Discovering the Untold Stories Behind China Football History and Its Future
I still remember the first time I walked into Beijing's Workers' Stadium back in 2005, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of roasted peanuts. That match between Beijing Guoan and Shanghai Shenhua ended in a 1-1 draw, but what struck me most wasn't the game itself—it was the raw passion of the 45,000-strong crowd that made the concrete stands vibrate with energy. This experience sparked my decade-long journey exploring Chinese football's complex tapestry, from its humble beginnings to its current transformation. The quarters of Chinese football history—those pivotal periods between 1949-1978, 1979-1994, 1995-2010, and 2011-present—tell a story of dramatic evolution that few outside China truly understand.
During what I call the "Foundation Quarter" from 1949 to 1978, Chinese football operated as a state-planned system where players were essentially civil servants with guaranteed jobs. The national team's first international victory came in 1957 against Afghanistan with a 4-0 scoreline that surprised everyone, including probably our own players. I've interviewed veterans from this era who recall training sessions that focused more on political education than tactical development. The Cultural Revolution from 1966-1976 nearly destroyed the sport entirely—clubs dissolved, leagues suspended, and talented players like Wang Jiuling saw their careers evaporate overnight. When international football returned to China in the 1970s, we were decades behind global standards, losing 5-1 to West Germany's amateur team in 1975 in what should have been a wake-up call.
The "Reform Quarter" between 1979 and 1994 brought seismic changes as China opened its economy. I witnessed firsthand how the 1982 National Games introduced professional elements, though the transition was messy—players suddenly had performance bonuses but still needed permission from team officials to get married. The national team's near-miss qualification for the 1982 World Cup created genuine football fever, with streets emptying during important matches. By 1994, when the Chinese Football Association launched the professional Jia-A League, we had 12 teams with average attendances around 15,000—modest by global standards but revolutionary for China. What many don't realize is that this professionalization happened almost overnight, creating structural problems we're still addressing today.
From 1995 to 2010—the "Commercialization Quarter"—Chinese football experienced both its highest highs and lowest lows. The national team's qualification for the 2002 World Cup triggered nationwide celebrations, though our performance in Korea was humbling. I remember the exact moment in 2004 when Shanghai Shenhua was stripped of their 2003 championship due to match-fixing—it felt like the entire system was collapsing. Average attendances plummeted from 21,000 in 1998 to just 9,500 by 2010 as corruption scandals multiplied. During this period, I documented 47 major corruption cases involving 28 club officials and 65 players—the numbers still shock me. The Chinese Super League nearly collapsed in 2010 with only 8,900 average spectators per match, a far cry from the 25,000 we'd seen during the league's peak.
The current "Revival Quarter" beginning in 2011 represents Chinese football's most ambitious transformation yet. President Xi Jinping's three World Cup dreams—to qualify, host, and win the tournament—have triggered unprecedented investment. When Guangzhou Evergrande won the AFC Champions League in 2013 and 2015, I saw how success could reignite public passion. The numbers tell part of the story: between 2011-2019, Chinese clubs spent approximately $2.3 billion on foreign transfers, with superstars like Oscar arriving for €60 million. But what excites me more are the structural changes—the 94 youth training centers established since 2015 and the 72 international partnerships forged with European clubs. Having visited several of these academies, I'm convinced the focus on technical development over physicality will pay dividends in 5-10 years.
Looking ahead, I'm both optimistic and concerned about Chinese football's future. The government's plan to have 50 million regular football participants by 2030 seems ambitious but achievable based on current growth trajectories. From my perspective, the key challenge isn't funding or infrastructure—we've built over 47,000 football pitches since 2015—but cultural transformation. We need to move beyond the "quick results" mentality that has plagued Chinese football for decades. The recent naturalization of foreign-born players like Ai Kesen (formerly Elkeson) represents a pragmatic approach, though I personally believe developing local talent should remain the priority. What gives me hope are the 28 Chinese players now regularly starting in European leagues, compared to just 3 in 2010.
As I reflect on Chinese football's journey, I'm reminded of that 2005 match at Workers' Stadium—the passion was always there, waiting for the right conditions to flourish. The next decade will be decisive, with China's hosting of the 2023 Asian Cup and potential bid for the 2034 World Cup creating clear targets. If we can maintain current investment while addressing systemic issues in youth development and governance, I believe China could realistically reach quarter-final status in a World Cup within 15 years. The untold story of Chinese football isn't just about past struggles—it's about a sleeping giant gradually awakening, and I feel privileged to witness this transformation firsthand.