An excellent article from Financial Times. Most of you will agree with the points raised by the author. A beautiful game that won Germany an unlikely fan club By Frederick Studemann They can pass, they can play as a team and they can score goals – lots of them. Add to that athleticism and speed, an absence of dodgy haircuts and not too many horrible tattoos, and the German football team starts to add up to something quite watchable. Regardless of whether they win or lose the World Cup final against Argentina on Sunday, Die Mannschaft of 2014 has already booked its place among the ranks of crowd-thrilling teams. Not many get to out-Brazil Brazil 7-1. Even more remarkably, it is not just Germans who are cheering on Thomas Müller and company. In one of the more surprising changes in fortune, the German football team has captured affections way beyond the Fatherland. Even in England. It was not always like this. I can just about remember sitting down as a young boy to watch the 1974 World Cup final 40 years ago this week. It was at the Stockwell house of an aunt and uncle, one German, the other partially so. Were they cheering on the boys in white and black, the Beckenbauers, Overaths and Müllers who made up one of the best-ever German teams? Not a bit of it. The cheers that afternoon were for the Netherlands. It was partly on grounds of taste – the Dutch team of the 1970s really was something else. If you were after beautiful football then you rooted for men in orange, even if they were heading for a loser’s medal. It was a salutary lesson. Following that 2-1 win in Munich came an impressive tally of victories: another World Cup, a couple of European Championships and, even if they did not scoop the prize, they were, it seemed, always either runners-up or in the semi finals. However, for all the success of “Panzerfussball” it inspired little affection. Instead it spawned an array of poetic and original insights about the nature of German football: ruthless, clinical, efficient, well-organised at the back. How we laughed as for decades these were hoofed upfield by pundits as they made their way towards that most phlegmatic of aphorisms about football being a game of 22 men chasing a ball for 90 minutes and in the end the Germans winning. Any supporters of German football were left in no doubt about where the world’s sympathies lay. Things began to change in the middle of the past decade when, after an array of poor performances and missed prizes, German football was fundamentally revolutionised. The talent spotting and training system was overhauled; on the pitch the best practices from around the world were identified and deployed (with clinical ruthlessness, of course). Soon the national team was held up as a symbol of a new Germany – one where players from the formerly communist east stood next to descendants of immigrants, a team that prized energy and flair over dogged determination, a team that could inspire an uninhibited display of national enthusiasm at home, without anyone abroad getting too antsy about all those massive crowds and the flag-waving. It was a sentiment that carried off the pitch, as dull old Germany was recast as a cool place of edgy fun. For veterans of those decades when, on or off the pitch, the country was admired but never really liked, it was frankly all a bit disorientating. Had you told me a decade ago that English football fans – flushed with all the effortless superiority of the plutocratic Premier League – would be extolling the earthy virtues of the Bundesliga, where clubs are still locally owned and season tickets can be had for less than the price of a flat in Clapham, I would have made my excuses and left. In the past few weeks alone I have been on the receiving end of two detailed water cooler explanations about why the Borussia Dortmund fan base is a model the likes of Arsenal and Chelsea would do well to follow. Sure, some old habits die hard. Tuesday night’s game saw some of the old familiars – Blitzkrieg, Achtung, Brazil is not Poland – roll out across Twitter. But it is nothing compared to the old days; one could almost feel a bit sentimental. If Germany wins on Sunday, it will no doubt be seen as a further symbolic expression of the country’s evolution since the second world war. Each of the country’s three World Cup victories marks a particular period in (west) German history: 1954, when the outlaw nation began to claw its way back to international acceptance; 1974, the flush of the Wirtschaftswunder generation who had escaped war; 1990, the economic powerhouse on course for reunification. The Germany of 2014 is the pre-eminent power of Europe (for now). But for all the impressive records one thing has lately been missing: silverware. As one of those pundits might say, with all the dourness that a life in defence brings with it: when it comes to the prizes, the Germans cannot finish. Not every game has been as spectacular as that victory over a very poor Brazilian side. For countries that might be grateful for the odd goal and the occasional chance to make it beyond the group stages, all of this may seem a bit indulgent. But 24 years have passed since a German team lifted the World Cup. Defeat to Argentina would take the country that much closer to joining those crybaby comics of yesteryear in wailing about “30 years of hurt”. Germany may in that sense be becoming like everyone else, which might be one reason why others like them. That is something of a victory – regardless of the result on Sunday.
Posted on: Sun, 13 Jul 2014 23:29:06 +0000
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