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My efforts to get this week’s live football fix saw me take a departure from the blood and guts of the English Premier League, and instead head for the slightly odd world of the German Bundesliga.
After three days of absorbing the fascinating history and bizarre food of Berlin, my brother and I decided to venture to the Olympic Stadium to lend our support to our new second team – Hertha Berlin. Sitting at the bottom of the league and conceding goals on what must be a commission basis; there were obvious similarities between our own team West Ham, and the German capital’s premier club.
We were hoping that this loose connection may be strengthened as the experience progressed. Perhaps Hertha sing a German rendition of “Bubbles” before kick off? Or maybe they play in the same enterprising but ultimately unsuccessful style? Whatever the case, we were willing Hertha to convert us into lifelong fans. We understood their pain, and were ready to join in their suffering.
As we boarded the train towards the stadium there was barely room to see out of the window and it was clear the attendance would be on the large side. It was also clear that the crowd would be in good spirits, with seemingly every single man, woman and child regularly swigging from huge bottles of beer. Boris Johnson would have been most annoyed.
Our walk towards the ticket office saw us pass a plethora of merchandise stalls – many selling official products and many more selling cheap imitations. I bought a cheap imitation scarf in the blue and white stripes worn by Hertha – mainly as a way of surviving the arctic temperatures but also as an attempt to fit in with my new colleagues.
As we queued for the tickets and practised our unique blend of German, English and English words said in German accents, we were struck by how cheap the tickets were for a game played in what has to be considered one of the most impressive stadia in Europe – just 16€ each. We skipped away from the ticket booth with the look of people that had been mistakenly undercharged and were trying to flee the scene before being asked to pay the accurate amount.
Unlike in most English grounds, the turnstiles for the stadium were set some 50 metres away from the actual structure. Once through the gates, we were greeted to something akin to a summer festival - with plenty of bars, food outlets, merchandise stalls and participation activities for the fans to enjoy. An odd playlist including the likes of Lady Gaga and Kool and the Gang blared out of the back of a brand new 4x4 vehicle, which I presume was the prize for some competition we were unaware of or didn’t understand we had entered. To the left of the action, a group of children were playing football on a small patch of grass. It all had the feel of something arranged by Radio 1 rather than a professional football club.
Once inside the ground, we were instantly hit by its sheer size. We were later to learn that just shy of 50,000 people were at the match, but in a ground that cavernous the clusters of empty seats that did exist looked as if they numbered tens of thousands rather than a few hundred.
Our seats were behind the goal and gave us an excellent view of the ground’s interior in its entirety. We also found that we had been placed directly above the section reserved for Hertha’s most vocal supporters. Half an hour before the game was due to kick off, the section was packed with thousands of flag waving and scarf bearing (albeit with scarves tied at the writs, not the neck) fans, who were being whipped into a frenzy by an unseen figure with a megaphone. His tinny instructions were followed en masse by loud, aggressive chants and occasionally jumping movements.
As we approached kick off, the PA system played the club’s official song which my brother and I instantly recognised as a German version of Rod Stewart’s “Sailing”. I’m not sure if Scotland’s biggest cockney is aware that one of his songs is used to inspire a German football team, but I think even he would be surprised that they had chosen “Sailing” in particular. Although I can’t imagine “Hot Legs” or “If you think I’m sexy” would be much use in helping Hertha claw their way out of relegation trouble either.
The most bizarre spectacle of the evening was reserved for after the official song had been sung though. With kick off just seconds away, the lights within the ground were turned off and the pitch was in complete darkness. A neon light show then began at one end of the ground, as dramatic classical music roared out of the speakers. It was pure choreographed live entertainment and like nothing either of us had seen at a football match before. In fact, we were half expecting Simon Cowell, Danni Minogue et al to emerge from the tunnel and not football players.
With the light show over and the game underway, it was clear that Hertha and West Ham share a number of similarities on the pitch - even if not off it. Their nervy defence looked like being breached with every attack, and despite the midfield’s efforts to get the ball to the forwards; they looked less than dangerous as an attacking force. In saying that, the visitors FC Koln were hardly impressive and there seemed to be a gulf in quality compared with what even the most mediocre of Premier League teams are capable of.
At half time it was 0-0 and neither goalkeeper had really been called into action. As our German friends concentrated on refilling their plastic beer flasks, we made the most of the unexpected opportunity to visit the club shop. The club’s lowly league position and poor first half performance had done little to diminish the home supporters’ love of their team – with replica shirts, scarves and dog leads in Hertha colours all being snapped up in their droves.
We returned to our seats to find the hardcore Hertha supporters still being instructed by the man with the megaphone, and still in good voice. Unfortunately there was no change on the pitch either, as both sides struggled to keep the ball and create any chances. Hertha were slightly better though, and the majority of the remainder of game was played out in FC Koln’s half. We sensed a goal was coming, and we were right. Unfortunately it was for the visitors, as the Hertha defence fell asleep at a late set piece.
Just as at West Ham this season, the home fans had seen this story before and knew the ending only too well. Many of them were heading for the exit and my brother and I joined them as yet another Hertha attacked fizzled out without an attempt on goal. As we sat on the train home, we were genuinely disappointed and I knew then that I had what it takes to follow Hertha.
The casual alcoholism, odd soundtrack and game show-style set up made the whole experience slightly surreal. In England, it would have been attacked for being so contrived and commercially driven but somehow it all seemed to work. The atmosphere throughout our time at the ground was excellent. Families watched the game alongside groups of hardened thirty something males, and everyone seemed to join in the fun.
Going to the match seemed to be like a huge event that was there to be enjoyed rather than endured, making a welcome change from the misery of sitting at the foot of the Premier League. I very much hope to make a return trip to see Hertha, and that my cheap imitation scarf survives to join me.
