An Englishman in Germany

A marathon of TV football – every weekend

Titus Chalk — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 14:53:00 GMT

I have sadly had to leave Berlin behind, but before I returned to dear old Blighty, I dug in in front of the telly for a marathon weekend of iconic German football programmes.

It was like A Clockwork Orange without the Beethoven – a dizzying crash course in what square-eyed German fans soak up at the weekend.

My viewing schedule was packed. Friday night would bring second division Bielefeld v 1869 Munchen. Saturday would mean Germany’s ‘Konferenz’ of live matches, highlights programme Sportschau and chat show Aktuelles Sportstudio. Sunday would produce the popular Doppelpass, Bayern Munchen v Bayer Leverkusen, Hamburg too if possible (it wasn’t – I broke down), then a selection of regional bulletins that night. That’s a lot of football.

FRIDAY

As in England, Sky hold the rights for most of the best football, so flicking on the television to begin my viewing stint felt vaguely familiar, especially when the pre-match bombast kicked in.

It's a worldwide meme now: the sexy montage with an accompanying epic score or indie-rock anthem, that announces with glee the football event of the weekend. I didn’t need to speak great German to understand that the guy giving the voice over was VERY EXCITED INDEED about the action to come.

He needn’t have got quite so worked up. Both full matches I watched started out well, at a decent pace with neat some neat football on display, but the second halves were turgid.

It’s at such moments that commentary can make or break your viewing experience. Sadly, my German was still too ropy to understand all that was being said, but I missed having a second person in the commentary box, something apparently tried in Germany but ruined by the unpopular Karl-Heinz Rummenigge.

Rummenigge: punditry poison

I’m a big fan though of the avuncular ex-player or manager, dishing out scathing criticism to ex-colleagues mixed with technical analysis gleaned from a lifetime in the game. Germany, I’m afraid you’re missing out there.

Overall, punditry seemed less prevalent during matches – is there a generation of unemployed ex-players in Germany hanging out on street corners causing trouble? – shown by the hosting of shows from pitchside rostrums rather than studios. On the plus side, you get a sense of the cracking atmosphere at Bundesliga games, with plenty of drum-wielding, flag-waving shenanigans going on in the background; on the down side, no studio means no sanctuary for pundits.

Come half-time, I want authoritative, cogent criticism from guys who really know what they’re talking about. Now, that’s the dream scenario – not all pundits are good at explaining how the game is played, even if they were exceptional players or managers themselves – but it does bring a level of interest to a programme that is lacking from German coverage.

What did impress me though was the bringing together of the opposing managers at the end of matches to watch replays of specific incidents in the game and to discuss them together.

I don’t know whether they trotted out anything other than platitudes, but I do know you wouldn’t get Sir Alex Ferguson and Rafael Benitez cheerily chatting away after a Manchester United vs Liverpool match – unless of course Rafa could bring his ‘dossier’ of Fergie’s transgressions and read it out to from start to finish. It was an extremely civilised conclusion to the matches’ hostilities – and to a satisfying first night's viewing.

SATURDAY

My sensibilities were greatly perturbed on Saturday afternoon, when I was subjected to the Konferenz for the first time. Much more like a radio format, the show bounces around between live games, sticking with a match only until a goal crops up in another game, which it then cuts to.

I found it a brain-meltingly awful concoction that even the slightly equine, if not unattractive, bottle-blonde anchorwoman could not redeem. To sum up: German viewers pay to watch not live sport but almost live sport?

A goal from a moment ago, and then another, and then another, until steadily you slip minutes adrift in the space-time continuum and become untethered from reality. I felt myself sliding into an alternative, hellish dimension like Marty McFly in Back to the Future II.

"Hop in, Titus" (Pic courtesy of The Draw Specialist)

The problem with the Konferenz is that it completely devalues the currency of football, and that currency is goals. As Nick Hornby writes in Fever Pitch: “Goals have a rarity value that points and runs and sets do not, and so there will always be that thrill, the thrill of seeing someone do something that can only be done three or four times in a whole game if you are lucky, not at all if you are not.”

The elusiveness of goals fills us with tension and anticipation, a hope that someone can deliver us such a precious treasure. Simply stringing them together, minute after dizzying minute turns a loving, tender tryst between fans and footballers into an exhausting pornographic goal orgy. I felt dirty afterwards.

No chance of a let-up though: highlights show Sportschau directly followed the live action, at 6pm on terrestrial TV. Now that’s quite a coup – and something German fans have lobbied hard to preserve.

With going to live games so affordable in the country, I’m not quite sure how it works, but it does. When ITV’s attempt to do the same in the UK floundered, wasn’t that largely because a significant number of fans were still travelling home in the early evening?

Still, Sportschau marches gloriously on, despite not having much in the way of the analysis, which left me a little nonplussed. To be fair, I was still in shock from the Konferenz, but nonetheless, it was a shame not to see defenders circled and shamed for being out of position or arrows drawn on screen showing the intelligence of the strikers’ runs.

Aktuelles Sportstudio, on later that evening, seemed similarly bereft of that style of punditry, with interviews and magazine stuff on instead. Both shows, plus Dopplepass the next morning, play out in front of studio audiences, something I find fairly puzzling. Surely there are better places to be on a Saturday night in Mainz than a ZDF studio?

As my weekend ground on, and my vaguely hallucinatory state of mind deepened the longer I spent in front of the telly, I started to wonder if in fact Germany had only one football audience, on a marathon of their own, bussed from studio to studio to clap politely throughout – with only the lure of a Sunday morning Weissbier on the Doppelpass set to keep them going.

I was hoping for more gags from Aktuelles Sportstudio. I can’t really explain why, but I had prepared myself for fun at that time of night. What with the Torwand and all, I had got it into my head that the show was a procession of village fair style entertainment, augmented by German maidens in traditional dress and perhaps some merry japester popping up to play accordion occasionally.

FEATURE: The Torwand, German football's legendary hole-in-the-wall

This was not the case. There was regrettably not even a Third Eye-style slot to inject some levity, making the wait for the Torwand seem excruciating. It was a manager, not a player, to boot, up against some utterly hopeless plonker from the audience. Very disappointing when I had been hoping for Gunter Netzer-like heroics.

SUNDAY

Almost as much a part of Germany’s football furniture as the Torwand is Udo Lattek, who sat majestically through Sunday morning’s Doppelpass like a wizened old statesman. Beamed live from the gleaming, cavernous lobby of a Munich airport hotel each weekend, the show boasts a panel of guests chatting football, whilst a crowd of Bavarians supping breakfast beer nestle admist towering indoor palm trees.

Lattek is the show’s stalwart panellist, but sadly the once brilliant manager has become something of a joke. His fellow guest, Werder Bremen manager Thomas Schaaf, winced a little with what looked like disbelief furrowing his brow at each of his interventions.

Lattek in better days (1973)

The impressive Doppelpass audience seemed to be enjoying themselves though, but that may have been fuelled by the breakfast-time boozing, something I don’t think you'd ever see on English television. Despite joining them in drinking Bavarian Weissbier for breakfast (with pretzels, Weisswurst and sweet mustard – delicious!), Doppelpass felt interminable – a lot like my football marathon.

It did thankfully come to an end, despite me suffering severe a near-meltdown after Sunday’s live games, with regional broadcasts from around the country. These I thoroughly enjoyed, perhaps because of the euphoria that was washing over me at being so close to the finishing line after almost 16 punishing hours of viewing.

There's no real equivalent to programmes such as Sportclub and Sportplatz in the UK, where local news coverage seems perpetually under threat from cut-backs, though the BBC’s new Late Kick-Off show might bridge the gap.

I was amazed again to see an audience in attendance for Sportclub – they just can’t get enough – and probably preferred RBB’s Sportplatz for its merciful brevity. It was illuminating to see a feature on Hertha Berlin’s youth set-up, and even better to see highlights from women’s club football – something that very rarely gets on British TV.

Turbino Potsdam’s match had a great turnout of several thousand – though clips of Bayern Munich’s ladies in action were more entertaining. Two or three ultras, with at least twice as many flags and banners between them, provided colourful support in a largely empty stand. Now if that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is.

More features from An Englishman in Germany:
St Pauli, politics and fighting (good and bad)
Football's legendary hole-in-the-wall
50+1 adds up to fan involvement
Beer, meat and friends: My first German game
Bring on the German experience

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St Pauli, politics and fighting (good and bad)

Titus Chalk — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 10:00:00 GMT

It is entirely possible that even if you know nothing about German football, you have heard of the Hamburg club St Pauli.

'Heard' might not be the right word – you've almost certainly seen their fan T-shirts.

A white skull and crossbones on a black background, with the club’s name starkly spelled out in capital letters beneath it.

It’s an iconic piece of merchandise and one that screams the club’s ‘Kult’ (credentials).

Punk, pirates, and politics – it’s all part of the St Pauli identity.

“St Pauli is deemed to be the only club with a political identity in German football," says football writer Tobias Fuchs.

"If you talk to someone who is left-wing, you can be sure that he supports St Pauli.”

St Pauli fans get behind the team

Maybe I’m simply from the wrong generation, but I have never heard an English club or its fans described as left- or right-wing before.

Class designations I have heard, yes. Religious identities, certainly, but not political affiliation.

In fact, in the Premier League, there seems to be much like there is in mainstream British politics, a centrist consensus – a political spectrum of little or no breadth.

But here in Germany, mainstream politics isn’t quite like that.

A proportional voting system means there is a genuine array of political parties in parliament, from Die Linke, Germany’s far-left party and some might say unreconstructed communists, all the way to the FDP – the country’s most free-wheeling capitalists and part of Angela Merkel’s current coalition.

Is such a wide political spectrum not represented in German football?

“German football isn't political,” says Fuchs. “Among ordinary fans, that’s an unwritten law.”

Meanwhile, says fellow journalist Ulrich Hesse, the extremities of the political spectrum in evidence in German football can lead observers to draw conclusions about the whole game here, like outliers in a statistical sample.

“The impression of German fans as being politicised may be exaggerated due to the inordinate coverage given to a) the zany St Pauli fans and b) the thugs in what used to be East Germany,” he says.

“The former are certainly very much left-of-centre, the latter are certainly bordering on having fascist leanings. But these are small groups.”

Is there a level of denial among fans who proclaim not to be politicised?

As I stood on the terrace at a game between Union Berlin and Kaiserslautern in the Zweite Bundesliga (Second Division), I asked my colleague Fabian “Are German clubs quite political?”

His reply baffled me slightly: “No not at all – I’ve seen left and right-wing fans from the same club fighting.”

Everyone might not agree on the politics of their club, people may claim they themselves are not making a political choice when it comes to supporting a football team, but when looking at other teams, political descriptions of fans seem to pop up.

At its worst, denial can be poisonous.

Fuchs, a fan of Borussia Neunkirchen, a club in the regional division Oberliga Südwest, recounts a story about some of the fans at his ground.

“A few years back Borussia fans held up a banner that read ‘What jews were for Hitler, what Bin Laden is for the US, that’s what [rivals] Homburg are for us’."

After this had happened the club kept silent. The officials weren’t interested in talking about politics.

"On internet fan sites, meanwhile, the accused fans claimed to be non-political, saying ‘We’re just fans’.

"But in fact these non-political fans look up to the old hooligans with strong arms and connections to the Nazi scene.”

Hooliganism in Germany, and fans' reaction to it, seem to me to be at the heart of football politics.

I take the perhaps very naïve view that in England the problem is, if not solved, then at least largely marginalised.

Part of the reason for that is because of the tragic events of Hillsborough in 1989.

Now, I'm not for a second saying that hooliganism had anything to do with Hillsborough, simply that that black day in English marked a rupture in the culture around football: nothing could be allowed to be the same afterwards.

With the Taylor Report, the arrival of satellite television and then the Premier League in 1992, English football underwent a rapid catharthis that left little room from hooligans.

Meanwhile, there was no sudden break here.

In his brilliant (and English-language) history of the German game Tor!, Hesse writes about his experience on the Borussia Dortmund terraces:

“The thing I remember most vividly about the early to mid-1980s is feeling completely lost, standing on a half-empty terrace, a group of about 50 neo-Nazi thugs goose-stepping around and waiting for the police to arrive to get the action going.”

But the reaction to hooliganism had to be coordinated by fans who felt appalled at what they were seeing on the terraces, a level of violence that almost sunk the sport.

Lest any Englishmen feel superior...

A terrace counterculture emerged to wrest football from the thugs, which included a left-wing fanzine scene (from which 11 Freunde, where I'm working, sprung up), as well as organisations such as the Büdnis aktiver Fussballfans (BAFF).

“The BAFF was founded in 1992 as an alliance against racism,” says Fuchs.

“For a short time it seemed to be a counterbalance to the right-wing extremist hooligans who came up during the 80s, especially at Dortmund.”

But as the hooligans here have been rolled back – in the top flight at least – say Fuchs, “the agenda has changed.”

So what's left of the right-versus-left culture? For that, you have to look east.

“That’s where the discussion about politics in German football is concentrated today,” says Fuchs.

“BFC Dynamo Berlin is infamous for its right-wing extremist hooligans. They have even advanced to the management of the club. At Leipzig right-wing supporters of Lok Leipzig prey on left-wing supporters of Chemie Leipzig.

"There are many more examples: Racism and right-wing political influence is an increasing problem there, especially in the lower leagues.”

It's a phenomenon corroborated recently by German tabloid Bild, who compiled a map of lower-league football violence in the country (click here to see map - it's in English).

Denial about the politics of this violence won’t solve the problem, one in part exacerbated by the realities of German reunification 20 years ago.

For much of the rest of the football-supporting public though, divisions along ideological lines have been replaced by a far healthier style of politicisation.

“If you put aside party politics, then German fans are definitely much more politicised than those in England or for that matter anywhere else," says Hesse.

"By which I mean they have their own politics.

"The fact we still have terraces, cheap tickets, football on free TV, no private owners of clubs and, yes, beer at the Bundesliga grounds is not a gift from above: the fans fought for that.”

Apathy can do the game we love a great disservice.

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Football's legendary hole-in-the-wall

Titus Chalk — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 15:00:00 GMT

What is the true measure of a footballer’s greatness?

Is it the number of medals he wins? Is it how loud the crowd roars when his name booms over the tannoy?

Or is it whether he can kick a ball through a hole on prime-time TV?

Well, in Germany they know what side their bread is buttered on, and they much prefer the kicking-the-ball-through-a-hole method.

It’s not just any hole, but the iconic Torwand – ‘Goal Wall’ – that separates the men from the boys.

And it has been a feature of German football culture since it debuted on the Saturday night football programme Das Aktuelles Sportstudio in 1966.

The Torwand is a goal-shaped wall with two holes cut in it: one in the bottom right hand corner and one in the top left.

That doesn’t quite do it justice though – it’s a gloriously old-school contraption that clashes marvellously with the slick surrounds of a 21st-century television studio.

It looks something like a blackboard with the squares of a net drawn on it in chalk by hand, possibly by a six-year-old but more likely by an under-paid intern.

Guests on the show get three shots at each hole in front of a baying studio audience and often come a cropper under such intense scrutiny.

In its 40-year existence, no one has put all six away.

So iconic has the Torwand become that copies of it pop up at fairs and in kids’ playgrounds the country over.

It’s the great leveller – a chance to beat the pros at their own game.

If you can score more than Rudi Völler, Jürgen Klinsmann or Frank Ribery, preferably in front of a mate or two, you are instantly a legend in your own lunchtime.

It's perfect for kids aspiring to match their idols, and not bad either for portly dads who can do away with all the running-around malarkey that makes up actual football matches and let their silky touch speak for itself.

But who are the heroes of the real Torwand, the stars who have embellished their reputations with a stunning Saturday night performance beamed to millions of German viewers?

The original and best is the one and only Gunter Netzer – the quintessential German maverick and one of the finest passers of the ball the country ever produced.

In 1974 he became the first person to score five times at the wall, doing so with a nonchalance that further cemented his place in footballing folklore. Watch him here.

It took until 1985 and Rudi Völler before anyone matched Netzer’s haul and since then six others have grabbed five goals at the Torwand, though no-one since 1999 has accomplished such a colossal feat.

Perhaps that says something about the modern player – one who has to take himself very seriously in public, especially when the cameras are rolling.

The real challenge of the Torwand, then, is not placing a ball in the holes, but doing so in your civvies, when you’re portraying yourself as person, not a player, have left your game face in the dressing room, and want to impress without showing that you’re fussed about impressing.

It’s a tough act to pull off.

The mighty Franz Beckenbauer, in one of his later cracks at the Torwand (statesmen of the German game will often be invited on the show several times), gave the perfect example of how to cut loose and enjoy the experience.

By 1994 he was liberated from the travails of being a player in the media spotlight, but was still a national treasure and figurehead at Bayern Munich when he rustled up this little beauty.

It's the Kaiser at his coolest – somebody get that man a(nother) pint.

A couple of honourable mentions should go to Frank Rost, the only goalkeeper to score five, and German comedian Otto Waalkes, who apparently back-heeled a shot into the top hole, though I can’t find video footage of this impressive stunt.

Even Lewis Hamilton managed four in 2007.

The big question for English fans should be – can we train our players to be any good at this?

If so, then perhaps we could skip penalties and settle future England vs Germany clashes at the Torwand.

It would be great to see FIFA officials ceremoniously wheel out the clunky old thing after 120 minutes of agonising drama in a World Cup knock-out game.

David Beckham would be nailed on for six out of six, justifying his place in the squad.

Aaron Lennon meanwhile could rustle up some daisy cutters to dribble through the bottom hole and Wayne Rooney would probably obliterate the damn thing.

There’s even a chance Emile Heskey could find the back of the Torwand.

Hang on. I’m going too far here...

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50+1 adds up to fan involvement

Titus Chalk — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 16:00:00 GMT

In amongst the frantically waved flags and billowing banners at Bundesliga games, there's a particularly unmissable one raised by fans of all clubs.

“50 + 1 muss bleiben” – “50 +1 must stay” – is a mantra for supporters here.

The ’50 + 1 rule’ is one of the cornerstones of German football and one that fans believe helps preserve the distinct nature of the nation’s football culture.

It enshrines the idea that clubs must be majority-owned by their members (thus a minimum of 51 percent), thereby preventing a single sugar daddy owner snaffling up the whole club.

The remaining 49 percent can be made available to investors, be it privately or via the stock market, but a controlling stake in the club cannot officially be bought.

The only two clubs exempt from this regulation are Wolfsburg and Bayer Leverkusen, who were founded as company teams (of Volkswagen and Bayer respectively).

When I asked my German colleagues why the rule remains so popular (when, for example, no German club has won the UEFA Champions League since Bayern Munich in 2001), the answer I got was “because we don’t want the sheikhs taking over our clubs.”

You can add to that the oligarchs, Americans and assorted carpet-baggers that make up the majority of new owners in English football.

If you asked fans of Newcastle, Portsmouth and Liverpool at various times this season if they would like more control over their clubs, it’s fairly safe to assume a resounding ‘yes’ would have been the answer.

Last week, at a meeting quickly overshadowed by the death of Robert Enke, Hannover 96 president Martin Kind called for the rule to be scrapped.

He has been banging that drum for some time, calling for greater financial freedom for clubs so that they can compete at the highest level.

“I think that it is a legitimate demand from investors to be able to have a substantial say on substantial issues," he says. "That’s why the change is necessary.”

But the Bundesliga’s other clubs, not to mention 100,000 fan signatories of a petition against the abolition of the rule, say otherwise – and 50 + 1 bleibt, 50 + 1 is staying... for the foreseeable future.

Is it a model that could work in England?

The notion of fan ownership has certainly grown in popularity in the past 10 years with the establishment of Supporters Direct, the organisation that provides advice and expertise to supporters’ trusts.

UEFA, too, see fan ownership as the most sustainable and desirable model for clubs.

However, the financial realities of English football have left these clubs competing on an uneven playing field, where clubs at all levels can with the right financial backing, punch above their weight.

A rule such as 50+1 could potentially combine the best of both worlds.

Examples here such as TSG 1899 Hoffenheim, who secured massive investment from software mogul Dietmar Hopp and shot up the divisions to the Bundesliga where they now reside in the top half of the table, demonstrate that investors can be found who are willing to work within the 50+1 framework.

Even blue-chip companies such as Audi, who are currently in talks with Bayern Munich about investing €100 million in the club, can be tempted to part with their cash for minority stakes.

In Germany the system has helped fans stay close to the clubs, maintained accessible ticket pricing and made the Bundesliga a league rich in culture, if not petro-dollars.

Is the kind of compromise between commercialisation and community you'd like to see at your club?

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Beer, meat and friends: My first German game

Titus Chalk — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 23:30:00 GMT

It doesn’t matter what country you’re in, Monday mornings after the Sunday before are never fun affairs.

Especially when that Sunday entailed a euphoric introduction to German football at Hertha Berlin vs FC Cologne.

Sebastien and Joscha, my guides for the day, met me on the tube before the game nice and early – 3pm for a 5.30pm kick-off.

Sebastien had been spinning a heady brew of Cologne hits and indie rock favourites at a party the night before and so wasn’t up for the traditional three laps of the Ringbahn (Berlin’s Circle Line) with the other Cologne fans.

He and Joscha did, however, have other important business to attend to.

With other Berlin-based Cologne fans they had prepared some banners the night before (the paintwork was good considering the state they must have been in) and had to get to the game early to meet the stadium security.

The Olympic Stadium on Berlin’s western fringe is a majestic structure, as some of you will have seen first-hand at the 2006 World Cup. Sebastien’s memory of that event is hazy.

“Oh, I came and saw Italy versus someone here… oh yes, France, the final," he recalls.

"Did I see Zidane’s headbutt? No, I was busy getting the beers in!”

The place is steeped in history. It’s also rather exposed, and on a November evening, bloody cold.

Olympiastadion (banner not pictured)

With the banners stowed ready to be whipped out for the visiting team as they charged from the tunnel, it was time for a beer.

Sadly though, the Olympic Stadium only sells Carlsberg – a sin in a country blessed with more wonderful beers than you can shake a stick at.

Still, we slurped away and the pre-match DJ blew my mind with Eddy Grant’s Electric Avenue, followed by David Bowie’s Let’s Dance.

As I live not only in Brixton (home of the original Electric Avenue) but on the street David Bowie was born on, I took it as a good omen.

Next up, Sussudio by Phil Collins was the icing on an excellent cake.

Some background: both Hertha and Cologne had dismal starts to the season. Hertha punched above their weight last season to finish fourth in the Bundesliga, but that was definitely last season.

Shorn during the summer of their best players (strikers Andriy Voronin and Marko Pantelic, as well as defender Josip Simunic), they’ve been leaking goals at the back, and scoring none up front.

With one win in 11 (the first game of the season) going into this match, they were well and truly rooted to the bottom of the Bundesliga table.

Cologne, the only team to have scored fewer goals this season than Hertha, aren’t much cop either.

Star striker Lukas Podolski has scored only once this season and the team lovingly known as the Geißböcke (the Billy Goats) have been flirting with the relegation zone.

Whispers concerning manager Zvonimir Soldo’s future have so far been minimal, but a loss to Hertha would undermine him.

This was a Kellerduel, a basement clash, and even this early in the season a Sechs Punkte Spiel – a six-pointer.

The Cologne fans were out in force to support their team – and the main away section was quickly packed out with flag-waving, drum-bashing and megaphone-wielding fans in red and white.

Or, in one person’s case, a bizarre turquoise shellsuit. Is David Icke a Billy Goat?

Icke. He kept goal for Hereford United, y'know

Although the Olympic Stadium is nominally all-seater, I don’t think I went near my designated plastic pew once.

Everyone happily floated around, chatting away while drinking beer or what might have been mulled wine.

The Cologne fans had brought their famous carnival vibes and it was more like being at a house-party than a football match.

But with the clock ticking down to kick-off though, Joscha, Sebastien and I scuttled up to unfurl the welcome banner for the Cologne players.

I was a banner virgin. Never made one; never waved one; abstained, like some goodie two shoes.

Well, had I ever been missing out!

The Cologne fans greeted the tannoy announcement of each Hertha player with cries of “Arschloch!” (a***hole!) and we waited patiently at the front of the tier above them, soaking up the roar.

Out from the tunnel ran the players and with earnest coordination us banner-bearers dangled our message over the front of the barrier. “WO MIR SIN IS KÖLLE” it proudly stated in giant red Cologne dialect: “Where we are, is Cologne.”

Cue bedlam below us; vociferous chanting at us, fists pumping, cameras flashing, beers aloft.

It was the nearest I’m ever going to get to being Mick Jagger and I thoroughly loved it.

Then the football. I can’t remember much about the first half, other than the fact that both sides were bad, Cologne more so.

But we were too busy chatting and chanting to care. Hertha were attacking the goal in front of us and had the best openings, but a lack of quality in the finishing department did for their ambitions.

The second half was more memorable for several reasons.

Firstly, I sampled my first Bratwurst, or Stadionwurst as they’re dubbed at games.

For the uninitiated, I’m talking about a foot-long sausage lolling jauntily from a tiny bread mitten.

It is meat fetishism at its most unabashed. Any notion of nutritional balance is jettisoned and the pork sword is celebrated in all its swinesome beauty.

I asked Sebastien about the ridiculously small bread, but he didn’t understand what I was getting at.

“If it was bigger you could have onions as well,” I ventured. He looked back at me baffled: “But that would be a hot dog.”

World Cup 2006: A silly sausage. And a Stadionworst

I caused further consternation by smothering my Bratwurst in both ketchup and mustard.

Here, it’s strictly one or the other (mustard on pretzels is also sadly a non-starter).

The second half’s other standout moment was the Flitzer – the stark-naked-except-for-a-hat streaker who scampered across the pitch to roars of approval from the crowd.

We mustn’t encourage such behaviour of course, but you’ve got to hand it to the guy – it was bit-shrinkingly cold out there and he galloped through the Cologne defence with no fear for his modesty.

I can only hope that security gave him a blanket and some mulled wine to warm himself up with.

In the 79th minute, Cologne striker Milivoje Novakovic did the decent thing and put the game largely out of its misery with a completely undeserved goal. We went bonkers, natürlich.

When the final whistle finally came, we trooped from the stadium with glee, chanting at the moon and singing songs (I think) about chucking Hertha in the Spree river that runs through Berlin, pausing only to claim back the deposits on our plastic beer cups.

It was a fantastic night and in some of the blurrier moments, probably the most elated I’ve felt at a football match.

I wore the Cologne badge Joscha had given me home with pride, wolfed down a horrendous kebab that tasted like Christmas cake, then passed out.

For my first Bundesliga experience, I’ve got to say, I was blown away.

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Bring on the German experience

Titus Chalk — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 13:30:00 GMT

Three days in and the snow has already started.

Berlin in the winter seems a formidable place, but the excitement and vitality coursing through the city is unlikely to diminish, whatever the elements.

That’s what I kept telling myself anyway, before my first trip to a Bundesliga game.

I’m in Berlin for two months, a Brit out of water, doing work experience at German football magazine 11 Freunde (11 Friends) – a very fun magazine, somewhere between When Saturday Comes and our own dear FourFourTwo.

Its office above a theatre in the former East Berlin is a great vantage point, not only from which to watch the snow tipping down, but also from which to contemplate the idiosyncrasies of German football and the fans who follow it.

I think it would be fair to say that German football is something of an enigma to us Brits.

We suspect that the quality might not actually be that great (Exhibit A: Andriy Voronin’s 11-goal success last season), but we’re jealous of the cheap safe standing, the beers and the bratwurst – three reasons to make you forget any technical deficiencies.

The Germans, in turn, cast an admiring gaze our way: English football seems popular here.

I had a meeting recently with a Lieutenant-Colonel from the Bundeswehr (German army), and the first thing he did was slap me on the back and say, “Hallo Herr Chalk, I’m huge Blades fan!”

He was, in fact, the first Sheffield United fan I’d met.

My colleagues in the office here are also impressed by the creativeness of English chants – especially the one Spurs fans had, willingly offering up their wives to Paul Stalteri.

Whether Borussia Mönchengladbach supporters are as generous to their current right-back, I can only wonder, but shall endeavour to find out.

Meanwhile, if there is anything about German football culture that has you scratching your head, be sure to ask.

I’m certainly no expert yet, but finding out the answers is bound to be an adventure.

As they say here, Los jetzt! – Bring it on!

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NEW! FFT.com's German fixtures, results & tables section
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