As an anime and manga fan, I enjoy checking out the big fan favorites of yesteryear. It helps broaden my perspective on these artforms, and gives me an opportunity to form my own opinions on a work and not rely solely on the views of others. And who knows—maybe I’ll get a new favorite. In this spirit, I recently familiarized myself with a manga that is not only beloved worldwide for its portrayal of soccer but also the father of the modern shounen “team sports boys” format. Before Blue Lock, Yowamushi Pedal, Haikyu!, Prince of Tennis, and Slam Dunk, there was 1981’s Captain Tsubasa by Takahashi Yoichi.

Regarding reading older major titles, Shounen Jump has been a consistent resource of works for me to tap, such as Saint Seiya and Hunter x Hunter. But while these titles are huge in their own right, Captain Tsubasa’s influence is really something special.

In Japan, Captain Tsubasa helped propel the popularity of soccer nationwide, even being published in a time when “World Cup” wasn’t even a commonly known phrase. Abroad, it gained popularity anywhere soccer was. On my most recent trip to Japan, I watched an episode of Why Did You Come to Japan?, a well-known program that interviews foreigners who are in Japan. This particular episode followed a German fan who made a pilgrimage just out of love for the series, during which he got to visit the real inspiration for the school in the series, among other things. There’s also a famous story about the occupation of Iraq by the US military, where water trucks were covered with images from Captain Tsubasa to show that they were friendly vehicles.

Creating love for soccer at home and garnering praise internationally for its portrayal of the sport are parts of the legacy of Captain Tsubasa. But it was also important in another area that has become a prominent part of anime and manga culture: doujinshi. In my review of the giant robot anime God Mars (also from 1981), I described it as one two series fundamental to the establishment of the fujoshi fandom as we know it today—the other was Captain Tsubasa. Having read the entirety of the first manga series, I now feel that I understand exactly why this story of young soccer athletes achieved the hat trick of domestic influence, international acceptance, and subculture proliferation.

Let’s talk about the actual story: Captain Tsubasa kicks off with a hell of an introduction to its main character, Ozora Tsubasa. As a small child, Tsubasa is literally saved from a truck by a soccer ball (avoiding the isekai protagonist fate, in the modern parlance), and his life is forever changed. The boy falls in love with the sport, treating the ball like an extension of his body. And as Tsubasa grows from impetuous kid to adult with soccer in his heart (though I only read up to the point where he finishes middle school), he influences every other player he meets, be they friendly or adversarial or both.

Those looking at Captain Tsubasa, especially from a modern perspective, might be surprised by its aesthetic, expecting a title known for its various fandoms to either have characters who look impossibly cool or incredibly beautiful. Instead, Takahashi’s designs feature ridiculously long and stilt-like legs, squashed craniums, and bird-like eye placement that makes it seem as if the characters can see in two different directions at once. How could this possibly be the series that helped spark soccer fandom and spawned shounen sports BL shipping? Yet, despite the odd look of the characters themselves, two things become clear even from the very beginning. 

First, the manga is fantastic at depicting action and tension. When portraying things like passing, dribbling, and goal attempts, the art is very clear and easy to follow while still creating excitement. When the athletes use their ridiculous signature moves (that aren’t meant to be supernatural but still play fast and loose with the laws of physics), there’s a satisfying sense of weight and emotion. The paneling frequently takes advantage of the double page spread to portray very wide shots, especially when points are being scored. It almost feels as if Takahashi made some kind of pact that made him a genius at depicting characters in action in exchange for being bad at drawing them standing still. 

They’re also all weirdly mature-looking. Some 10-year-olds look like they’re 16, while some 14-year-olds look like they’re 30—something we see in later titles like Prince of Tennis.

Second, many of the tropes of the shounen sports boys genre—namely having a wide-ranging cast of passionate guys engaging in intense forms of camaraderie and rivalry—are on full display here. Wakabayashi Genzo the goalkeeper starts off as Tsubasa’s first antagonist while later developing a nagging ankle injury that stymies him at dramatic moments. Misaki Taro is a student from out of town who becomes Tsubasa’s most reliable partner on offense, but who can only play for their school for a year before his family has to move away. Ace striker Hyuga Kojiro sees Tsubasa as the man he must take down, and his violent, win-at-all-costs mentality comes from a heartfelt desire to support his family. Wakashimazu Ken is a reliable goalkeeper for Kojiro who utilizes his karate background to defy what should be possible in soccer. Matsuyama Hikaru emphasizes teamwork above all else as the captain of his team. Misogi Jun is a handsome and noble all-around genius who would be the greatest youth player in Japan if not for his congenital heart disease that limits his playtime. And there are other characters.

If you were to ask who is Tsubasa’s greatest rival/partner, there really is no clear answer, making the series ripe for explorations of the imagination of various kinds. All the ingredients are there, whether one is reading for the competitive soccer or the bromances, and it’s doubly powerful when you realize how these very characters fueled their archetypal descendents in the following decades. 

It’s also worth noting that all the female characters are the kinds of managers and sideline supporters typical of sports boys series, except that this was an era when they were clearly intended to be romantic partners down the line instead of mainly audience-perspective characters. For example, Tsubasa’s main love interest, Nakazawa Sanae, starts off as a tomboyish ouendan-style cheer squad leader but becomes more “feminine” over time. I actually got a little miffed that the story couldn’t even keep that fun aspect of Sanae’s character. It’s no wonder why the female fans gravitated towards guy-guy pairings, regardless of their inclinations towards BL in the first place.

But when Captain Tsubasa is at full strength, the excitement jumps off the page. The matches start off as exaggerated depictions of actual soccer before transforming into something that looks more like a battle manga at times. Many scenes feature opposing players clashing in mid-air like they’re Fist of the North Star characters who happen to have a soccer ball between them, and while it does start to feel ridiculous, I can’t deny the infectious energy. Though its tropes are old hat in the realm of sports boys at this point, the series holds up very well. There’s so much manly passion in this manga that it’s no wonder it formed so many different fandoms and even played a part in making soccer a national sport in Japan. 

Personally speaking, the ball is not my friend, but maybe Captain Tsubasa is now.