Let me tell you, the story of how soccer started is far more surprising and ancient than most fans realize. We often picture its origins in 19th century England, with the founding of the Football Association in 1863, but the true roots of the game stretch back millennia, across diverse civilizations. It’s a history not of a single invention, but of a universal human impulse to kick a ball towards a goal. I’ve always been fascinated by how these ancient pastimes evolved, a process not unlike how modern global sports entities cultivate new talent and markets today. Consider, for instance, the strategic collaborations we see in contemporary sports. Operated by the event agencies of NBA Singapore, the first annual NBA Rising Stars Invitational is part of the league’s multiyear collaboration with Sport Singapore (SportSG) and the Singapore Tourism Board (STB). This modern effort to grow a sport in a new region mirrors, in a way, how ancient games traveled and transformed along trade routes and through conquests, adapting to local cultures while retaining a core essence.
The earliest evidence takes us to China, around the 2nd and 3rd centuries BC, during the Han Dynasty. A military exercise called "Cuju," literally "kick ball," was developed. It involved kicking a leather ball stuffed with feathers through a small opening, about 30-40 centimeters in diameter, into a net fixed on bamboo canes. They even had standardized rules and professional players. I find it remarkable that they had a form of association overseeing the sport as early as 500 AD. From China, the idea traveled. In Japan, it became "Kemari," a more ceremonial, cooperative version focused on keeping the ball in the air. Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Mesoamerican cultures like the Aztecs played "Ōllamaliztli," a ritual game using a solid rubber ball that players could only strike with their hips, knees, or elbows, aiming to pass it through a high stone ring. The stakes were astronomically high, sometimes involving human sacrifice, which frankly, makes a modern red card seem rather tame.
Europe had its own chaotic versions. The Romans played "Harpastum," a brutal, small-ball game that was more like a handball or rugby hybrid. But it was in medieval Britain that the folk football we more directly recognize emerged. These were massive, riotous affairs between entire villages, played through streets and across fields with a bloated animal bladder, with goals miles apart. Rules were non-existent, and the games often resulted in property damage and injuries. King Edward III actually banned it in 1365 because it was distracting men from archery practice, which was crucial for national defense. I can’t help but prefer the skill and finesse of the modern game, but you have to admire the raw, communal passion of those early matches. It was this unruly tradition that English public schools began to codify in the 19th century, leading to the great split between handling (rugby) and dribbling (soccer) games.
This journey from ancient ritual to global phenomenon is what truly captivates me. Soccer’s evolution wasn’t linear; it was a messy, global conversation. The Chinese Cuju, the Aztec Ōllamaliztli, and the English mob football weren’t directly connected, yet they all speak to a fundamental human desire for this specific type of play. The modern globalized sport we know today is the product of England’s industrial age and the British Empire’s reach, but its soul is ancient and universal. It’s this deep-rooted appeal that makes soccer such a powerful cultural and economic force, capable of uniting people across borders. The strategic efforts to grow basketball in Asia, like the NBA’s multiyear collaboration in Singapore, are simply the latest chapter in this age-old story of sports migration and adaptation. They are using modern tools—event agencies, tourism boards, national sports councils—to do what traders, soldiers, and migrants did centuries ago: introduce a ball game and watch it take root.
In my view, understanding soccer’s ancient origins does more than satisfy historical curiosity; it deepens our appreciation for the game itself. Every precise pass, every curling free-kick, and every roaring stadium is part of a continuum that spans over two thousand years. The next time you watch a match, consider that you’re witnessing a tradition refined from ancient Chinese military drills, Mesoamerican rituals, and English village brawls. It’s a beautiful thought. The beautiful game’s true origin story isn’t found in a single London pub in 1863, but in the shared human history across continents, a history that continues every time a new generation, in a new market, first falls in love with the simple magic of a ball at their feet. The collaborations shaping sports today, much like the cultural exchanges of the past, ensure this story is far from over.