On the fourth floor of the Galleria Kaufhaus in Berlin, just off of the Alexanderplatz Hauptbahnhof, lies a typical section for department stores: the athletic wear. Marking this one different from most athletic departments right now is the squeals and screams.
While most of these euphoric cries belong to little Kinder, I find mine among them. I’m not alone here for long, a boy not yet 10 joins me as we await our new white Nationalmannschaft jerseys. We beam proudly at each other as the salesman asks me what player’s name I want stamped on my jersey. Before I answer, he says, “Müller, ja?”
All I’ve got for him is a hearty “Naturlich.”
New jerseys on hand, the boy and I smile and wave goodbye, barely containing ourselves, wanting to throw on the new jerseys immediately. We’re coming off the bliss of the Brazil-Germany game emphatically.
Not until Sunday, July 13, do I let nerves settle into my excitement. My fellow UA study abroad students and I make plans to meet at two for lunch—providing plenty of time to march to the Brandenburg Gate and see the World Cup final at nine o’clock—Germany versus Argentina.
Our trek doesn’t begin until 5, showcasing what natural Germans we aren’t, and we arrive at the station letting out at the Brandenburg Gate with only 3 hours till gameplay. Tuscaloosa football fans might understand arriving so early to an important game; what might be a stretch is realizing we weren’t even fighting for seats, but for places to stand. The Gate was blocked off with police cars, and we had to walk around the entire area to reach the opposite side of the gate, passing embassies and walking with others on what is called the Fan Mile.
Settled, a few beers on hand and an envy growing for those with currywurst, we stood waiting, staring at the big screen in front of us, showing the concert and celebrations going on at the actual gate, loud music overlaying lots of German cheers. We mingled with our neighbors in the rain, one from Austria, another Australia, another America, and lots of Germans. The best way to pass time: lots of selfies, lots of games of “never have I ever.”
Game beginning, the depressed emotions associated with feet ache molded into pure excitement and eager study of the screen. Here we learned all kinds of cheers and songs—from the simplistic “Deutschland! Deutschland!” to the confusing “Schiess ein Tor!” (Make a goal) which sounds a lot like “close the door” along with something else a little less savory.
As time wore on, as goals were not made, the gate became a place of angst, apprehension, turning into a nail-biting frenzy. People became more dissatisfied with being breathed on and coughed on by strangers, and then it happened. Number __ Götze.
The goal.
1-0 is all it takes to win a World Cup, to become Weltmeister. It may have taken 100+ minutes, but it was enough to set the town of Berlin (and probably all Germany) ablaze with fireworks. We ran through the streets, danced to the chaotic drums of street performers, saluted the statue of victory, yelled “Weltmeister” at the top of our longs, and sang “We Are the Champions” with people we had never met as though they were our best friends. We hollered on the S-Bahn and smeared more yellow, red, and black face paint on. We were Germans in that moment, and we wore German jerseys.
But when I had woken up later to get dressed, I donned on my old jersey, a red and black one I got at Epcot at 13, back when I only dreamed of being in Germany. It was a calculated decision. The new one, while beautiful and stunning, hadn’t been with me during any games. I’ve worn this red jersey for years, and with every game Germany played this season, red was for me.
And while I’m not naturally superstitious or anything like “Silver Linings Playbook,” I do like certain traditions. Moreover, there’s a running joke about my jersey: I haven’t washed it since I came to Berlin, though I’ve worn it…let’s just say a lot.
The next day, most everyone skips out on class. The Germans, don’t. Aside from colored newspapers—“Wer sind Helden!”—I stand out in my new jersey. An old couple on the train gives me a laugh when they see me so attired and carrying my copy of the paper. This is Germany—people don’t stop everything for a game. But in the atmosphere you can feel it. The victory, the accomplishment. Signs dot the streets suddenly—“Alle sind Weltmeister.” You feel like a hero.
I wear the new jersey two days in a row. On Tuesday, July 15, the team came to the Fan Mile straight from the airport to be welcomed home. Some 300,000 people and I, alone, waited from 6:30 a.m. to 1 p.m. to see these heroes of our time, this so-called “Fußball Gott” Klosse and his comrades. Seeing them—just 20 feet away—it solidifies in my mind.
When someone is going after something difficult, they have to play all their cards while trying new things. Seeing Klosse, you know experience counts for more. I keep thinking on the jerseys. Again with the superstition, but I wore my old one during all the games. I’ve had a life in that jersey. And so that’s how I feel I ought to be with all things—assuring I don’t leave old truths and lessons behind. Noteworthy, of course, is that a 22 year old scored the final goal in the World Cup. That’s the other side of the thesis: new experiences have lots to offer.
So here is what the World Cup in Germany is all about: win in the old jersey, celebrate in the new. You’re going to have a good time in both, and if you’re lucky, you’ll realize some things about yourself.
