How I learned to love the German Football Team
As a teacher in a British school, I now find myself in the enviable position of having five-and-a-bit weeks of summer break ahead of me. Yes, this is the time of year when I nap in the day, eat whenever I fancy, catch up on my reading, and sometimes go on holiday. Happily, German lessons have finished for the summer, although judging by how little I understood of the German TV series my girlfriend was watching last night, I can certainly not afford to neglect my studies. But rather than bore you with lists of new verb forms and grammar rules which I think I’m learning, I thought I’d share my experiences of a rather more current and light-hearted topic: how I found a genuine affection for the German national team during the 2014 World Cup.
Let me begin by recounting to you my first memories of a World Cup from 1990. I was seven years old, one of the star footballers in my small, rural primary school, and was convinced that one day I would one day be playing at the World Cup. My idol was, undoubtedly, the great Argentinian, Maradona, one of the few players in the tournament who could change a match in an instant, while occupying a height and build not so different from my own seven year old frame. At the time, I’d probably only watched the little magician on the T.V. on a couple of occasions, but I was reliably informed that he was the best player on the planet, and that was good enough for me.
My memories of the early stages of the tournament are a little hazy, but I can remember both England and Argentina struggling their way through to the semi-finals, while the West Germans, sporting some interesting haircuts and more than a few outrageous moustaches, were confidently sweeping aside all who crossed their path. At the time I don’t think anyone had pointed out to me that supporting England was not the done thing in Wales, so by the time the semi-final between England and West Germany kicked off, I was filled to the brim with anticipation of my dream final between England and Argentina, Paul Gascoigne vs Maradona. The match was a tense affair: West Germany taking the lead in the first half through a deflected free kick, before England hit back in the second half, sending the game to extra time. Here the tension was ratcheted up even further, with me forced to hide my face behind a pillow on several occasions as both teams squandered chances to send their team into the final. Almost inevitably, the match was decided by a penalty shootout, the result of which is surely etched on the brain of almost any Englishman of my age or older. For while some of the English players lost their heads and tried to blast the ball into the net, the West Germans remained icy cool, stroking the ball into either side of the net past a soon to be retired Peter Shilton. My dreams shattered, this was when I first began to dislike the Germans.
The final between West Germany and Argentina was a scrappy affair to say the least. The Germans, to their credit, tried to play; the Argentinians, outclassed, with their inspirational playmaker showing only glimmers his brilliant best, soon reverted to a game plan of stopping the Germans by any means necessary. Some of the challenges by the Argentinian players were reckless and inexcusable, but with their dramatic reactions, dives and theatrics, the West Germans deserved little sympathy. In the end, a suspect penalty won by Rudi Voller and converted by Andreas Bremer bought an end to a contest that did football few favours.
The World Cup of 1990 left me with a sour taste towards the West Germans, and then later the German team. As Gary Lineker, England’s star striker from that tournament, has famously said: “Football is a simple game. Twenty-two men chase a ball for ninety minutes and at the end the Germans always win.” There was no doubting their brilliance, efficiency, strong team ethic and pragmatism. Still, I disliked their conduct. As a result, I watched with some pleasure in the years that followed as they lost to Wales in 1991 (their first loss following reunification), were beaten in the Euro ’92 final by the heroics of the great Dane Peter Schmeichel, were beaten in the quarter finals of the 1994 World Cup by an inspired Bulgarian team, and, perhaps most significantly, were knocked out in the group stages of Euro 2004 without winning a game.
It was of course their poor performance in 2004 which brought about a root and branch change in the German system of development as well as how they approached games on the field. And it was needed because, in 2006, Germany hosted the World Cup for the first time as a unified country – a performance on a par with 2004 would have been unthinkable. A young and unfancied German team carried the hopes and fears of their nation onto the pitch with them, and I, along with many others, expected them to struggle. They were managed by Jurgen Klinsmann, a veteran of the West German team of 1990, although any casual observer of that final may have expected him to turn his attention to Olympic diving when his playing days were over, so exceptional were his leaps, tucks and rotations in that highly forgettable match. The team surprised many, making it all the way to semi-finals before losing out to the eventual winners, Italy. The event is now regarded as a significant moment in the short history of the German nation, who won many friends while also appearing to let go of the past and wave their flag with pride for the first time. In his excellent book Guilt about the Past, German author and Law Professor Bernhard Schlink recounts watching one of the German team’s matches in a bier garten in Berlin during the 2006 tournament. When the German team scored its first goal, a middle-aged worker threw his arms into the air and shouted, ‘Wir sind wieder wer!’’ (‘We are somebody again!’).
The World Cup of 2006 kick started another era of strong German performances, with a final appearance in the 2008 European Championship, followed by another semi-final at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, losing out on both occasions to a Spanish side who are surely one of the greatest international teams in football history. It was the European Championships of 2010 when, with Wales once again not qualifying for the tournament, I decided give in to my girlfriend’s wishes and support the Germans for the first time. The great Spanish team were, by then showing signs that their best days were behind them and, with recent experience of advancing into the later stages of major tournaments, it seemed almost inevitable that Germany’s latest ‘golden generation’ would claim the trophy. They moved convincingly into the semi-finals and then, for no clear reason, succumbed rather meekly to a fairly ordinary Italian team. I thought the Germans were reliable and could be trusted to put in a big performance on a big occasion, but it seemed that I was wrong. It was almost like a flashback to watching the Welsh rugby team – so much promise, so much potential, yet, when a big performance was needed, they came up short.
As the 2014 World Cup loomed upon the horizon, there now seemed little reason for optimism. True, the German team had eased their way through qualifying, and there was certainly no stand-out team who were heading into the tournament as clear favourites. However, the unfamiliar climatic conditions in Brazil, the vast distances that players would need to cover to get to matches, and the fanatical ‘home’ support that the South American nations would enjoy meant that a first victory in the Americas for a European nation seemed only a remote possibility. To add to this, many of the star German players, who had set the European club scene alight during the 2012-2013 season, had not been nearly as impressive during the first half of 2014. Indeed, die Nationalmannschaft arrived in Brazil following unconvincing displays against Cameroon and Armenia, the loss of key players including the dynamic Marco Reus, and criticism from manager Joachim Low that the team’s passing game and efficiency in front of goal were not where he wanted them to be.
Consequently, I wasn’t shouting too loudly about my German allegiance as the tournament got under away amid a carnival of colour and noise in football’s spiritual homeland. Germany’s first game was a late afternoon kick-off, and I was pleasantly surprised to see them already one-nil up as I returned from work, before coasting to a four-nil victory against an unimpressive Portugal side. Thomas Muller, the golden boot winner of 2010 was both the hero and villain of the piece, scoring a hat-trick but exhibiting some fairly unnecessary play-acting which contributed to the sending off of the Portuguese defender Pepe. Suddenly, everyone began talking about Germany as potential champions, although I wasn’t convinced. I was also troubled by Muller’s conduct – would I really be able to support a team who behaved in such an unsportsmanlike manner?
Germany went on to win their group, although with a two-all draw with Ghana, and a cagey on-nil win against the USA meant that talk of a German victory soon disappeared from the mouths of pundits and public alike. The last-sixteen match against Algeria in Porto Alegre was a nervy affair for any German supporter, with the Algerians showing impressive pace and skill, and constantly exposing the German flat back four on the counter-attack. If it hadn’t been for the great sweeping and shot-stopping of the slightly eccentric German goalkeeper Manuel Neuer, then my dream of supporting Germany to an international football tournament victory would have been over for another two years. As it was, the match went into extra-time, where the Germans got any early breakthrough and went on to see out a two-one win.
If the Algerian game had been a rather frantic, heart-in-mouth affair, the quarter-final against a fancied French side was a much more traditionally German performance: a headed set-piece goal in the thirteenth minute, followed by seventy-seven plus minutes of German possession and defence, with only the odd moments of French threat. This set-up a semi-final with the host nation Brazil who, in spite of the loss of their poster boy Neymar to a back injury sustained in the previous round and the suspension of their captain Thiago Silva, with a whole country backing them, appeared destined to claim their World Cup.
Up until this point, under the eyes of my fairly amateurish analysis, the Germans had played three kinds of matches at the 2014 World Cup: one match where they had scored four goals and looked like a clinical attacking outfit; two matches where their defensive frailties had been exposed and they had relied heavily on their goalkeeper to get them out of trouble; and two matches where they had played a very compact and disciplined game and been able to nick a goal to win it. Therefore, it probably made sense that the Germans balanced out their performances with another show of great attacking prowess. But this was against Brazil, in Brazil, in the World Cup semi-final…
What happened in that match was unlike anything that I’ve ever seen in sport. Any football fan, whether they be German, Brazilian, or of any other nationality, will surely never forget the night of Tuesday, 8th July in Belo Horizonte when Germany put seven, yes, SEVEN goals past Brazil, including a spell of five goals in eighteen minutes. The Germans executed perfectly, while the Brazilians, who particularly missed their suspended captain Thiago Silva in the centre of their defence, fell apart under the weight of expectation. By the time the final whistle blew, the match had been over as a contest for more than an hour. While the Brazilians huddled together to listen to the comforting words of their coach, Phil Scholari, the Germans enjoyed some fairly muted celebrations in front of their fans before quietly leaving the pitch. The behaviour and professionalism of the German players both on the pitch, and in the days following this incredible game showed, them to be filled with both empathy and respect towards their crestfallen opponents. This was a German team which both I, and the world, wanted to see.
After their emphatic victory in their previous match, the Germans went into the final match as heavy favourites. Their opponents, as in 1990, were Argentina, who had failed to impress during a tense and cagey semi-final against the Dutch before prevailing on penalties. Reports in this country were of the German press pronouncing their team as world champions even days before the match kicked off. More shrewd observers, including myself I might add, always predicted it would be a tight contest. Germany were undoubtedly the best team in the tournament, with quality all over the pitch but a slightly suspect defence; Argentina hadn’t conceded a goal in the knockout stages of the tournament, and in Lionel Messi had arguably the best attacking player on the planet. Great numbers of Argentinians made their way to Rio for the final. The Brazilians meanwhile, determined that their greatest rivals wouldn’t be crowned as world champions in their iconic Maracana stadium, turned their allegiances toward the Germans.
The match when it finally kicked off was one the better world cup finals that I’ve witnessed. The Germans had the slight edge in terms of possession, but the Argentinians, with their water-tight defence and counter-attacking style, certainly had the better of the chances. Argentinian striker Gonzalo Higuain in particular is unlikely ever to forget the chance which he pulled wide when it would possibly have been easier to score. As the clock ticked down with the score still at nil-nil, the match turned into a battle of attrition, with Bastien Schweinsteiger and Javier Mascherano, opposing each other in their defensive midfield roles, two of the stand-out players.
Ninety minutes of play failed to produce a goal to separate the two sides, and so the match went into extra-time. By now the Argentinians, having gone the full distance in their previous match and having come into the final with a day’s less rest, were tiring, and it was Germany who were doing most of the pressing. In the end it took a rare run down the left flank from Andre Schurrle whose cross picked out an unmarked Mario Gotze, who coolly controlled the ball on his chest before volleying the ball into the corner of the Argentinian net. My living room erupted. The Argentinians looked forlorn. Could the German defence hold out for just another seven minutes? Would a subdued and out-of-form Lionel Messi be able retaliate with a trademark moment of magic?
The closing minutes were agonising, although in truth the German goal rarely looked under any serious threat. On the final whistle, German players and their supporters all around the world embraced. Few impartial observers could have denied that the Germans had fully deserved their victory. They had been the best team in the tournament. A team who had showed that they could beat the best in their own backyard, using their unique brand of patient, entertaining and, at times, extremely high-risk football, while also conducting themselves with great professionalism and demonstrating good sportsmanship. In doing so they had won the affections of people from all over the world, including my own.
In 2006, a German worker in a bar shouted ‘Wir sind wieder wer!’ (‘We are somebody again!’). In 2014, it is a claim that few would wish to dispute.
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