| 21.09.2009 |
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| As threatened, here's a blow-by-blow account of my visit to the Olympic Stadium on Sunday to watch Hertha Berlin against Freiburg. The city of Berlin has both an above-ground and underground subway system, but the former is currently out of commission because it's operated by Germany's national rail company and Hertha's main sponsor, the Deutsche Bahn. It's seems that some penny-pinching folks at the Bahn thought they could save money by not checking the brakes. So my partner-in-crime Kaspar and I had no choice to go subterranean. Kaspar, who's in the sixth grade, is very knowledgeable young football fan, and what could be better than to spend a beautiful late summer day watching the beautiful game with someone not yet jaded by the ups-and-downs of the German capital club? As it turned out the weather was a bit too beautiful, and the game could hardly have been uglier. The match kicked off with the home fans booing luckless striker Artur Wichniarek and coach Lucien Favre, and Hertha conceded a goal within five minutes after their interior defense did a disappearing act. Three more goals were to follow, all for Freiburg, and all set up by horrible lapses at the back for Hertha. It wasn't that Freiburg were any good. Hertha were simply dreadful. It was the worst defensive performance I've seen since Turbine Potsdam lost last season's women's cup final 7-nil. I write "seen," although much of the time I was peering against a glaring sun that was pleasant on the skin but full of unpleasant consequences to come. Now, for the record, I'd like to say that I only had two beers at the match and wasn't even feeling that queasy about the debacle, as Kaspar and I crammed ourselves into the over-crowded subway car for the hour's journey. But halfway through, I noticed that something was seriously wrong. Beads of sweat began dripping off my forehead and everything started to spin. I just made it out of the train and to garbage can on a station platform before becoming violently ill. I used to think violently ill was a metaphor. I know better now. With a bit of luck and forbearance from my young friend, we made it home in the end, and I'll spare you the rest of the gory details of my night. I think it was a case of sun stroke. But I'm not entirely sure. I've seen lots of sporting performance that made me want to puke. This Sunday, it's possible I saw one that actually did make me lose my lunch. |
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