Reminiscing during the soccer takeover of July 2024
One of the best perks here at Talk Shoppe is that everyone gets a four-week sabbatical every five years. I got the opportunity to spend my most recent sabbatical during this past July. Among other activities, I spent the month as an enthralled soccer fan, watching the UEFA Euro Cup, the Copa América, and the Men’s and Women’s soccer matches in the Olympics. I also attended a Los Angeles Football Club vs. Real Salt Lake game at BMO Stadium in downtown Los Angeles. It was an embarrassment of soccer riches.
I will be the first to admit that I am not a die-hard soccer fan. But I do have a long and passionate relationship with the jogo bonito. I started watching soccer as a small child in Israel, sitting next to my father on our family couch. My first memories of the sport are the 1988 Euro Cup (held in West Germany) and 1990 World Cup (held in Italy). I still remember the assortment of players, colorful shirts, and tournament logos and mascots flashing on the screen.
We couldn’t cheer for Israel because it (almost) never makes it to these tournaments, so we cheered on other teams and players. Dutch players Marco Van Basten and Ruud Gullit were my favorites for a long time, despite having no personal connection to the Netherlands, undoubtedly inspired by watching those tournaments.
Ruud Gullit and Marco Van Basten celebrate Netherlands winning the 1988 Euro Cup. (Credit: Popperfoto via Getty Images)
One particular thing that started catching my young eye over time were the kit suppliers or sponsors, meaning the company or brand that makes the team’s jerseys, whose logo is featured on the jersey. The national team jersey design is a universal one and registers quickly: on the upper-left side is the country emblem — right over the heart, appropriately. Counterbalancing that national symbol on the upper-right side is the logo of whomever made the shirt. Check and check, every single time I saw a new team come onto the field. The two images - emblem and logo - were aligned and equidistant, so as a child it wasn’t immediately obvious to me that they weren’t equally important. My feeling was that yes, obviously the players are representing their country — but in some way, they are representing that other symbol as well, aren’t they? Why then, did they choose that one?
As brands started entering my world, some of the logos on the upper-right side of the jerseys became instantly recognizable: Adidas. Nike. Puma. Reebok. These were the brands I was used to seeing in sports stores and in the streets the most.
But then, there were other ones, those which I didn’t see in stores or elsewhere as much. Le Coq Sportif, Diadora, Lotto, Umbro, Kappa, Hummel, Maraton, Joma. Asking around and coming into contact with more brands in general, I found out that these were more specialized national brands. Le Coq Sportif is French. Diadora, Lotto, and Kappa are Italian. Umbro is British. Hummel is Danish. Maraton is Ecuadorian. Joma is Spanish.
Kit suppliers became a source of fascination for me. The questions of how and why a supplier would be selected by a country intrigued me. As I learned more about the world and how things worked, it felt natural that more developed countries with more developed economies and apparel industries would have their own, national brands sponsoring them. Adidas is a famously German brand, of course it would sponsor Germany. Diadora is a distinguished Italian brand, of course it would sponsor Italy. Umbro is a renowned British brand, of course it would sponsor England. I imagined that opting for national brands was not only reasonable economics, but also went as far as being a source of inspiration and pride — like entering a battle with armor made at home by your own people.
And the rest of the countries, well, they would naturally have to be sponsored by someone else. And the connections between the country and its sponsor made sense, mostly. For example, Argentina being sponsored by the French Le Coq Sportif made sense; Buenos Aires is, after all, the “Paris of South America”. Tunisia being sponsored by the Italian Kappa made sense; there is a close geographic proximity between Tunisia and Italy, and the two are also linked on a cultural level based on migration and colonization in the 19th century. Costa Rica being sponsored by the Spanish Joma made sense; as a former Spanish colony, Costa Rica is still culturally tied to Spain, and Spanish brands have an aspirational quality to them throughout Latin America.
There was an air of cleverness and worldliness in making these types of connections. I started looking forward to new kits, noticing who changed suppliers, as well as wondering about trends and reasons.
Argentina’s Diego Maradona lifting the 1986 World Cup trophy in Mexico, with the Le Coq Sportif rooster emblazoned on his chest. (Credit: Imago Images - Buzzi)
As I watch soccer lately, one thought continues to swish around in my head: where have all those other brands gone? Why do I seem to primarily see the swoosh, the three lines, and the jumping feline adorn the upper right-hand side of jerseys? Germany is still sponsored by its home-grown Adidas, but England and France have most recently dropped their domestic brands for Nike, a quintessential U.S brand. Italy dropped Diadora for Nike, Puma, and most recently Adidas. Costa Rica dropped Joma for Adidas. Argentina dropped Le Coq Sportif and eventually settled on Adidas too. There are many other examples.
And, as a market and consumer researcher, another question keeps nagging at me: do any of these changes mean anything to the fans? Turns out it’s a bit of a mixed bag.
Let’s get deeper into it…
What’s in a sponsorship?
Sponsorship in soccer is more than just a financial transaction; it's a strategic partnership that can elevate both the brand and the team.
For brands, sponsoring a soccer team means visibility on a global stage, aligning with the passion and loyalty of soccer fans, and benefiting from the team's reputation and success. It is also incredibly lucrative. For example, after the 2022 World Cup finals in Qatar in which Argentina beat France, Adidas sold out of Messi and Argentina team kits worldwide, and the company said it had sold around $424 million (€400 million) in “event-related sales” in the fourth quarter.
For teams, especially those with less financial power, sponsorships provide crucial funding that supports everything from player salaries to training facilities.
So, why would you not want a national brand on your chest?
The disappearance of smaller, national brands from the soccer sponsorship scene can be attributed to several factors.
Firstly, the financial clout of giants like Nike, Adidas, and Puma is hard to compete with. These brands can offer lucrative deals that smaller companies, which national brands tend to be, simply can't match. For example, Nike is paying $35 million dollars to Brazil each year for allowing them to put the swoosh on the verde-amarela jersey. There is also apparently no ceiling: the Brazilian news site UOL says that other companies - allegedly Adidas and Puma - are reportedly willing to pay $197 million to supply Brazil’s kit.
Additionally, the global reach and marketing capabilities of these giants provide teams with more exposure and, potentially, more revenue from merchandise sales. If you’re reading this in the United States and know the names Cristiano Ronaldo or Lionel Messi, then the deep coffers of Nike and Adidas have something to do with that. Would that be the case for Messi if Argentina relied on marketing dollars from, say, Athix, an Argentina-based sports brand? Maybe, but unlikely, and certainly not to the same degree.
Lastly, it can be an exercise in brand building for the country. Some countries, particularly developing countries, spend decades trying to improve their perceptions as being stable, advanced, and even powerful countries. Putting a global, renowned, and influential brand on a soccer jersey can be seen as an inflection point in that perception-building journey, and mark the beginning of a new perceptual era — the we-have-arrived era. When Adidas was unveiled as Costa Rica’s new kit sponsor in 2023, Rodolfo Villalobos, the president of the Federación Costarricense de Fútbol (Costa Rican Soccer Federation, or FCRF in Spanish) said, “at the FCRF, we feel proud and very honored to be able to establish this commercial alliance with the leading sports brand in the world.”
Striking an emotional connection with fans
Fandom is the foundation of soccer. And fans form emotional connections not just with their teams, but with the symbols and brands associated with them. So, what happens in fans’ hearts when a national team leaves a national brand in favor of a global one?
I spoke with an industry expert as well as some fans, and learned that the impact of sponsorship changes on perceptions is multifaceted.
On one hand, fans are excited about the high-profile partnerships and the potential benefits they bring to their teams. As the world continues to get smaller and more interconnected, what was once deemed global can suddenly feel local and just as representative. There is naturally a generational skew here, as younger generations blur the lines more between the global and the local.
Luis Marambio Ibarra, a journalist and entrepreneur who has worked in the sports industry for over 25 years, says that“with globalization, global brands (Nike, Adidas, Puma) have become local and familiar brands for the new fans of Real Madrid (adidas), Barcelona (Nike), and teams in the Premier League or in other top soccer leagues in the world. By seeing these brands so often and so “up close” as sponsors of “their” teams, they feel closer to them than they would with a national brand, which may even be considered of worst quality or pedestrian.”
On the other hand, there's a sense of loss for the unique identities that smaller, national brands brought to the game. A local brand on a jersey can evoke memories of regional pride, heritage, and identity. The shift to global brands may dilute this connection, making the experience feel more commercial and less personal.
As James Hill, a British man and decades-long England fan who currently lives in Los Angeles, CA told me over pints, “Nike has for sure degraded the quality and the uniqueness that Umbro brought to the table.” He went on to say that many people in England feel like Nike has ruined the national team jersey, with even prime ministers chiming in with their thoughts.
England’s Jack Grealish models the 2024 Nike jersey. Nike replaced Umbro as England’s kit supplier in 2012. (Credit: The FA via Getty Images)
Los Angeles resident Marie Greene, who is originally from France, shares in James’ sentiment. She has not been cheering on les bleues any less since they dropped Le Coq Sportif for Nike as their kit supplier, but she does feel like something has been lost with the change. She tells me over text, “first of all, le coq (the rooster) is our national emblema, like the American Eagle. So, there is pride associated with Le Coq Sportif - The Athletic Rooster - a proud made-in-France type of feeling. The brand has a sense of tradition, a sense of uniqueness. The special thing about Le Coq Sportif is that it’s meant for sports, especially team sports, whereas Adidas and Nike have become more loungewear brands, it feels.”
Kylian Mbappé sports the French jersey with the swoosh. Nike started sponsoring France in 2011, in a deal valued at €320 million over seven years at the time. (Credit: Getty Images)
The dominance of major brands can lead to concerns about the over-commercialization of the sport. Soccer, at its heart, is a game of passion, community, and tradition. When fans see the same few brands dominating the sponsorship landscape, it can feel like the sport is being driven more by business interests than by the love of the game.
Is it just nostalgia?
As a man in his forties, it’s easy to pin the things I ponder about on nostalgia. Is a Le Coq Sportif logo or a Diadora design actually meaningful, or am I just indulging in some rosy retrospection?
Yes, there’s certainly some of that. There is nostalgia for the days when a variety of brands sponsored different teams, each bringing their unique story and flavor to the tournament, adding an extra layer of intrigue and excitement. Fans reminisce about iconic jerseys from past tournaments, adorned with logos of brands that might not be globally recognized but held significant local value. Come to any party with my childhood friends from Chile and undoubtedly the 1987 jersey by Power, a sub-brand from the Czech Bata, will come up.
But nostalgia is a powerful purchase driver, and therefore should not be discounted as just schmaltzy sentimentality. “There’s a reason why vintage soccer jerseys for classic teams are kind of all the rage in Europe right now. The Le Coq and Umbro jerseys for certain teams and players can reach $250 and upwards,” British Mr. Hill tells me. Closer to home, nostalgia is likely a driving force behind the success of U.S-based jersey sellers Fanatics and Mitchell & Ness.
If preference for certain brands is fueled by a fondness for the past, and that preference translates to spend, then this is something the people making decisions on kit suppliers should be mindful of.
Where do we go from here
The landscape of soccer sponsorship has undoubtedly changed, with major global brands dominating the scene. While this brings financial stability and global exposure to teams, it also raises questions about the loss of local identity and the diverse impact on fan perceptions.
As marketers, consumer insights professionals, and advertisers, it's crucial to understand these dynamics and consider how to balance global appeal with local authenticity. The challenge lies in finding ways to celebrate the unique stories and heritage of local brands, to not let go of the emotions that these brands stir in fans, even in a highly commercialized environment. Soccer is just one example of how the global and local intermingle in an increasingly globalized world.
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