December 2016. It was halftime at BayArena in Leverkusen. The home team, Bayer Leverkusen 04, had been sent off the pitch with a chorus of whistles. The offense had been lackluster. The defense had been spotty. If the opponent had been league-leading Bayern Munich, it would’ve been a lopsided game. As it was, Ingolstadt 04, was halfway to being relegated to 2. Bundesliga, the second division of professional football in Germany. The visitors were only up, 1-0.
I had always dreamt of watching a football match at one of Europe’s premier leagues. But my work schedule frustrated past attempts to do so. European trips coincided with the leagues’ winter breaks. Most league seasons were over by the time summer rolled around. So when I found myself in Düsseldorf on a weekend when the home team played at nearby Leverkusen, I didn’t want to let an opportunity pass to watch teams from the Bundesliga.
“Zwei-eins (Two-one),” one of the home fans in my section confidently predicted as the pre-match festivities wound down. Home club supporters at the north end of the stadium sang full-throatedly to drown out the small contingent of Ingolstadt fans at the far corner. The home team could’ve drawn from that energy, but didn’t. Many whistled their disapproval. A few cheered warily. The scant cheers turned to jeers when German-American Alfredo Morales drew first blood for the visitors.
Listless play from the home club continued after the break. “Danke!” my seatmate yelled each time a Leverkusen defender headed the ball toward an opposing player’s feet. Life was sucked out of BayArena at the 63rd minute of the match when the team had to play short-handed after drawing a red card. But then…G-O-A-L! Swiss player Admir Mehmedi delivered one for the home club. The 25,000-strong crowd was delirious. An embarrassing loss could still be averted. Hope sprang eternal.
Until…Israeli Almog Cohen of Ingolstadt 04 sealed the fate of Bayer Leverkusen 04 with a match-winning goal. Zwei-eins was the final score as predicted, albeit the other way around. Losing players from the home team walked dejectedly toward the locker rooms. The club supporters at the north end called out for blood, demanding an explanation for the disheartening loss. I started for the exit when suddenly, the whistles turned to blood-curdling screams.
The home team’s captain and a few of his teammates were on the pitch, heads bowed and hands on their waists. They received the wrath of the fans who hurled invectives and whistles with clenched fists. Their drunken rage would’ve launched Molotov cocktails into the pitch in other countries. Fortunately, this was Germany.
It was easy to bask in the glory of victory. To be accountable in the agony of defeat, however, was far more admirable.
Unlock the door. 