Germany’s history at major tournaments
Sooner or later I have to get rid of this observation and experience anyway. So why not do it here and now?
This observation is, I hope, a very individual one and in this way brings to light insights that have not yet been gained. It is also a lot about luck and bad luck. It is both a historical and a philosophical reflection, but also a biographical one. I leave nothing out and add nothing. I only want to talk from memory. If there are any falsifications, I ask you to generously overlook them. The only alternative, reading up on correct results, could lead to a loss of authenticity. You write something down because you have read it and not because you remember it. That is not desired here. It is supposed to be an account of experiences, let’s say a chain of experiences…
1) The 1966 World Cup
I was 7 years old at this tournament. And it was certainly formative for the rest of my life. The fascination that was triggered by the term “World Cup” alone! Players from all the countries of the world, but the best ones at that. Nevertheless, I had already been infected by the football virus a few weeks earlier.
München 1860 had become German champions by finishing 1st in the Bundesliga. I had watched the decisive match between Borussia Dortmund and Munich 60 with my father on Sportschau. He tried to make me believe that although the winner would be German Champion, it would still not be a final. And although 1860 won the game 2:0 and actually clinched the championship, today I am inclined to believe my father…
Afterwards, I had the great pleasure of watching the final of the European Cup Winners’ Cup, which Borussia Dortmund actually won 2-1 in extra time thanks to Stan Libuda’s legendary goal from 40 metres. Many years later, when I brought my father that very match on video and we watched it together, we realised that there should have been only one winner there: Liverpool FC. They were the better team the whole time. Dortmund’s victory was extremely fortunate. But as a German, you soon get used to the fact that you can rely on it, it seems to me…
Then I was given the book by the legendary goalkeeper of the Munich Lions, Petar Radenkovic. “Bin i Radi, bin i König.” He even performed it as a song. And invited Sepp Maier, the goalkeeper of the gradually overpowering local rivals of FC Bayern Munich, who in that year 1966 had finished a sensational 3rd place as promoted team behind 60 and Dortmund, one day to the counter: “Bin i Radi, bin i Depp. The king is Maier Sepp.” Anyway, I wanted to become a goalkeeper and also make such saves and such trips as Radi, who, according to this book at the time, is said to have made over 140 of them that season, leaving his penalty area. He was actually a striker in the then still traditional black sheepskin of goalkeepers, if you like.
As usual, the World Cup tournament began in the summer. And as usual, we had planned a summer trip. It was to go to Denmark, Sweden and Norway again. The summers in the south were just too hot. Well, as a child you look forward to such a trip, that’s clear. Nevertheless, there were some minor reservations on my part. So much football and not being able to watch it?
The opening match was England – Uruguay. England was the host. Never before had I awaited a match with such excitement. And although the opening ceremonies were still held quite simply at that time, I was beginning to get restless. When will it finally start? Then there was also an eternal warm-up phase where I got to see all the big kickers, but they were just passing the ball to each other a bit for fun. I could have managed that too. And the goalkeeper warm-up looked like this: He must have received 50 balls at close range, but all aimed directly at him, and all at a safe height. I wanted to see real flying saves, where the ball was scraped out of the angle. Just like Radi.
Finally the game started. I remember it well, but still dimly. But that’s not because of my poor memory, but rather because there were only black and white pictures captured on a tired old TV with the indoor aerial that needed constant adjustment. Nothing happened in the game. It was totally boring. Not even a shot on goal, a save. The game ended 0:0. Good, I thought, Germany isn’t playing yet either. They’ll show them…
The next day we left. Since we had relatives in Hamburg and also rather a tight budget, the trip went over there, including two or three overnight stays, which was always a special highlight for us kids (three per family). Sleeping in the attic and from up there a view of the Elbe with the huge steamers constantly passing by, which were audibly greeted at the Willkomm Höft (they lived in Wedel). A treat for sailors like us.
In the late afternoon, the Germans played their first match. The opponent was Switzerland, more of a build-up opponent. My father recognised my passion and set off with me to find a television set in a pub that was not yet available in the family. I can still remember how I wondered as a child why we found a pub in Hamburg that sold dab, i.e. beer from the Dortmund Aktienbrauerei? But I had to and could live with that. Beer didn’t taste good anyway…
We found a good seat and were able to admire the German team for the first time. My best memories are of Helmut Haller and Siggi Held in that game. Were they the first two goal scorers? In any case, Helmut Haller irregularly delayed the penalty kick awarded to the German team for a long time and waited until the Swiss goalkeeper Elsner decided to take a corner and then easily pushed the ball into the other. The game ended 5:0. Somehow it was almost too easy for me. Germany as a world power? Of course, I also asked my father about the legendary German triumph 12 years earlier and how he had experienced it.
A few days later, we were able to watch the unspeakable match between Germany and Argentina, which, viewed through the rose-coloured glasses of the Germans, deserved only one winner due to the unfairness of the opponent. I remember Rattin’s sending-off as well as the later delays in the game. But “us Uwe”, Uwe Seeler, was also really a fine sportsman. One had good reasons to wish the Germans “good luck” even like that. The game ended with a 0:0.
The last group game was against Spain. We were on a campground, according to my memory in Bergen, Norway. Somewhere in a neighbouring tent there was something as exclusive as a radio. Every few minutes I went over to at least ask the score. Germany was behind early. That could mean the end! But soon Lothar Emmerich scored the fabulous goal from an acute angle when he hammered the ball under the crossbar. And when Uwe Seeler then scored the 2-1 in the 81st minute, nothing stood in the way of advancing, even as group winners.
One shocking event really hit me hard and I didn’t know anything about the famous “Bild-Zeitung level” at that time. We received the Bild-Zeitung abroad, albeit with a day’s delay. And you didn’t even have to open it to read the following horror story. You also have to know that there was a real legend that was the talk of the town and even brought an extra team to the famous scrapbooks at the time. The FC Santos with the divine Pele. Here is the news: “PELE IS DEAD”.
I was shocked when I read that. He was also being carried off the pitch in the picture. My father immediately calmed me down and said he had only been injured. But so badly that he couldn’t play any more. As a result, Brazil, with the rule still in force at the time that no players could be substituted, lost the second and third group matches 3-1 (Portugal and Hungary) and was eliminated. The reigning world champions! I don’t need to talk about the injustice I felt at the time (in later pictures I even saw the seriously injured Pele limping across the pitch during the game). Gigantic!
Germany went on, Brazil was out. Was that supposed to have a special meaning for the future? Germany, Germany, Germany, Germany, Germany, Germany. Even about Brazil. And who dares to say that Germany was better than Brazil back then? It was just an injustice. To the delight of the Germans, to the detriment of the Brazilians.
The quarter-finals were coming up. We were somewhere in Denmark or Sweden I think. You didn’t get any up-to-date information. How my father, a self-confessed football fan, stood it? A mystery to me to this day. We only learned that Germany had beaten Uruguay 4:0. A seemingly easy victory, especially since the Urus lost two players to sending-offs. As I learned much later, this victory was also much less clear-cut than the result would suggest.
Not even the Germany-Uruguay pairing was overly conspicuous in the quarter-final matches, at most in this country. The special match was the Portugal – North Korea pairing. Portugal had an outstanding Eusebio in its ranks at the time, who was also the top scorer at this World Cup. Well, whatever you may have thought about North Korea beating Italy and the magnitude of this sensation – it was a 1-0, which “can happen” in the low-scoring games of the Italians. But a 3-0 first-half lead against Portugal – that would surely have been relegated to the realm of fable if reality hadn’t spoken up. But the fact that the Portuguese were able to turn the game around and reach the semi-finals with a 5:3 win seems almost more improbable, or do we just accept that? Italy need a point against North Korea, a goal after being behind, to advance and they don’t manage it. Portugal need at least four goals in just over a half against the same opponents. It was to the credit of Eusebio, who became top scorer thanks largely to his goals in this match and at the same time achieved hero status in his country.
We were also unable to watch the semi-final against the Soviet Union live. Once again, the winner was Germany. With a 2-1 score. Could the game have been lost? For me at the time, there was no question: No! But as mentioned above: As a German, it is relatively easy to get used to these small and also larger portions of luck. Germany simply wins. Whether they are or were better or not doesn’t play a decisive role. I accepted it, was thrilled. Germany in the World Cup final!
There had to be a solution for the final. I simply had to be able to watch the game live. And my father found it. In the meantime, we were on Hamburg Ö, a tiny island in the Swedish archipelago. But there was a campsite there and a stall with a pub attached to it. And one of the residents dragged a TV set to the big event, which actually had reception! Now we stood in about 22nd row and stared at a tiny monitor with black and white pictures in the picture quality of the time. Besides, the antenna had to be adjusted again and again, as was customary at the time, when the picture threatened to fail. So it was a treat for every football fan! I was thrilled again.
The Germans even took the lead. 1:0, through Haller, 11th minute, I guess. But then Peters and Hurst came on and turned the game in favour of the English. 2-1. The euphoria had faded and been replaced by hope, trembling and anxiety. The last minute was running. Wolfgang Weber, defender, joined in the attack. And indeed, he got to the ball with his long leg at the far post and pushed it over the line. The equaliser in the last second! Was that a foregone conclusion again? How would the subsequent discussions about the legendary Wembley goal have gone if just that last attack had been blocked? England would have been world champions. And deservedly so.
So it came down to extra time. And to the even more famous shot that still moves both English and German minds, if not worldwide. Hurst from a turn, against the bottom bar, on, in front of, behind, the goal line and Wolfgang Weber heads it out of bounds. Referee Dienst immediately ruled: No goal. But the linesman, in whose special honour a stadium was named in Azerbaijan or wherever it is, Tofik Bakhramov, was waving wildly on the sidelines. Referee Dienst rushed to him. The traitor simply claimed the ball was in. The referee corrected his decision and ruled it a goal. In the last minute of extra time, when a crowd of spectators stormed the field and wanted to make England the world champions, Hurst ran through again and scored the 4.2. Sure, incorrect, irregular, but it didn’t matter any more, the Germans wouldn’t have equalised. Would they?
Uwe Seeler left the pitch in tears, had to be supported and comforted. But I couldn’t hold back either. Well, for once, this time, not EVERYTHING went in favour of the Germans. But that here, instead of the Germans, could have been Brazil, Italy (who were eliminated in the preliminary round with 0:1 against North Korea by Pak Do Ik {all trivia knowledge}), Uruguay, the Soviet Union, Spain or Portugal, who certainly would have liked to swap places with the Germans for the moment, that Germany could NOT have scored the equalising goal in the last minute, that if the goal for 3: 2 (probably justified), the winner would still not have been Germany, as the statement “we were whistled” would suggest, all this is often forgotten in this country. A tragic loss due to an injustice that cries out to heaven. That is the feeling of every German. It took me almost decades to understand this myself. What? That lucky genes are distributed somewhere. And they are not necessarily distributed fairly…
2) The 1970 World Cup in Mexico
Possibly the peak of my passion for football was reached when I was 11 years old. I myself played every day, outside at our dog park. And when all the children were in the swimming pool or sitting at home behind the warm stove in winter (or even before that): Little Pauli was in the park. Alone, I had the exercise “how many times can I hold the ball up?” in my permanent programme. And after all, that earned me the unofficial title of juggling champion at the football club. The fact that later, at the age of 38, I achieved a personal record of 1463 times on the small bathing meadow in Kladow, between numerous towels and screaming children, on uneven ground and also uphill and downhill, is something I simply have to say here in an unprecedented act of self-congratulation. To this end, I had gone through the entire “football literature” from the public library at least twice, the scrapbooks were filled, the football week was not only read after the weekend, but collected year by year and later read through again and again, one could also say “studied”. The nickname “the walking football encyclopaedia” was an almost inevitable by-product.
So I was as eager as a horse when the World Cup came around the corner. There were many positive aspects, but also one particular drawback: many matches took place at night due to the time difference. Fortunately, not those of the Germans, but only until…
So I was very lucky to be able to watch the German team’s first match in the pleasantly cool evening hours, while the German players (though admittedly also their opponents) had to sweat in the Mexican midday heat. The first game against Morocco began. And the Germans fell behind 0:1. The fact that they then turned the game around to win 2:1 and didn’t just lose a game like Italy four years earlier and get eliminated is something that every German would naturally acknowledge with “the Germans are a tournament team” or “they’re always there when it counts” or even with “Germany above all” but never with “they were lucky”. The fact remains: even if they were 80% favourites before the game, they were still lucky for the remaining 20% that made them the winners. The fact that the opponent would have needed 80% luck to realise their chances, and thus realise their chances much less often, changes nothing. 20% luck was required. Except I don’t even think they got to 80%. But when you’re 11 years old, you don’t think about things like that. Germany won, even if you felt it was close.
The next game was a treat. Germany had to deal with Bulgaria. Although Reinhard Libuda was also only a plagiarism of the famous Stanley Matthews, the former Manchester United right winger, who not only created the trick – feint inside, pass outside – and implemented it to perfection, and who was even knighted in England for his services and was henceforth allowed to write a “Sir” in front of his name, Libuda had at least earned the nickname “Stan” for this tournament. And the posters with the inscription “Nobody gets past God”, which were hung up in large numbers especially in those years, were sometimes, and not even heretically, supplemented by “…except Stan Libuda”. He scored two goals in the match and set up two others. A 5:2 left little doubt about the justification of the result.
The third game was very relaxed, as it was only a matter of winning the group. But Germany also approached the game against Peru with the necessary seriousness and won 3:1 thanks to a real hat-trick by Gerd Müller in the first half. One of the reasons was surely that they would rather have England than Brazil after all. Not only did Brazil have the recognition anyway, after the title wins in 58 and 62 and the inglorious elimination in 1966 due to Pele’s injury, they also had the advantage of being better able to cope with the climate. The fact that they also wanted to take revenge on the English for 66 belongs to the realm of fable as far as I’m concerned. This was about tournament chances.
The quarter-final match against England was nevertheless unrivalled in terms of explosiveness. The teams had changed in some positions, but there were still many players from the final of 66. But also in other respects: The match between England and Germany is and remains one of the great classics. And this match was particularly memorable.
England took the lead. 1:0. Well, that can still be corrected, that was my opinion. But after the 2:0 later, scepticism clearly prevailed. All dreams were about to come to an abrupt end. Not only mine, but the whole nation’s. But which of the active spectators would ever be able to forget Franz Beckenbauer’s irresistible solo run across half the field with the goal to make it 1:2? Surely one of the moments that made him immortal. The fact that the English coach was later attested by all the world to have made the substitution of at least Bobby Charlton too early, in the 65th minute I guess, is inconclusive to me. Bobby Charlton was an attacking player who had already reached a certain age and could well have been exhausted in the heat and altitude of Mexico. In addition, a more defensive player could increase the chances of keeping the score.
After this connecting goal, the German nation had hope again. The players on the pitch did everything they could. And in the 81st minute, the time had come. The long cross sailed into the penalty area. Uwe Seeler, the same Uwe Seeler who had already been discarded before the World Cup for reasons of age and because he was supposedly not compatible with Gerd Müller, but who played through almost all the games with magnificent performances, stood with his back to the goal. And he only reached the ball with the back of his head, and that too at quite a considerable distance from the goal. This goal has certainly made an even greater impression than the one scored by Franz Beckenbauer: the ball went into the net as an arcing bulb behind the English goalkeeper, who was looking on dumbfounded. The equaliser and extra time were the result. The outcry of enthusiasm throughout the country was the acoustic one.
The fact that Germany, thanks to the attention of Gerd Müller, added the 3:2 was then almost a matter of course, which runs like a red thread through the entire history of tournaments. Even if it was to be seen as a revenge, especially in this match: Germany’s victories became a habit, especially those against England.
The semi-final against Italy had a sad memory value for me for completely different reasons: It was the case that I was only allowed to watch the game on the condition that I would sleep beforehand. I had to reluctantly agree. Obviously, I did fall asleep at some point. When I woke up in the middle of the night, something was strange. Was the morning already dawning? I ran into my parents’ bedroom, shook my father awake. Half asleep, he mumbled something like “4:3 for Italy after extra time”. In the end, you can’t imagine what went through my head when I heard those words. And it was far more than the head that was affected. It was a real state of shock that I went into. It simply could not be true. How could it be possible that I slept through the game that had been on my mind for days, that I had been looking forward to more than Christmas? What’s more: How could it be possible that Germany was eliminated? But also: should it have been such a dramatic game that I had missed?
I couldn’t sleep any more. I kept telling myself that I must have heard wrong. I wanted desperately to convince myself that my father had mumbled a few words in his delirium, that perhaps he had been dreaming himself.
I had a doctor’s appointment early that morning because I had a nasty injury on my finger, inflicted in an act of self-mutilation when I operated our air rifle improperly – in the presence of my older brother, but he could not prevent the mishap.
My parents both went to work that morning after the semi-final match. I skipped school but was in a strange trance state. I watched the game on replay from 9am. I didn’t look at any newspapers or listen to any reports or the radio, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone at the doctor’s, worried that they might spill the beans about the result. I simply imagined that I didn’t know what the game was like. Only I couldn’t. Again and again I thought about my father’s words.
The replay was on. Whether it was because I had a pretty firm premonition of what was going to happen, or whether it was because of the game scenes: the game seemed totally boring to me. Italy had scored 1:0 early (7th) and Germany hardly had any chances to score. It didn’t change too much, but the longer the game lasted, the more certain I became that my father had really been talking nonsense. There was no way this was going to end 4:3. Although it wouldn’t have given me any particular satisfaction, by the 90th minute I was beginning to feel relieved that what had been bothering me all along, what I had thought I was hearing, simply couldn’t be true. Germany was out, no question about it. And I didn’t feel any tension either. Everything was dull. But I did have one certainty… what’s that? Schnellinger, he’s never been in front before, the long leg, the slide, the ball was in. 1:1, 90.!
Extra time. Still, my feelings did not improve noticeably. After all, it could still be true now. But it couldn’t be…uh, another 5 goals, in such a short overtime, after such a weak game? That was not possible. Then it went one after the other. 2:1, Gerd Müller, with a dolly ball, where you can’t even be sure that he had touched the ball last or at all. The goal counted, and for him. Was it supposed to…? No, 2:2, 3:2 for Italy. Gradually it became a certainty… Müller, Müller again, yes, 3:3. Should I be happy now or what? No, I knew what was going to happen: Riva or Rivera or whatever their names were, Sepp Maier on the ground, throwing himself on the ground in despair, the ball was in, 3:4, yes, everything was right, it was just depressing, at no point could I feel any form of that unspeakable tension that this “match of the century” deserved.
But wait, suddenly the philosopher in me awoke. For a long time, however, I pursued this theory only in my thoughts. Nevertheless, it was, I may say today, the birth of my personal “chaos theory”. I seriously considered whether, if I had been watching the game, the result might not have been completely different? It’s not just a way of reassuring yourself that you missed something great (which was definitely the case in my younger years), but it’s a very serious consideration that can help in all situations in life. You would never know what would happen or what would have happened if you had done just one step in life differently.
One consequence: you never have to regret anything. Because as long as you are here and alive, you can be grateful for this life and you can take the next step the way you would like to, using the previous experiences from your whole life. If one had done something differently somewhere, it would not even be certain that one would be alive at that moment.
The childish thoughts in which way the influence would have been transferred, I can gladly describe here as well: I thought that it would have been possible after all for someone in the neighbouring flat to see me standing at the window. That’s why the phone call I was making would last even a single second longer. That’s why the person at the other end of the line would do something else and chaos would take its course. Something different here, something different there, then it propagates. So in principle, as I see it today, “the game of the century” only happened because of my (passive) intervention.
Germany was out. They won the match for third place 1:0 against Uruguay. Brazil became deserved world champions with 4:1 against Italy. It was a great pleasure to see Pele play at his top level once again.
Nevertheless, I would like to ask a few questions in connection with the tournament, which was successful despite the fact that we only came third: A preliminary group with Bulgaria, Morocco and Peru cannot possibly be more difficult than average. It was “easy”. Then there was the incredible game against England. Surely it was seen as revenge for 66, and England had won so happily. Nevertheless, it can’t be certain that you win such a game? You always need a bit of luck, and Germany had that in this game. Not in the game against Italy, that’s true. But the equaliser in the last minute – by the way, what’s remarkable about the two last-minute goals scored by the Germans in 66 and 70 is that not only were they both scored by defenders, but they were the only two international goals scored by these players.
And finally, the question. Even if Germany was certainly one of the strongest nations in the world during those years: Is a third place below or above expectations? So would you sign off on a third place in the tournament of the best teams before the tournament? For me, the answer is clear: yes. One would have to.
