thought it was poorly organized. But when Pelé arrived first, and then Eusébio, George Best and Johan Cruyff, I didn’t hesitate. I dropped out of school and called the [U.S.] Olympic coach [Manny Schellscheidt] to tell him. “I want to get on that train,” I told him, but he couldn’t guarantee anything and advised me not to quit my studies. He was like a father to me. I decided to drop out and go to the [NASL] draft, but he advised me to go with the Bicentennials for preseason training in Germany. They picked me, and the rest is history.
And then from there, to the New York Cosmos….
The Bicentennials franchise was being moved to Oakland, Calif. The team was changing owners. My family ties were very strong, and I didn’t want to leave them. I wanted to stay on the East Coast. I had gone from Spain to New York, and now they wanted me to go to California. I had missed several opportunities in Europe, and California didn’t appeal to me.
Then, one day I went to see the Cosmos—the Bicentennials had finished their season, but the Cosmos still had one game left—play against the Fort Lauderdale Strikers. Gerd Müller, Gordon Banks and Teófilo Cubillas played for [the Strikers]. They had a great team, and they got thrashed 7-0. After games, it was customary to go to some huge rooms inside the stadium that could hold 2,000-3,000 people. Both teams would go there to eat and network. There, I ran into the assistant coach of the U.S. national team, who was also an assistant coach for the Cosmos [Ray Klivecka]. I told him my situation. I would have preferred to be traded to any team from Boston, Rochester, Washington, or Philadelphia. He told me not to worry.
Within 24 hours, the phone rang—one of those old landlines, not like the ones they have now—and I was invited to play in Pelé’s farewell tour around the world. Being in the right place at the right time—that’s how I joined the New York Cosmos, perhaps one of the best experiences I’ve had as an athlete and as a person.
You walk into the locker room and find Pelé, Beckenbauer, Chinaglia, Carlos Alberto… What goes through your mind when you realize that you’ll be on a team with so many football legends?
“What am I doing here?” You look around and all you see are monsters. The cream of the crop of world football—they were all there.
What was the relationship between the team’s stars and the other members of the squad?
Normal. There were no egos, except for Giorgio Chinaglia. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he was very selfish. We signed Marinho Chagas, who played left back, and I thought I was leaving, but they put him at left midfield. In his debut he scored three goals, and after the match the Italian grabbed him by the ear and said, “I’m the one who scores the goals here. When you get to the goal, look at me and pass it to me so I can score.”
What memories do you have of your relationship with Pelé or Beckenbauer?
I was always one of those who arrived half an hour early. I got to the stadium and saw a man 50 or 100 meters away with a suitcase—Franz Beckenbauer. How did I introduce myself? I didn’t have to—he did. “Santi, welcome to the club,” he said. Just that little detail, that Beckenbauer knew my name. All the greats are like that.
Beckenbauer was a very proper person, until I discovered he wasn’t. He put on a certain image to protect himself from the press. But in reality, he was a bit of a joker, although it took me time to understand that. Pelé, on the other hand, was a very down-to-earth person.
You were also lucky enough to play with Johan Cruyff, although it was a brief experience.
I had the pleasure of playing two matches with my football hero. For me, Cruyff was above everyone else. Playing alongside him made me admire him even more. It’s one thing to watch him, and another to play with him. You realized he was better than you thought. He simplified football, made difficult things easy, and those are the hallmarks of great players. Later, when I signed for the Los Angeles Aztecs, it was indoor season but he didn’t participate. By the time preseason arrived, he had already left for the Washington Diplomats. I was left wanting more.
Santiago Formoso was the first Spaniard to win a championship ring in American sports. Long before Pau Gasol conquered the NBA with the Los Angeles Lakers in 2009 and 2010, the Galician footballer had already won the NASL championship with the New York Cosmos in 1978. Although his story has remained largely unknown for years, he was a true pioneer for Spanish sports in the United States.
The late 1970s were when soccer really took off in the United States. Stadium attendance increased and fan interest also grew. Do you think Pelé and the Cosmos were the architects of that success?
It’s not that I believe it—it’s just how it was. From a media perspective, he was the one who gave football credibility. Before, you couldn’t find a Spanish league result in The New York Times. With Pelé’s arrival, there started to be reporters dedicated exclusively to football. It was him. There’s no other way to put it. Then the others came along, and you realize that Warner Bros.—the company that owned the New York Cosmos—isn’t stupid. They didn’t have two players of the same nationality, so they could attract a wider audience.
Was the interest in soccer real, or was it more an interest in the spectacle?
It was real. New York is a very cosmopolitan city, where nobody is a true New Yorker. You go to a company in New York and, nowadays, 90% of the employees are European. They brought their favorite sport home. African Americans didn’t go to soccer games—immigrants did. Later, Americans joined in.
You weren’t a left back, but it was the only spot available in the starting eleven. And that’s where they put you.
I used to play as a center forward or winger, but when I arrived at the Cosmos they put me at fullback because I didn’t want to be on the bench. I wanted to play. The coach told me, “You’re left-footed, why not try playing fullback?” The Brazilian fullback from Santos, Nelsi Morais, played in that position, and during the warm-up drill before a training session, I gave him a warning. The coach realized I was serious, and I earned my place.
You also played seven matches with the U.S. national team, including at the Pan American Games and in qualifiers for the 1978 World Cup. Why did your time with the national team end so quickly?
I was furious with the coach [Walter Chyzowych]. In my opinion, he was wrong. He ruined my dream of going to a World Cup, and I had to tell him, so I did. Americans thought that to play soccer you had to be 6-3 and strong. It didn’t matter if you could make a five-, 10-, or 15-meter pass, if you could dribble past someone or if you could create plays. It was all about physical strength and nothing else. I wasn’t 6-3, nor did I have that much strength. My style of soccer was more about touch, about creativity. My soccer was soccer, and he was playing a sport I didn’t understand.
He didn’t start me in the decisive match [against Canada] to qualify for the World Cup. I came on with 20 minutes left and after the game, on the way back to Philadelphia, we shared a limousine and a bottle of vodka. I gave him a piece of my mind. I told him he had disappointed me for thinking that with those tactics we were going to win. It wasn’t soccer. It was a free-for-all, and you don’t score goals that way. I only played one more game with the national team.
Do you regret that conversation?
I don’t regret the conversation. I regret not apologizing. The federation spoke with me, asking me to apologize. They came to all my matches since their headquarters were in New York, and they told me to take [Chyzowych] out to lunch to sort things out, but I was very Galician and refused. That was the end of it. I was the one who suffered, because he continued coaching and I stopped playing for the national team. These things happen when you’re young and a bit difficult.
Something similar happened to me in Los Angeles with Rinus Michels, coincidentally against the Cosmos. I had played every match, and that day he didn’t put me in. He didn’t even bench me. He told me, “Go have a few whiskeys with the president.” There was no further discussion. I spoke with the president and left. They offered me a spot at Club América in Mexico while Michels was there, but I didn’t want to play in Mexico. And from there I went to the Houston Hurricane.
After that, you played for the Houston Hurricane, Charlotte Lightning, Buffalo Stallions and Greek American. Did you ever consider crossing back across the Atlantic to try your luck in European football?
Because Europeans went to the United States to play, everyone wanted to play there. Toward the end of my career, I received several offers, including one from Deportivo La Coruña. My wife told me to stay in Spain and that she would return to the United States but with a newborn son, I didn’t want to be so far away.
When I was young, I had many offers. First, one from Bayern Munich. When I was with the Connecticut Bicentennials, Manchester United came looking for me. Later, after I was in New York, Barcelona, Real Madrid, and Atlético Madrid came calling. I had many opportunities, but I was with my family, playing at the highest level.
The success of the NASL and the Cosmos came as quickly as it disappeared. What do you think caused the league to fold in 1985?
The league had a bright future. They destroyed it themselves over a television contract. Today, leagues without television wouldn’t exist. That’s what happened with the North American league. Baseball, American football, basketball and hockey each had their own channel. They were in negotiations with ABC for the baseball contract, and the network executives weren’t going to pay them what they wanted. They controlled soccer, which at that time was the sport followed by the masses, and they offered little money for baseball.
What they didn’t know was that 80% of the soccer teams were affiliated with baseball teams. So, the club executives weren’t going to ruin baseball, the quintessential American sport, to put soccer front and center. They stopped bringing in the likes of Pelé, Beckenbauer and Cruyff and signed second-rate players. They raised prices for a worse product. They ruined it themselves.
What are the differences between the NASL of that time and MLS? Both have opted to bring in soccer stars in the final years of their careers, although the NASL did so perhaps more as a form of entertainment.
They’ve realized that you have to learn from the masters. If you don’t play with players better than you, you’ll never learn. The draft takes players from universities, which would be like third-division teams in Spain. You have to mix them with great players who can mold them, who can teach them to be professionals. Although that’s already late, because we’re talking about 21-, 22-, or 23-year-old players who have always played the wrong way. They’re not playing soccer. They’re playing something that resembles it. What the United States needs most isn’t players—it needs to bring in good coaches.
You triumphed in soccer, married a cheerleader and had two children. Was your life truly the ‘American Dream’?
Yes, I made it big. I was fortunate to realize my dream. And it’s something everyone should understand—whatever your dream is, you have to believe in yourself, follow it and go for it. The beautiful thing is to dream. I was in the right place at the right time, but also because I had sacrificed for it.