Rain dripped down the men’s faces. The wind howled, raking the pitch. A mammoth storm had descended on the Faroe Islands but the players just wiped their faces and kept going, running drill after drill under the misty floodlights. In just a few days, they will play the game of their lives for a chance to etch their tiny archipelago into soccer history.
This is the Faroe Islands men’s national soccer team, and it is the biggest underdog story in the qualifying stages of the World Cup.
The Faroes have only 55,000 people. The climate is brutal. Most of the players are not full-time professionals and they have never gotten this close.
But the Faroes team, whose roster includes carpenters, electricians, a C.E.O. and a car salesman, is on a three-game winning streak and has performed shockingly well against much higher-ranked opponents. On Friday, the Faroe Islands have a do-or-die match against Croatia, an international powerhouse. If they somehow win or even draw, they will keep alive their chances of becoming the one of the smallest territories ever to play in the World Cup.
The Faroes are an archipelago of 18 hilly islands between Scotland and Iceland in the North Atlantic and a self-governing group of islands within the Kingdom of Denmark with even more autonomy than, say, Scotland’s relationship to the United Kingdom. The Faroes were settled by Vikings centuries ago and according to the team’s members, that’s where they get their grit.
“Everything we’ve done has been against the odds,” said Eydun Klakstein, the head coach. “It’s been against the elements, against the wind, because, you know, this is not the perfect place to build a society.”
“Our ancestors lost men on the seas and women in labor,” the coach went on, in what was quickly turning into an off-the-field pep talk.
“But despite all these circumstances, we built one of the richest, safest, nicest societies in the world. Everything we do is against the odds, and this isn’t just a question of football. It’s a question of a country. It’s a question of a people. It’s a question of: We have to, we must.”
It’s not easy building a competitive soccer program here. The Faroes are one of Europe’s soggiest places; it rains about 275 days a year.
It’s so windy, barely any trees grow, and the long bushy grass has a battered look. The other day, the wind was gusting at 45 miles per hour, enough to shake cars on the road. Still, when it came time for soccer practice, everybody showed up.
There’s no full-size indoor soccer fields, so in winter, when it’s icy and snowy, the team can’t play much. Most players have to work other jobs, and often it’s hard work. A decade ago, one of its most promising young stars was crushed to death on a dock by a load of fish.
With just days to go before the big Croatia match, Rene Shaki Jensen, a Faroese midfielder and an electrician, was on his knees drilling holes in a garage. Sometimes, he says, they play an away game in Europe and the next day he’s up on a roof, in the wind and the rain, stringing up wires.
It’s not ideal, he said, “but I don’t complain.”
Contrast that with the eating-sleeping-playing routine of most professional soccer players, many of whom are millionaires. Croatia’s national team, for instance, is stocked with athletes who play in Europe’s top leagues, and its captain, Luka Modric, is a living legend, considered one of the best midfielders of his generation.
What’s it like to step onto a field and play against someone like that?
“It’s very cool — the first couple of seconds,” said Hallur Hansson, a carpenter who is a centerpiece of the Faroes team but out with a knee injury. “But then you realize how good they are and you just can’t follow that level, and it’s more frustrating than cool.”
The Faroese players are stars within their own little universe. Everyone on these islands seems to know one another, and when the players drop in at the bakery or the lumber shop, they are instantly spotted.
Being from a small place has its advantages — many members of the World Cup squad have been playing together since they were boys. They communicate almost instinctively and cover for each other. Their defense is especially tight.
“It’s difficult to crack them open,” said Tomislav Pacak, the spokesman for the Croatian Football Federation, speaking on the phone from Zagreb about the upcoming game.
He had only praise for the team, calling it “a tough, organized team that knows how to play together.”
“Let me put it like this,” Mr. Pacak concluded. “The Faroe Islands aren’t going to win the World Cup. But they’re not going to beat themselves.”
The squad’s success comes as conversations about independence from Denmark intensify. In harbor towns and on old sheep farms, there’s a strong sense of what it means to be Faroese. They have their own language (closest to Icelandic); their own flag; their own national dress; and their own cuisine (fermented meat is a specialty).
And they are geographically much closer to Scotland and Iceland than Denmark, which is fighting to keep its realm together as President Trump eyes Greenland, the other overseas Danish territory.
The half-dozen Faroese players interviewed were much more comfortable talking about corner kicks than politics. But all said they were pro-independence. FIFA, soccer’s global governing body, allows the Faroes to compete as a separate nation, just as it does for Palestine, Scotland and, for that matter, England. The Faroese players are fully aware that a World Cup appearance would be a major boost for their independence dreams.
But they’re going to need a string of miracles for that to happen, starting with Croatia. Though from a small country, the Croatians are one of the world’s best teams — they placed third in the previous World Cup and second in the one before that. Miraculously, when the Faroes faced Croatia in September, the Faroes held them to one goal and narrowly lost.
But that game was played on the squall-magnet of a pitch in Torshavn, the Faroes’ capital, which is their forte. This time, they must travel to Croatia and take on the heavyweights at home.
For them to advance, the other leading team in their group, the Czech Republic, will have to lose or draw in its next game against Gibraltar. But Gibraltar is considered one of Europe’s weakest teams, and the Czechs stomped them earlier this year, 4-0.
Even if the Faroes’ team wins and the Czechs lose, the Faroes will still need to pull off more upsets in an additional knockout stage to get a place in the cup, which will be held next summer in the United States, Canada and Mexico.
The players know there’s a rough road ahead.
But the coach’s message is simple.
“We have a small chance,” he said. “But we have a chance.”
Tariq Panja contributed reporting from London, and Regin Winther Poulsen from the Faroe Islands.
Jeffrey Gettleman is an international correspondent based in London covering global events. He has worked for The Times for more than 20 years.
The post This Scrappy Soccer Team Has a Cinderella Chance at Making the World Cup appeared first on New York Times.
