I hardly dare write it. Our Adler, our Deutsche Elf, Jogi's Boys, have lost to the mighty Spanish Armada of a football team in the semi-finals of the World Cup. The spirit in Germany today is crestfallen.
Never mind that it was *only* one goal. Never mind that our best young shooter, Thomas Müller, was missing. Never mind that our young Turkish hope, Özil, was fouled as he stood before the Spanish goal about to knock one in and the foul was not granted. The hopes and expectations for the young German team had gained increasing momentum, soaring steadily with each of their extraordinary victories, to the point where everyone had started to believe that they really had seemed to become invincible.
But our modest lads, not one of them a prima donna or an idol, played as if they were actually scared of the Spanish team. The tackling of opponents in possession of the ball, so prevalent in previous games, was almost completely absent here. Fans gasped in astonishment and shock as the boys failed time and again, at least in the first half, to make a clean pass. The Spanish were everywhere, strategically located throughout as if they were pieces on a chess board placed by a grandmaster, completely in charge of the game, and it seemed only a matter of time before the inevitable defeat arrived.
As for us, our little group once again rejoined to the Turkish pub with the large screen, whose staff this time provided us with small free snacks (and about time!). The mood - waiting for the end - was so despondent that I actually went out for a 20-minute walk rather than continue to watch the humiliation.
Sad as it all is, I am sure that the boys will win on Saturday, in the match for the third place. Germany should be terribly proud of what they have achieved. They are world-class, they deserve it and I don't care what that psychic octopus says.
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