schalke81
Sep 15 2002, 10:41 AM
brilliant article which i read on (dare i say ) soccernet. i hope i can post this here:
Forget Europe, this is derby day
By Uli Hesse-Lichtenberger
At the 2001 UEFA Cup final in Dortmund, I met Deportivo Alaves fans sporting stickers saying 'I'm not Spanish, I'm Basque.' They explained to me that people we conveniently call Spaniards are strong on regional pride and that this is why Spain's national team so frequently self-combusts.
I told them that this irrational quirk is not at all unfamilar to Germans, that our country was made up of kingdoms and principalities until the late 19th century, and that local patriotism often comes before nationalism. The Basques seemed sceptical. Either because they considered Germans to be technocrats incapable of emotions, or because the success of our national team made them doubt the analogy.
But I wasn't kidding. Just the other day I came across a Green Party poster for the upcoming general election. It said: 'Yes to immigration - * with one exception'. The exception was pictured below, the candidate for the Christian Democrats, Edmund Stoiber. Stoiber, you see, is from Bavaria, which makes him a foreigner in the eyes of everybody living north of Nuremberg.
What's good enough for German politics has always been good enough for German soccer. And in soccer, you don't even have to come from another region to be considered suspect, it's more than enough to hail from the other side of the street.
In the early 1920s, the two best teams in this country were the sister cities Nuremberg and Fuerth, who hated each other with a passion. When the German national team played Holland in 1924, the squad travelled to Amsterdam in two separate railroad carriages -* one for the Fuerth players, one for the Nuremberg players. As a Fuerth striker scored the winning goal, his team-mates from Nuremberg turned their backs on him.
So rivalries and derbies have a long tradition in Germany. And if there's ever been a week that deserved to be called Derby Week, it's this one. On Tuesday, it was Bayern Munich v 1860 Munich and VfL Bochum v Borussia Dortmund.
On Saturday, Bayern will travel to Nuremberg, Schalke to Dortmund. But while it's great to have four tradition-laden clashes in five days, it's also an occasion to reflect on the fact that the soccer boom decade of the 1990s diluted many derbies.
Bayern v 1860 was an important match until roughly ten years ago. Whenever Bayern travelled to 1860's cozy Gruenwalder Strasse ground, the idea was that the people's club (1860) had to defend the people's game against mercenary cosmopolitans.
But in 1992, Karl-Heinz Wildmoser became 1860's president, and saw Bayern not as detestable neighbours but as more sophisticated brothers to be emulated. (He's even a registered Bayern member!)
This was bad news for the diehard 1860 fans, but much worse was their club leaving their own ground to share the Olympic Stadium with Bayern in 1996.
Yes, their old place was dilapidated ('You sure there's running warm water here?' Leverkusen's Ulf Kirsten asked an 1860 player during his first visit), but the fans loved it. Many swore to never set foot in the Olympic Stadium, and I personally know some fans who will now only watch 1860's amateur team, who still play at Gruenwalder Strasse.
While the problem with the Bayern v 1860 derby is that 1860 have sold their identity, the Dortmund v Schalke clash suffers from the curse of success. All through the 1970s and 1980s, this was the biggest grudge match of them all.
Germans first learned about modern hooliganism when a police report revealed that hidden weapons had been found on Schalke and Dortmund supporters before a derby in the early 1970s.
And as late as 1994, a former Schalke player was elected club president only because he held a five-minute speech that centred around the sentence: 'In my days, we didn't even change into kits before beating Dortmund!' (Three months later, he made room for a more competent man.)
At that time Dortmund and Schalke had only one German Cup victory between them to show for 28 years of trying. Since then, they have collected eight major trophies. And such sudden riches alter objectives.
In late 1997, Schalke played at Dortmund. Accompanied by chants of 'The Ruhr, the Ruhr', Schalke official Charly Neumann walked over to the Dortmund stands to say hello.
Dortmund had just won the Champions League, Schalke the UEFA Cup, and the chants signalled that the Ruhr region now considered itself the heartland of European soccer. It was a full three minutes before the first cup of beer hit Neumann. An eternity.
I'm not advocating throwing things at people and I'm certainly not waiting for hooliganism to come back. But something integral to soccer culture has been lost when it's more about glory than passion.
And that's the case when Bayern Munich feel their rivals are Real Madrid, not 1860, and when Dortmund and Schalke fans consider beating Bayern more important than winning the derby.
That 'Ruhr' chant was more than an expression of regional pride, it was directly aimed at Bayern and their belief that they are the club that truly represents Germany in Europe.
These days, everybody wants to be Bayern, everybody wants to play in Europe. If a derby is lost along the way, so what? Everybody has become a mercenary cosmopolitan.
Maybe not everybody. Bochum have made not being megalomaniac, not being Bayern, their trademark. True, before the game against Dortmund, their fans held up a sign reading 'Kneel Down For The League Leaders.'
But that was irony, a reference to the fact that they had never topped the Bundesliga table before, while the visitors from ten minutes down the road own an impressive trophy cabinet. The Bochum crowd wildly cheered the team after the goalless draw, something I haven't seen in a long time.
Old-fashioned modesty also lives on in Nuremberg, where they have all but lost their ancient foes Fuerth to the modern age (Fuerth merged with a small club in 1996 for financial reasons). Nuremberg could have become a club with European aspirations in the early 1980s. But between 1986 and 1989, they lost their four best players to Bayern Munich and quietly faded away.
But on Saturday, Nuremberg could help themselves in the relegation fight, take belated revenge for the four-player steal, and hurt a Bavarian rival. And they're also waiting for their 1000th Bundesliga goal.
Now there's a true soccer thrill. Who cares about Real Madrid? Because Nuremberg certainly don't.
[/quote]
Forget Europe, this is derby day
By Uli Hesse-Lichtenberger
At the 2001 UEFA Cup final in Dortmund, I met Deportivo Alaves fans sporting stickers saying 'I'm not Spanish, I'm Basque.' They explained to me that people we conveniently call Spaniards are strong on regional pride and that this is why Spain's national team so frequently self-combusts.
I told them that this irrational quirk is not at all unfamilar to Germans, that our country was made up of kingdoms and principalities until the late 19th century, and that local patriotism often comes before nationalism. The Basques seemed sceptical. Either because they considered Germans to be technocrats incapable of emotions, or because the success of our national team made them doubt the analogy.
But I wasn't kidding. Just the other day I came across a Green Party poster for the upcoming general election. It said: 'Yes to immigration - * with one exception'. The exception was pictured below, the candidate for the Christian Democrats, Edmund Stoiber. Stoiber, you see, is from Bavaria, which makes him a foreigner in the eyes of everybody living north of Nuremberg.
What's good enough for German politics has always been good enough for German soccer. And in soccer, you don't even have to come from another region to be considered suspect, it's more than enough to hail from the other side of the street.
In the early 1920s, the two best teams in this country were the sister cities Nuremberg and Fuerth, who hated each other with a passion. When the German national team played Holland in 1924, the squad travelled to Amsterdam in two separate railroad carriages -* one for the Fuerth players, one for the Nuremberg players. As a Fuerth striker scored the winning goal, his team-mates from Nuremberg turned their backs on him.
So rivalries and derbies have a long tradition in Germany. And if there's ever been a week that deserved to be called Derby Week, it's this one. On Tuesday, it was Bayern Munich v 1860 Munich and VfL Bochum v Borussia Dortmund.
On Saturday, Bayern will travel to Nuremberg, Schalke to Dortmund. But while it's great to have four tradition-laden clashes in five days, it's also an occasion to reflect on the fact that the soccer boom decade of the 1990s diluted many derbies.
Bayern v 1860 was an important match until roughly ten years ago. Whenever Bayern travelled to 1860's cozy Gruenwalder Strasse ground, the idea was that the people's club (1860) had to defend the people's game against mercenary cosmopolitans.
But in 1992, Karl-Heinz Wildmoser became 1860's president, and saw Bayern not as detestable neighbours but as more sophisticated brothers to be emulated. (He's even a registered Bayern member!)
This was bad news for the diehard 1860 fans, but much worse was their club leaving their own ground to share the Olympic Stadium with Bayern in 1996.
Yes, their old place was dilapidated ('You sure there's running warm water here?' Leverkusen's Ulf Kirsten asked an 1860 player during his first visit), but the fans loved it. Many swore to never set foot in the Olympic Stadium, and I personally know some fans who will now only watch 1860's amateur team, who still play at Gruenwalder Strasse.
While the problem with the Bayern v 1860 derby is that 1860 have sold their identity, the Dortmund v Schalke clash suffers from the curse of success. All through the 1970s and 1980s, this was the biggest grudge match of them all.
Germans first learned about modern hooliganism when a police report revealed that hidden weapons had been found on Schalke and Dortmund supporters before a derby in the early 1970s.
And as late as 1994, a former Schalke player was elected club president only because he held a five-minute speech that centred around the sentence: 'In my days, we didn't even change into kits before beating Dortmund!' (Three months later, he made room for a more competent man.)
At that time Dortmund and Schalke had only one German Cup victory between them to show for 28 years of trying. Since then, they have collected eight major trophies. And such sudden riches alter objectives.
In late 1997, Schalke played at Dortmund. Accompanied by chants of 'The Ruhr, the Ruhr', Schalke official Charly Neumann walked over to the Dortmund stands to say hello.
Dortmund had just won the Champions League, Schalke the UEFA Cup, and the chants signalled that the Ruhr region now considered itself the heartland of European soccer. It was a full three minutes before the first cup of beer hit Neumann. An eternity.
I'm not advocating throwing things at people and I'm certainly not waiting for hooliganism to come back. But something integral to soccer culture has been lost when it's more about glory than passion.
And that's the case when Bayern Munich feel their rivals are Real Madrid, not 1860, and when Dortmund and Schalke fans consider beating Bayern more important than winning the derby.
That 'Ruhr' chant was more than an expression of regional pride, it was directly aimed at Bayern and their belief that they are the club that truly represents Germany in Europe.
These days, everybody wants to be Bayern, everybody wants to play in Europe. If a derby is lost along the way, so what? Everybody has become a mercenary cosmopolitan.
Maybe not everybody. Bochum have made not being megalomaniac, not being Bayern, their trademark. True, before the game against Dortmund, their fans held up a sign reading 'Kneel Down For The League Leaders.'
But that was irony, a reference to the fact that they had never topped the Bundesliga table before, while the visitors from ten minutes down the road own an impressive trophy cabinet. The Bochum crowd wildly cheered the team after the goalless draw, something I haven't seen in a long time.
Old-fashioned modesty also lives on in Nuremberg, where they have all but lost their ancient foes Fuerth to the modern age (Fuerth merged with a small club in 1996 for financial reasons). Nuremberg could have become a club with European aspirations in the early 1980s. But between 1986 and 1989, they lost their four best players to Bayern Munich and quietly faded away.
But on Saturday, Nuremberg could help themselves in the relegation fight, take belated revenge for the four-player steal, and hurt a Bavarian rival. And they're also waiting for their 1000th Bundesliga goal.
Now there's a true soccer thrill. Who cares about Real Madrid? Because Nuremberg certainly don't.
[/quote]