Of course what the lift of The Curse actually means is that England are no doubt set for some vintage World Cup heartbreak. The match is of course massive, not least for the brilliant yet bizarre group of people I encountered in Kilian’s Irish Pub / Ned Kelly’s Australian Bar (a curious half and half mix) in Frauenplatz while watching England’s must-win match against Slovenia. I expected many things from Munich and many of them I got - huge plates of food, massive jugs of beer, cute girls with Germany flags painted on their cheeks - but there was a host of surprises as well. The entire first verse of God Save the Queen being sang by distinctly heavy German accents was definitely one of them.
Another was getting the dubious pleasure of watching the game on the BBC: in fact, as I was served a pint of Strongbow by an Aussie, while Mark Lawrenson whined on in the background, surrounded by bald blokes in England shirts called Dave, it felt like I’d never left London. But for the most part I avoided the Big Daves and Small Pauls - I certainly haven’t missed that guy in the pub who feels the need to shout ‘FACK OFF’ every time the referee gives a free kick against England - and instead spoke to a Ralf, a Daniel and a Ludwig:
Daniel spoke with a heavy Munich accent, a follower of 1860 München, but wore a classic white Euro ‘96 era England shirt. Ralf, similarly, was clearly a German but had 4 Gerrard on the back of the red away strip. Ludwig went for the new home strip.
I quickly established Daniel’s story - his father was English (his surname was Hayes), so his support for the Three Lions was somewhat understandable. Ralf had studied for a year in Newcastle and had fallen in love with English people, English culture and most of all English football - a healthy enough reason but perhaps slightly less understandable when you realise how far he took his support. Ludwig was an England supporter simply because the others told him he was.
What I struggled to understand, in particular, was their willingness to translate this support into absolute preference to England over Germany. “Who would you support if we played Germany in the next round?” I asked Daniel. “England, every single time.” A few moments later, Ralf burst into one of his favourite chants: “England Five! / Germany One! / Michael Owen is number one!” I barely hear that chant in England. And before you knew it, they were singing our national anthem better than we ever do and the whole pub joined in. I guess you could make an argument for the Queen being as much theirs as she is ours.
We were, of course, all delighted with Jermain Defoe’s first half strike (as a pre-tournament defender of Emile Heskey I think I, along with Fabio, now have to accept defeat), particularly as we felt that it not only secured qualification but also declared us champions of Group C. And then the news came through that those damn Capitalist Dogs had scored in the dying seconds of their match against Algeria. So wrapped up I was in Anglo-German interconnections, I had completely forgotten what this must have meant to our opponents until I got home late that night and received a message from my Norwegian friends. For Christor and Emir, the curse lived on in Slovenia - not only a 1-0 defeat but utter heartbreak as the Little Dragons crashed out. Sara informs me grown men were crying in Lepa Žoga - as I considered just how incredibly gutting USA‘s goal must have been, I very nearly shed a tear also.
But there are two sides to every story. The Yanks had a perfectly good goal disallowed at 2-2 vs the Slovenians, and I’m told the same fate befell them vs Algeria, so realistically justice was done by Landon Donovan’s late strike. That’s certainly how Paul Kochniuk and Julian Boyce felt, two extremely friendly and very delighted Americans I met outside Ned Kelly’s following the full time whistle. Defeat of Ghana would mean another World Cup quarter final appearance for the US, a worthy achievement for sure.
The Park Café biergarten on Sophianstrasse was the location for the Germany - Ghana match, and it was truly packed to the rafters:
The venue had been suggested to me by a friend of a friend, Philip Elam (to my shame I didn’t get a picture of him) who, along with English companions, quickly derided me for accidentally picking up a litre of Rothaus Radler instead of the Rothaus Pils. “Typical Villa fan,” said Coventry City supporting Philip. “Drinking his shandy.” It was a confusing bar system, alright guys?
The atmosphere was distinctly tense - although the Germans make a routine of being absurdly confident of victory in every match they play, they weren’t used to the prospect of elimination being a reality only three games into a tournament. And you never know, perhaps a few of them had read the blog and knew I was knocking about in the country somewhere, ready to scupper their World Cup hopes.
But it wasn’t to be, and in the 60th minute the place erupted:
Although I didn’t fancy meeting the Germans over Ghana much, I revelled in the relief of experiencing a winning atmosphere. Wandering the streets of Munich afterwards, I approached anyone in German colours I could find - surprise surprise, they all spoke near perfect English - and asked them if they thought they would beat us in Round Two. Each and every one, without a moments hesitation, said ‘yes.’ These Germans don’t do doubt, they don’t do lack of confidence and they most definitely don’t do losing. Here’s to a massive shock to their system on Sunday.
The final group game on my schedule is, essentially, a dead rubber with Holland through and Cameroon out. However, as my stay in Amsterdam is to be extended for a full weekend and beyond, the likelihood is I will also see their second round match also. I have my orange on and look forward to experiencing Dutch hospitality, as well as not getting a train for a few days. Heej!
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Holland
Tournament odds 9/1Remember the last time? Actually, not too much. Got through 'Group of Death' with relative ease then lost in a farcical ecounter with Portugal.
Who do I recognise? Their attacking talent is of course among the finest in the world, with van Persie, Sneijder, van der Vaart, Robben and, er, Dirk Kuyt enough to strike the fear of God into any defence. Their back line is less familiar.
Jarek’s Prophetic Vision Assuming England don’t, I really really want Holland to win this tournament. However, I’d bet on a semi final exit.
Jarek’s Prophetic Match Vision Holland to play apathetically and lose 2-1 - thus presenting me with a second round dilemma on whether to stick around or go to Spain.
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