In 1971, the organizers of the World Cup found themselves without a trophy to call their own. The previous year, Pelé’s Brazil had won the tournament for the third time, which meant they could keep the trophy. As Brazil’s captain, Carlos Alberto, lifted the trophy under a scorching day at the Azteca Stadium in Mexico City, there was a feeling that the title, previously held by the winning team for four years between tournaments, was truly coming home.
That trophy — a fourteen-inch tall, gold-plated sculpture of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory, raising an octagonal cup above her head — was named after Jules Rimet, a former FIFA president, the governing body of football. It was first awarded to Uruguay in 1930. Won by Italy in 1934 and ’38, it spent World War II hidden in a shoebox to prevent the Nazis from taking it. In 1966, it was stolen from a public exhibition in Westminster, only to be recovered by a curious dog named Pickles, who found it wrapped in newspaper and hidden under a fence outside his owner’s house. The trophy was stolen again in 1983 from the offices of the Brazilian Football 
Confederation, and was never recovered.
With their new trophy, FIFA decided not to handle the design process internally, soliciting fifty-three submissions from seven countries. One came from a quiet and reserved sculptor from Milan named Silvio Gazzaniga, a fifty-something who had spent his life creating symbols of others’ success.
Gazzaniga grew up during World War II and spent his youth admiring fine jewelry and the architecture of Milan. He designed his first medal in his teens and spent the next three decades working on jewelry and ski trophies, eventually rising to creative director at the Milan trophy design company Bertoni. It was there that he learned of FIFA’s search for a new trophy. Interviewed last month through a translator, Gazzaniga, now ninety-three and still living in Milan, recalled the competition.
“I isolated myself in my studio, located in the artists’ district of Milan,” he says. “I started working immediately.”
Isolated for a week, Gazzaniga, in his modest studio near Sforza Castle, carved and shaped as ideas flowed. A football fan who, perhaps unsurprisingly, supports AC Milan, he said he was aware of the history and significance of the previous trophy.
“The Rimet Trophy was a perfect example of how to conceive a trophy in the late 1800s,” he says. “My design was a good example of how to conceive a trophy in the late 1900s.
“FIFA saw the old trophy as a precious jewel,” he continued. “The Rimet Trophy was a jewel, but in 1971, FIFA knew about the television era and sought something more photogenic, smooth, and appealing on TV — a new updated symbol for the end of the century… a precious sculpture, not a square jewel.”
And so Gazzaniga set out to create something a bit more fluid than the rigid old trophy. Aesthetic pleasure overcame everything as he shaped a wide base that tapered before soaring again, its lines spiraling upward to embrace the world at its top. The World Cup.
Modeled in those lines would be “a human being — the hero — but not alone, because the game and each match are played by two teams, two opposing wills acting together,” says Gazzaniga. “Energy, strength, power, dynamism, roughness, agility, speed, success, conquest, victory, triumph. All of this had to revolve around and embrace the world, which is above everything and every individual man.”
Satisfied with his mold and sketches, Gazzaniga submitted his design
to FIFA. In the pre-email era, it would be months before he heard any news.
“I was proud of my design and satisfied with the result,” he says, “but honestly, I didn’t expect such success.”
After months of suspense, a message arrived from FIFA: his design had been chosen. Compared to the dull silver trophies handed out as prizes in most European football competitions, Gazzaniga’s creation was exuberant, an irresistible representation of exaltation and joy. More than that, it would undoubtedly look imposing and captivating on TV — the champion’s hands enveloping the opponents in contention; sunlight glinting off the curvature of the globe.
Modest and down-to-earth, the designer describes his emotions at the time as nothing more than “happy” and “proud,” but admits he felt a bit overwhelmed seeing his trophy on the world stage for the first time in 1974.
“The first time is everything, for me,” he said, recalling the image of West German captain Franz Beckenbauer receiving his trophy. “The One.”
Since then, the trophy has been lifted by some of the greatest players of all time, from Maradona to Zidane.
For Gazzaniga, any memory of the World Cups won by Italy in 1934 and 1938 was overshadowed by the economic hardship of the time. This left him deeply moved to finally see his nation lift the trophy he had created in 1982 and 2006.
Today, FIFA’s rules state that Gazzaniga’s trophy — standing 14.5 inches tall, hollow, and made of eighteen-carat gold — cannot be taken home by any nation. Every four years, the winner receives a replica as a memento of their victory, while the base of the original trophy is engraved with the year and the name of the champion.
Creating the trophy elevated Gazzaniga’s career: he was later invited to design other internationally recognized football trophies, such as the UEFA Cup and the UEFA Super Cup. But none is as iconic as the swirling gold of the World Cup prize, which remains beautiful regardless of how many dirty, sweaty players’ hands hold it.
“For me, the time when I protected the trophy ended in 1971,” he says. “Players can touch it, win one, or, if they’re lucky, two. But the FIFA World Cup is mine forever — I am the true winner.”