“The Horror! The Horror!”–UEFA, probably, on learning we made the ECL.
It seems now that the world must indeed end. Union scored in the 92nd minute to go to Europe, a stroke of luck which has only produced global catastrophe in its wake every time it has occurred (see previous post). But having already meditated on that fact and accepted it, the only thing that remains is to celebrate a third crowning achievement in as many years. Truly, it is one of the club’s shining moments, along with 1968 and 2001, though those were only singular seasons, whereas this culminates a run of ever-increasing achievement.
Perhaps the run began even longer ago, in the mid aughts, when Dirk Zingler took over the presidency. As someone who has only known Union since 2013, I’ve only known relative success. I remember finishing up the Hinrunde of one season not far from relegation, but the danger swiftly passed. For a while, I had a losing streak: after only seeing losses in 2013 and 2014, I actually experienced my first Union home win in 2018, a 4-0 thrashing of Fürth. These are the extent of the tough times I’ve seen, unless you count spending Saturday mornings lying in bed struggling to follow the game on the Kicker app because it wasn’t shown in the US.
It’s no great demonstration of culture to follow a team merely because it is relatively unknown, just as it’s no great demonstration of taste to follow a team because it’s successful. I wish I had experienced the tougher times with Union, the better to appreciate our success, but I suppose that is irrelevant. I’m not here because Union is a cult club. I’m not here because they’re winning. I’m here because I saw a poster not far from Ostbahnhof, and because I had nothing better to do a week later. I’m here because a few people on the Waldseite took me in, invited me back, and, in the intervening years, have stayed in touch through Christmas cards and emails and sometimes awkward but always riotous groupchats.
It helps, of course, that the club speaks to my ideas of fairness and the meaning of fellowship in an atomizing society, but the fact of the matter is that had I not gone to that friendly against Celtic, I’d have likely wound up a Dynamo Dresden fan, as most of my German soccer experience to that point revolved around that club. What kept me here was a sort of history at the intersection of friendships and my love for the city which is tied to so many wonderful and difficult memories. The bonds of any lasting relationship are not formed through affinity or inclination alone, but rather through shared experience, and that’s why Union has become a part of me. Eventually, enough circumstances piled up, enough postgame benders and song lyrics and longing for the next trip to Köpenick, that what was once a very much negotiable contingency became immutable fact.
It makes me wonder: what history will future fans write? How many of them will see us in the ECL and decide that since they don’t have a Bundesliga team to watch, they’ll follow us? How many of them will unconsciously become consumers, buying up the jerseys and drinking up the transfer rumours? How many will come to the stadium and not know the texts, the traditions, the Boone’sche Regeln, the necessity of yelling “Fußballgott” after every player announcement? How many will know the meaning behind the “Haus aus roten Stein” in Dessau? How many will be like the upper-middle class drones we saw in Munich, silently sitting amongst the away fans, silent, dressed more for an afternoon at a winery than a soccer match?
But I don’t want to answer that question. Instead, the question I want to answer is: how many of them will watch a thin dawn break as they rattle through the fields of Brandenburg in a frigid railway car whose ancient windows can’t fully shut? How many of them will plaster stickers all over every street sign in some faceless west German city and taunt the opposing fans with chants of “Without Union, nothing would happen here”? How many will sit outside Coe or the Abseitsfalle late into a fall evening, as shadows grow long and the lights of East Berlin cast their warm yellow glow over the parks and street corners of the town? How many will find themselves learning German by unconsciously humming the Liedgut in the elevators and cubicles of the corporate world, or screaming it at the top of their lungs as they fly down highways? How many will form lifelong friendships, how many will be inspired to charitable action, how many driven to create democratic change in their own communities?
These are the questions I want to ask, and these are the questions that international competition will allow us to ask. We don’t need to get too wrapped up in our own identity. It’s not better, just different. Just as surely as we have been able to use our strengths to succeed, in time, our weaknesses will become manifest and we will struggle. What matters now is to use our great luck to grow even closer. These will be legendary times for the club, times that call for reflection but also spark excitement for the future. After all, we’re a sporting club, and as a club—and not a company—it should be about the joy that the victories bring, and the inspiration these give us. And I have a feeling that there are a few more great ones in store for us.
So enough with this high-minded bullshit. I’m absolutely floored for what’s next. Maybe the extra workload is too much and we get relegated. Worse has happened. That’s why I’m all in on the international party train and the fanmarsch and the absolute chaos of whatever awaits. If I can sort through the logistical complexity of a job change and a move to NYC (sorry for the intermittent posting, heh), I sure as hell intend to be there when it kicks off. I’m really hoping for the tradition of Rome and dreading the plastic circus of the EPL in Tottenham. But no matter what, if there are fans in the stadium–and even if there aren’t–we are going to rock the ECL so hard that Gianni Infantino or Sepp Blatter or whatever interchangeable greedy corrupt fucker runs UEFA regrets they ever let us in. Let’s prove, one more time, that fair play and success need not be exclusive, and that soccer can still truly be a sport for the people. Because “Irgendwann einmal” means now.