“First We Get Promoted, Then Win the Pokal, Then International”–Union Fan Song. Of course, we haven’t won the Pokal yet, so the ordering is somewhat curious…
“And someday, someday, we’ll play international yet”–Different Union Fan Song, sung to the tune of Mrs. Robinson

We must prepare ourselves for COVID-20. Or an asteroid strike. Or nuclear war. There is no other explanation. Because whenever Union does well, the world seems to come unglued before our eyes. In 1968, after winning our first (and to date only) title as a club—the FDGB Pokal—we were bound for Europe. Then the Prague Spring happened, and the troops of the Warsaw Pact (without East German participation) invaded then-Czechoslovakia to brutally crush the reformers. In order to avoid politically charged matches in the aftermath (see: 1956 Blood In the Water incident) UEFA decided to split the eastern and western teams, and the resulting decision by East German soccer’s governing body to withdraw its teams ended our international hopes.  

Then came the 2001 team, who as runners-up in the DFB Pokal were entitled to international play. The first game, in Finland, was originally scheduled for September 12^th. But it was not to be—the terrible attacks of September 11^th rendered international travel moot, and while we did ultimately play the games, we failed to make it out of the group stage. And then of course there was 2020—on the verge of completing our first season in the top flight, with safety just over the horizon, and then: Corona. No fans, a massive break in the season, and a few struggles before finally making it over the line.

Now that we’re staring squarely at a spot in Europe, we can only wonder: what great misfortune will befall us now? It’s part of “our mythology”, as Christoph Biermann puts it, that we suffer: under the prevailing social system, under the particular sporting constellation, under the caprice of fate. But we’re also characterized by a certain contrariness, and in that spirit, I’m happy to take our chances. After all, we as humanity seem hell-bent, through violence, global warming, AI, and countless other things, on our own destruction, and hey, if we’re so committed to our own annihilation, I for one would like to see us play abroad, for points, before the rapture.

Nevermind that the tournament is some stupid artifice cooked up by UEFA to distract from some very real failings regarding financial and athletic fairness. I feel much the same way as I do about relegation: No matter how dumb we may find the competition, we’ll play to win. After all, the competitive circumstances are seldom ideal–the history with Monday games, the Bundesliga, and amateur clubs springs to mind—but we are founded on the basis of competition and we’ll do our damndest to win under any reasonable circumstance.

Which of course, brings us to our opponent, and the very non-reasonable circumstances they operate under. The Conference League is an eye-roller but a plausible competition. The self-styled corporate edgelords from Markranstädt are a shitstain on the sport, and are not a plausible competitive development. They’re a financial and media instrument masquerading as—and corrupting—a sport we love. The Conference League makes me uneasy, but it doesn’t involve the kind of compromises that we shouldn’t be able to live with. We can play all our subs if we like and crash out in order to focus on the Bundesliga if it comes to it. Competing in a somewhat questionable framework—the only one we have—is different than endorsing, or, in the case of Markranstädt, supporting it.

So let’s bring on the apocalypse. I’m willing to risk it just to see us beat Rattenball. And to see Sheraldo Becker torch someone on his way to a wonderful assist on a Max Kruse goal. And Andreas Luthe make a fingertip save. And—and it’s becoming slowly plausible, with 2,000 promised for Saturday—hear our fans in the stands, singing the old songs. As long as the asteroid showers don’t screw up the internet for the 90 or so minutes it takes to play the game, I’m fine. Heck, it could be the chaos we need: perhaps in some cosmic way, our presence in Europe will somehow bring the ever-widening gyre of a shitstorm currently gripping the DFB to its final orgasm of recrimination, investigation, and mutual shit-flinging that it has so deeply, truly earned.

And you know what? Even if we don’t win, I’m going to party as hard as I can, and you should, too. This was an amazing season (again!) and the fact that a team picked for relegation for the second year in a row has Europe within their grasp on the ultimate day is a testament to our strength. I’m going to lose it for every reality-warping Kruse pass and every hard tackle from Knoche and every breathtaking cross from Trimmel (obligatory Announce Trimmel). I’m going to drink Radebergers (we’ll let you know where in NYC) and sing all the songs and probably steal sips from a flask of Berliner Luft. In a world that tempts us to look at what we don’t have, let’s take a page from Urs Fischer’s book and learn to treasure—I like the German word schätzen here–that which we already have. Win or lose, this season has kept us together through a hellish year, and we owe it to ourselves to celebrate. And if we win? Well, bring on the apocal ypse.