The king of reporters: Marcel Reif
The man to whom everyone is obviously oriented, who “sets the pace”, so to speak, who sets the tempo and thus – transferred to reporting — the tone, who sets the jargon, who sets the direction, the champion to whom so many television sets have not fallen victim because of the fortunately available switch-off, switch-over or sound stall option, who because of this would be suitable to exercise a modern method of torture in which escape would be made impossible in this way. “You sit here and listen.” “No, please, just not that! I confess everything!”
His name: Marcel Reif. The predecessor of his current employer, “Premiere”, has already fallen victim to him, he – and his henchmen – ruined, executed, now it’s the turn of the successor “Sky”. The English still have a few euros to their name, because in England it works, because they don’t lecture people, patronise them, put them off everything, because they present it in a tone of voice that there is something to see here, that you really have to be here and at this event, that you have something to miss here, that here excitement and entertainment are writ large and that as a commentator you yourself are excited — in contrast to the smart-alecky and know-it-all attitude, bored and annoyed, that is the only thing to be found in this country.
“A weak game.” It is important that this sentence , once recorded on a record – we rationalise where we can: saves a lot of work – is played back at regular intervals at the push of a button, so that anyone who happens to stray onto the channel knows in good time: there’s nothing going on here. Please switch over!
The guru of the reporters’ guild has thus found that there are fundamental deficiencies, which, however, regularly only come to light during the games. Due to his poor memory, however, he is obviously surprised every time. Before a match, he seems to want to suggest a kind of excitement, a very minimally conveyed joy of expectation, which he himself could probably only describe as follows: “After I exposed all the shortcomings in my transmission last week – and I emphasise ALL of them — there is the hope that people have understood and internalised that, and there is the faint hope that they will implement the lessons learned today.” In the background, there is probably the consideration that one can enjoy his lessons once or three times a week, the rest of the time one would have – as a coach or player – to listen to the report again and again, to become aware of one’s own huge mistakes – and to finally, finally learn from them and put them right.
Whereby: if you think about it carefully, the question would be what the game would actually have to look like, what the moves would have to look like, so that he would be satisfied, so that he would talk about a “great game” or a “successful action”? Because there are always only two possibilities: 1) the standard case occurs and an attack does not lead to a goal. Then you are actually allowed to listen during the entire attack to how it should have been carried out correctly so that it could be a goal, or 2) the exceptional case occurs and the attack is completed successfully, whereupon you learn how easy it was because the opponent was sleeping from the 1 to the 11. “Good” is therefore not possible. In contrast, the Almighty is very merciful.
Here is a short excerpt of randomly picked remarks that were to be heard from him in the week from 20 to 26 August 2010 — the Bundesliga opener and the Champions League qualifiers were on the agenda.
He was allowed to choose the most splendid of all matches, as the Lord and Master is of course personally entitled to do. His choice was Hamburger SV – Schalke 04. It was the match of Saturday evening, 6.30 p.m., i.e. a single broadcast. And one simply has to admit that not only the pairing alone promises a special scoop, but also the appearance of two absolute world stars – van Niestelrooy and Raul –, at least one of them long since elevated to legend status as the eternal top scorer of the Champions League, would provide additional and thus far sufficient spectacle. Of the others, special mention should be made of Zé Roberto, whose 36 years of age are not at all noticeable and who regularly delivers outstanding performances.
As I said, picked out at random. The game was great and exciting, played at the highest level and never decided at any point. If that is not enough for a reporter to ensure that excitement is conveyed – please, what should the game look like? Rather a 0:0 without goals and chances?
HSV pressed, set the tone for the entire first half and managed to score after the break with a goal that was perfect in its finishing — the posture, the movement towards the ball, the tiny moment when the steps were quickened to get to the ball in front of the defender, the perfect ball and body control when finishing – through Ruud von Niestelrooy, the deserved 1:0. Marcel Reif also seemed thrilled for a moment. You just have to be if you somehow want to be a “football supporter”, but even if you weren’t and you “had” to commentate, you could only say good things, could you only say good things? Well, Marcel Reif was content to put the enthusiasm exclusively in the tone of his voice – presumably he was frightened by his own feelings – and shouted out a long-drawn-out “van Niestelrooy”. No, really, he shouted it, it sounded almost emotional, almost like genuine enthusiasm. Only he was immediately seized again by the self-imposed obligation to sobriety or whatever it is, the prohibition against expressing enthusiasm, here and at this point, the concern for the heart patients in front of the TV, the fear of being carried away by his own feelings, and, even before the virus he had just seemed ready to circulate, that virus of emotionality and passion that had infected millions of viewers at some point in their childhood and which they could no longer get rid of and which threatened to spread to the few watching and not yet infected, before the TV viewer could even make it out of the armchair, he added, in a tone that was already clearly dropping: “. . who else.”
That is precisely the question that moved everyone at that moment. “Who else?” You immediately start thinking, right? Surely only one person could do that? Exactly. Who else but van Niestelrooy could ever find the goal? The reference to so much helplessness surrounding him, or what is it all about? Is it to demonstrate expertise? Or no, he already knew it was going to happen, kept it from us, and now, yes, he could finally let it out? “Who else?” Ask yourself: who else could it have been? Not Petric? No, the stumbling king couldn’t even hit a truck from 3 metres, no, if anyone, it would be van Niestelrooy. He’s right about that.
The reflection stimulated by the tone of voice (and here it really is the case, the drop of the voice that is meant), even the pronunciation of this so casual sentence, kills any emotionality. He has long since been “composed” again. That anyway. But he drags the viewer down with him. That seems a sacred duty. “That you don’t enjoy yourselves! We’re working here. I do this, the players do that. Sobriety is called for. Come down from your cloud that something pleasant, beautiful, worth seeing is happening here.”
With that, however, the spectator had by no means fallen far enough back into his armchair, any passion and enthusiasm had already faded, no. He immediately followed up with something so that everyone would know how the goal was scored and what lucky circumstance the scorer had to thank for it, because, as we know, God simply sees everything and someone just swings up at him: “… but very careless of Matip there, we’ll see that in a moment.” The whole deliberate, intentional disillusionment that he intends to spread so that you can’t be very, too or at all happy about a goal has taken about half as long as it takes the Brazilian announcer to catch his breath so that he can exclaim his emotional, endlessly long “gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool”, which he then usually follows up with the staccato “gol gol gol gol gol”. Which of the two “processing methods” would be preferable, which promises more listeners/audience? Where does one feel well taken care of and well entertained?
The viewer in this country should be eager for the replay from now on, but only so that he can witness this “great carelessness” of Matip. Or so that one can bow before so much expertise after viewing the pictures?
Incidentally, the slow motion then didn’t quite want to reveal a “carelessness we are about to see”, so the reference to it was summarily swept under the table. The promise to see it was not kept. It may not have existed at all? What is also rather important is that it is said, and said right now. Rejoicing was in the past. Today, mistakes are exposed. Shamelessly and mercilessly. And if there are none, they are invented.
An imposition, according to the widespread tenor, what we get to see here. To be amazed, to be delighted, to be thrilled, that’s for amateurs. A real expert immediately puts his fingers in the wounds, even if the wounds first have to be torn out by his own hand with croaking, and actually lie in the eardrums and in the understanding of logic. Nonsense to the power of three, coupled with a stupid sobriety that spoils any pleasure. Sound off, nothing else helps. As Tucholsky once said about essayists: “A language blown up like a balloon, a prick in it with the needle of reason – and nothing remains but a heap of bad grammar.” At the high school of reporter’s German, however, they teach you how not even to blow up the balloon first. “Nice and always keep the ball flat.”
Shortly afterwards, the spectator, who continued to be so regrettably amateurish, but who perhaps, despite all the widespread and forced lack of emotion, was still tense or spellbound, was instructed anew: “there’s a bit little coming from Schalke after going behind.” Aha, he, the Schalke fan would have liked a little more? Or how does the sudden partisanship come about? A Schalke fan for another could say that, but wouldn’t, as he would rather hope, but it would express the concern (even more) that the game could be lost. What’s the point of the reporter’s comment? Are we all supposed to wish for “a bit more to come?” Or what? What about the HSV supporters, what about the neutral ones?
For the spectator, who at no time is in favour of either team, but only of great football, it can “objectively” only look like this: Great that a goal was scored. It’s good that it went to the team that was better. Let’s see what happens now. This is the only position the announcer would have to be in – unless he were to indicate a following in advance, a preference, which would then be unseemly, but only from the organiser, who would have to be concerned about neutrality. “Too little comes from Schalke” is out of place – and, as usual, negative. Stupidly bold was still missing?
Moreover, as a reasonable viewer, you can guess what the commentary would be like if there were actually “more from Schalke”. It would automatically be: “HSV gives up the initiative after taking the lead”, “HSV retreats too far”, or “they really invite the opponent to score goals” or “they switch to managing the result early on, too early? The simplest: “HSV has been too passive since taking the lead”.
There was too little from Schalke in this game. That was postulated (however, a slightly modified, famous statement by a politician applies even more to the reporters: “What do I care about my stupid chatter from 10 seconds ago?”). Then came the sending-off against Schalke’s Höwedes. Of course, Schalke also knows that it’s now almost impossible to grab it. At least it remained exciting, because “only” the one goal was missing. Marcel Reif orated, also following a banal but untrue insight. It sounded like this: “That’s the reproach you can’t spare them. 1-0. Only 1-0.”
Negative at first. As usual. Then: “… the reproach, …”. Does one want to make an accusation? No, one must, one cannot spare. But one doesn’t even think about it. Everyone can see what’s going on. They had chances before the 1:0, they had a few good chances afterwards, they simply played well. This “blaming” is completely out of place. The perspective for the “argument” must also be clarified: As an HSV supporter, you are of course totally enthusiastic about your team’s play. It may not even bother you that the score is “only” 1:0 because you love the tension of it. Sure, you’d like to have won at some point and many, certainly all fans, would also be grateful for a 2:0. Nevertheless, you feel that it happens often enough that you play as well as they did the whole time and don’t lead at all or are even behind. You’re leading, you’re watching a great game, you’re shaking a little, you’re excited and full of anticipation. What’s the point of “blaming”? Out of place, stupid, inappropriate. Above all, there is palpable enthusiasm in the stadium, which even a reporter would notice and could use as a guide. The “reproach” comes from him, and it is totally out of place. For the TV viewer (the one who was still listening) it looks like this: “It’s no fun either way. It’s not fun for me, and I have a responsibility to make sure it’s fun for you.”
The way one would have to comment on it – especially since all humanity has been lost precisely on the “reproach” — looks like this. “Gosh, now they’ve played so great, had so many chances, a 2:0 would be deserved. And as a friend of the game of football, you wish that it wouldn’t end up going against them.” If you want to say anything at all in that direction. As a commentator and other spectator, one should rather be grateful for the preserved tension. Above all, there would be enough exciting scenes on the pitch for the attentive reporter to tell about. Yes, too bad, that was “for the attentive”. We didn’t have one available at the moment.
The oracle continued in the usual form: “whoever doesn’t take so many chances will end up, according to an old saying…” and so on. Until the score was actually 1-1. There was only the one chance. It’s what football is all about. Sometimes one chance is enough. It can happen, it means you always have a motivation to look, at least as long as it’s close from the result. That goal was well scored, acrobatic, spot on, the ball, just not the goal to the game. It was unfair and not a single tine could fall out of the (self-made and put on) crown of the person who would recognise that and tell the spectator.
Marcel Reif, of course, that no one would jump up: “That’s what happened. 1:1.” That’s it. Nothing of a great job – and that’s what it really was – nothing of conveyed tension, no, that wouldn’t be appropriate here at all, here there would simply have to be the ability to express regret. “This is not deserved. I feel sorry for HSV, because they were clearly superior throughout. But it’s not over yet!” It is the only appropriate thing to do. To declare the oracle fulfilled here is just pathetic. “That’s when it happened.” So to speak, “what I predicted all along.” Mind you, I did sort of predict it, but just in case it happened. If it hadn’t happened, nothing would have been heard of it far and wide. That’s for sure.
HSV just kept playing the way it had all along. And it deserves a lot of respect for that, because such a shock is really not easy to digest. Shortly before the end – just a few minutes later – the eternally young Zé Roberto broke through on the left, van Niestelrooy saw the gap once again and scored to make it 2-1. To describe this as “just keeping his foot in” doesn’t do it justice. There is much more to it. Perfect body control is mentioned first, but also sensing and anticipating the situation. Anticipation is what we like to call it. The world class stood out. From both players.
By the way, so that the objectivity of what is written here is not thrown into too much doubt: Marcel Reif spoke after the game of a “good, exciting football match. A great, successful start to the season.” He should have conveyed this during the match – maybe then someone would have listened to him when he summed it up?
Marcel Reif had another choice for the week, and that was Werder Bremen in the Champions League Quali at Sampdoria Genoa. Of course, the field was set for Werder Bremen to be waved through. After all, a 3:1 from the first leg for the nominally slightly better team seemed a solid cushion. The goal conceded shortly before the end of the first leg did not promise a walkover, but for anyone who had seen the first leg, a 3:0 would have been too clear a result after the course of the game. Apart from that, this goal meant that some suspense was to be expected, but on the other hand the hope was high that one could witness a celebration. That certainly also applied to the commentator.
Basically, the fact should be mentioned that commentary in this country on a match involving a German team is allowed to be biased. There is no question about that. Unfortunately, the effect that can be observed is that this clearly partisan tone is often adopted for the commentary of domestic matches. This can be seen, as just one example, in the above-mentioned sentence by Marcel Reif: “..there’s too little coming from Schalke.” It is the sentence that, if one were biased, one would be allowed to say, perhaps even have to – supplementary: in case it should happen to be true. It doesn’t fit into the commentary of a domestic match, it simply doesn’t belong there, only jargon is being spoken, and this is, a bit like the word already suggests, not particularly reflected. No thought has been given to the fact that one has to be impartial and continues to speak “jargon”.
Here the omens were different. Werder is German, Sampdoria Italian, and apart from a long-lasting “enmity” – which of course refers neither to the destination nor to the imported cuisine – it was precisely between these two countries in the UEFA five-year ranking that the fourth Champions League starting place was at stake.
Werder conceded two goals very soon. After just 14 minutes, this gave Sampdoria the advantage, as they would have progressed on the basis of the away goals rule with this result – despite the aggregate score of 3:3. Logically, disillusionment in the reporters’ booth – oh, aha, there was never any passion, anticipation or enthusiasm, sorry, Mr. Reif — soon turned into tangible and razor-sharp criticism. Now, as such a critical reporter, you don’t have a clear line without knowing it. For in themselves, losers, teams trailing 0:2, are the most pitiful victims of scathing criticism. On the other hand, in this case it is precisely the Germans. Well, what do you do now? Well, keep on talking, that can never hurt (of course, since no one is listening anyway) and look for an orientation. In principle, the Germans should get on, that would be good for the station, hm, indirectly it’s also about my job, about my future. Well, what’s bad has to be portrayed as bad. In this respect, it’s okay to hack a little. Especially since what viewer wants to identify with losers?
“If they don’t do more soon” or “finally wake up”, then there will be “a disaster here”. “Now they have to pull the ripcord soon, get a foot on the ground” or whatever. All banalities that are certainly unsuitable for creating suspense. Even so, the spectator knows that the situation is critical. So a total of 70 minutes of play passed, plus a 15-minute half-time break. Then it happened: Sampdoria scored the 3:0 in the 83rd minute through Cassano with a heel. Marcel Reif could no longer hold on, he muttered indignantly into the microphone: “so, and now it’s over, Werder is out of the Champions League. That’s it.”
It was possible that a fellow reporter sitting next to him – a German-speaking one – poked him in the side, or that the first housewives and primary school pupils called indignantly because they too had long since understood the supposedly “so complicated European Cup arithmetic”. In any case, shame or no shame, he managed to correct this within a good, but for his so many fans – er, if you could find just one of them, the autograph from this one would certainly be worth it, because, due to its absolute uniqueness, it would have to have an extremely high value – agonisingly long minute: “Well, so Werder still needs a goal, then there would be extra time.”
Well, if you now put yourself in the role of programme director and remember that a lady was sent out the door for far less than that – as Olli Dittrich once so cleverly put it, “she would have told Schalke nil five, even though they had won four nil” – and additionally remember that a famous coach was once sacked during the half-time break, then you should actually be able to predict the reaction: It was the penultimate sentence that had to be endured from him. Something like that really shouldn’t happen.
How can you commentate on a game for an audience of millions and not know the individual, possible outcomes with their consequences? Even more: If one really didn’t know, with what stupidity, audacity and arrogance must one be equipped to dare to immediately blast ignorance, stupidity and ignorance over the airwaves? If one has actually dealt with and knows so little about the matter, then one would be out of place anyway – silence would always be advisable, because the information gap was obvious.
It is not possible, it cannot be. There is really no pardon, which he himself did not grant Matip, for example, above. That is, using one of his fancy words, “subterranean”. Another saying he uses so often also fits: “He MUST do it”. Yes, that’s true, he just couldn’t put that one next to it, Mr Reif, yes, you quite personally. If you think anything of yourself – still – the only thing left to do is to resign, unless the chair has long since been vacated, but you really have to assume that the person in charge of the programme is not listening either, and that is meant very, very seriously.
Especially since, especially since, enough with this, it is added for this case that he had a beaten 85 minutes to prepare for this scenario, still during the game, if he had not done it as homework, once briefly recapitulate. The first leg was 3:1 for Werder. Now it’s 2-0. Werder need a goal, we’ve already clarified that — “complicated arithmetic” and all that — otherwise they’re out. If they score, it’s 1:2. Then they’d be through. If Sampdoria score? I don’t know. Then they’re out?
If they scored 3:0, they would be exactly one goal away from the first leg result. Werder lacked that one goal. Could it be any easier? Now it’s 3-0 – and I think: “That’s it, Werder are out.” It’s probably the unwillingness to identify with a loser. “They’re down 0:3 and I’ve been badmouthing them all along. And now I’m supposed to root for them or dwell on their remaining chances? No, they’re so weak, now they’re definitely and irrevocably out, as weak as they are.”
Even if this explanation were closest to the truth: it would in no way qualify as “exoneration”. Rash would be flattering for what can only be described as “stupid”. Especially since he stayed on, had to stay on, and had to testify and bring the episode across. Could it occasionally be noticed that one has made a fool of oneself? Instead, the bigotry grows.
After Werder actually scored the 1:3 in the third minute of injury time – for Germans this luck has become a matter of course, abroad it has consistently earned them the term “the black beast” and that it remains relatively uncommented on, unrecognised, should not surprise anyone – the commentary became even easier for Marcel Reif. The prophet, who just 9 minutes before had said “that’s the end for Werder”, was now back again, directly after the goal: “Yes, but now they have a clear advantage. Psychologically speaking. Sampdoria can’t put that away so easily. They’re at the end of their tether.” So just now he didn’t even know that this goal would be enough for extra time, and now he dares to say that they are more or less further along? Didn’t hear the shot?
And, lo and behold. Werder scored the 2:3. There was no talk of luck, which could simply be brought across. No, Mr. Reif felt obliged to explain the arithmetic of the European Cup to the spectators. What this goal meant, what the score would be and how they would be knocked out. Presumably, during the short interruption before extra time, he had the editor present him with the tape of one of the housewives calling after his — oh, “embarrassing” is not the word at all — remark, listened to it, and even reproduced it almost flawlessly. How can one do that? No, embarrassing is really not the word.
During extra time, after the score of 2:3, he took another opportunity to mock the Italian spectators in the stadium. Because: they were simply thrilled (by their team). They celebrated their heroes and thanked them for the great game and the great performance. A beautiful picture to see and hear something like that, nothing more, and it just did justice to the situation. How hard is it to acknowledge that? Sampdoria played a quite fantastic game, from the first to the last minute, which is sufficiently well reflected in the 3-1 after 90 minutes. On top of that, they were only a good minute away from a dream goal. The Italian spectators appreciated that, thanked and celebrated, themselves and their team. It also expressed a bit of surrender to the beast. “We can do anything, we can beat our opponents, we play as hard as nails. But there’s one thing we can’t do: defeat the black beast. Not only does it have seven heads and seven lives, but it also has gigantic tentacles, one of which it will extend decisively at some point. For that, when nothing else works, she has God’s help.”
Marcel Reif commiserated and smiled at the audience. Now to gloat as well? Not only did the German team just jump from the brink – as you can’t help noticing? –, he has also disgraced himself sufficiently. No, you can go right back to hacking, jeering, laughing. Exactly, embarrassing is the wrong word for it, one has to be invented sometime…. marcel immature?
The king of reporters: Marcel Reif
The man to whom everyone is obviously oriented, who “sets the pace”, so to speak, who sets the tempo and thus – transferred to reporting — the tone, who sets the jargon, who sets the direction, the champion to whom so many television sets have not fallen victim because of the fortunately available switch-off, switch-over or sound stall option, who because of this would be suitable for exercising a modern method of torture in which escape would be made impossible in this way. “You sit here and listen.” “No, please, just not that! I confess everything!”
His name: Marcel Reif. The predecessor of his current employer, “Premiere”, has already fallen victim to him, he – and his henchmen – ruined, executed, now it’s the turn of the successor “Sky”. The English still have a few euros to their name, because in England it works, because they don’t lecture people, patronise them, put them off everything, because they present it in a tone of voice that there is something to see here, that you really have to be here and at this event, that you have something to miss here, that here excitement and entertainment are writ large and that as a commentator you yourself are excited — in contrast to the smart-alecky and know-it-all attitude, bored and annoyed, that is the only thing to be found in this country.
“A weak game.” It is important that this sentence , once recorded on a record – we rationalise where we can: saves a lot of work – is played back at regular intervals at the push of a button, so that anyone who happens to stray onto the channel knows in good time: there’s nothing going on here. Please switch over!
The guru of the reporters’ guild has thus found that there are fundamental deficiencies, which, however, regularly only come to light during the games. Due to his poor memory, however, he is obviously surprised every time. Before a match, he seems to want to suggest a kind of excitement, a very minimally conveyed joy of expectation, which he himself could probably only describe as follows: “After I exposed all the shortcomings in my transmission last week – and I emphasise ALL of them — there is the hope that people have understood and internalised that, and there is the faint hope that they will implement the lessons learned today.” In the background, there is probably the consideration that one can enjoy his lessons once or three times a week, the rest of the time one would have – as a coach or player – to listen to the report again and again, to become aware of one’s own huge mistakes – and to finally, finally learn from them and put them right.
Whereby: if you think about it carefully, the question would be what the game would actually have to look like, what the moves would have to look like, so that he would be satisfied, so that he would talk about a “great game” or a “successful action”? Because there are always only two possibilities: 1) the standard case occurs and an attack does not lead to a goal. Then you are actually allowed to listen during the entire attack to how it should have been carried out correctly so that it could be a goal, or 2) the exceptional case occurs and the attack is completed successfully, whereupon you learn how easy it was because the opponent was sleeping from the 1 to the 11. “Good” is therefore not possible. In contrast, the Almighty is very merciful.
Here is a short excerpt of randomly picked remarks that were to be heard from him in the week from 20 to 26 August 2010 — the Bundesliga opener and the Champions League qualifiers were on the agenda.
He was allowed to choose the most splendid of all matches, as the Lord and Master is of course personally entitled to do. His choice was Hamburger SV – Schalke 04. It was the match of Saturday evening, 6.30 p.m., i.e. a single broadcast. And one simply has to admit that not only the pairing alone promises a special scoop, but also the appearance of two absolute world stars – van Niestelrooy and Raul –, at least one of them long since elevated to legend status as the eternal top scorer of the Champions League, would provide additional and thus far sufficient spectacle. Of the others, special mention should be made of Zé Roberto, whose 36 years of age are not at all noticeable and who regularly delivers outstanding performances.
As I said, picked out at random. The game was great and exciting, played at the highest level and never decided at any point. If that is not enough for a reporter to ensure that excitement is conveyed – please, what should the game look like? Rather a 0:0 without goals and chances?
HSV pressed, set the tone for the entire first half and managed to score after the break with a goal that was perfect in its finishing — the posture, the movement towards the ball, the tiny moment when the steps were quickened to get to the ball in front of the defender, the perfect ball and body control when finishing – through Ruud von Niestelrooy, the deserved 1:0. Marcel Reif also seemed thrilled for a moment. You just have to be if you somehow want to be a “football supporter”, but even if you weren’t and you “had” to commentate, you could only say good things, could you only say good things? Well, Marcel Reif was content to put the enthusiasm exclusively in the tone of his voice – presumably he was frightened by his own feelings – and shouted out a long-drawn-out “van Niestelrooy”. No, really, he shouted it, it sounded almost emotional, almost like genuine enthusiasm. Only he was immediately seized again by the self-imposed obligation to sobriety or whatever it is, the prohibition against expressing enthusiasm, here and at this point, the concern for the heart patients in front of the TV, the fear of being carried away by his own feelings, and, even before the virus he had just seemed ready to circulate, that virus of emotionality and passion that had infected millions of viewers at some point in their childhood and which they could no longer get rid of and which threatened to spread to the few watching and not yet infected, before the TV viewer could even make it out of the armchair, he added, in a tone that was already clearly dropping: “. . who else.”
That is precisely the question that moved everyone at that moment. “Who else?” You immediately start thinking, right? Surely only one person could do that? Exactly. Who else but van Niestelrooy could ever find the goal? The reference to so much helplessness surrounding him, or what is it all about? Is it to demonstrate expertise? Or no, he already knew it was going to happen, kept it from us, and now, yes, he could finally let it out? “Who else?” Ask yourself: who else could it have been? Not Petric? No, the stumbling king couldn’t even hit a truck from 3 metres, no, if anyone, it would be van Niestelrooy. He’s right about that.
The reflection stimulated by the tone of voice (and here it really is the case, the drop of the voice that is meant), even the pronunciation of this so casual sentence, kills any emotionality. He has long since been “composed” again. That anyway. But he drags the viewer down with him. That seems a sacred duty. “That you don’t enjoy yourselves! We’re working here. I do this, the players do that. Sobriety is called for. Come down from your cloud that something pleasant, beautiful, worth seeing is happening here.”
With that, however, the spectator had by no means fallen far enough back into his armchair, any passion and enthusiasm had already faded, no. He immediately followed up with something so that everyone would know how the goal was scored and what lucky circumstance the scorer had to thank for it, because, as we know, God simply sees everything and someone just swings up at him: “… but very careless of Matip there, we’ll see that in a moment.” The whole deliberate, intentional disillusionment that he intends to spread so that you can’t be very, too or at all happy about a goal has taken about half as long as it takes the Brazilian announcer to catch his breath so that he can exclaim his emotional, endlessly long “gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool”, which he then usually follows up with the staccato “gol gol gol gol gol”. Which of the two “processing methods” would be preferable, which promises more listeners/audience? Where does one feel well taken care of and well entertained?
The viewer in this country should be eager for the replay from now on, but only so that he can witness this “great carelessness” of Matip. Or so that one can bow before so much expertise after viewing the pictures?
Incidentally, the slow motion then didn’t quite want to reveal a “carelessness we are about to see”, so the reference to it was summarily swept under the table. The promise to see it was not kept. It may not have existed at all? What is also rather important is that it is said, and said right now. Rejoicing was in the past. Today, mistakes are exposed. Shamelessly and mercilessly. And if there are none, they are invented.
An imposition, according to the widespread tenor, what we get to see here. To be amazed, to be delighted, to be thrilled, that’s for amateurs. A real expert immediately puts his fingers in the wounds, even if the wounds first have to be torn out by his own hand with croaking, and actually lie in the eardrums and in the understanding of logic. Nonsense to the power of three, coupled with a stupid sobriety that spoils any pleasure. Sound off, nothing else helps. As Tucholsky once said about essayists: “A language blown up like a balloon, a prick in it with the needle of reason – and nothing remains but a heap of bad grammar.” At the high school of reporter’s German, however, they teach you how not even to blow up the balloon first. “Nice and always keep the ball flat.”
Shortly afterwards, the spectator, who continued to be so regrettably amateurish, but who perhaps, despite all the widespread and forced lack of emotion, was still tense or spellbound, was instructed anew: “there’s a bit little coming from Schalke after going behind.” Aha, he, the Schalke fan would have liked a little more? Or how does the sudden partisanship come about? A Schalke fan for another could say that, but wouldn’t, as he would rather hope, but it would express the concern (even more) that the game could be lost. What’s the point of the reporter’s comment? Are we all supposed to wish for “a bit more to come?” Or what? What about the HSV supporters, what about the neutral ones?
For the spectator, who at no time is in favour of either team, but only of great football, it can “objectively” only look like this: Great that a goal was scored. It’s good that it went to the team that was better. Let’s see what happens now. This is the only position the announcer would have to be in – unless he were to indicate a following in advance, a preference, which would then be unseemly, but only from the organiser, who would have to be concerned about neutrality. “Too little comes from Schalke” is out of place – and, as usual, negative. Stupidly bold was still missing?
Moreover, as a reasonable viewer, you can guess what the commentary would be like if there were actually “more from Schalke”. It would automatically be: “HSV gives up the initiative after taking the lead”, “HSV retreats too far”, or “they really invite the opponent to score goals” or “they switch to managing the result early on, too early? The simplest: “HSV has been too passive since taking the lead”.
There was too little from Schalke in this game. That was postulated (however, a slightly modified, famous statement by a politician applies even more to the reporters: “What do I care about my stupid chatter from 10 seconds ago?”). Then came the sending-off against Schalke’s Höwedes. Of course, Schalke also knows that it’s now almost impossible to grab it. At least it remained exciting, because “only” the one goal was missing. Marcel Reif orated, also following a banal but untrue insight. It sounded like this: “That’s the reproach you can’t spare them. 1-0. Only 1-0.”
Negative at first. As usual. Then: “… the reproach, …”. Does one want to make an accusation? No, one must, one cannot spare. But one doesn’t even think about it. Everyone can see what’s going on. They had chances before the 1:0, they had a few good chances afterwards, they simply played well. This “blaming” is completely out of place. The perspective for the “argument” must also be clarified: As an HSV supporter, you are of course totally enthusiastic about your team’s play. It may not even bother you that the score is “only” 1:0 because you love the tension of it. Sure, you’d like to have won at some point and many, certainly all fans, would also be grateful for a 2:0. Nevertheless, you feel that it happens often enough that you play as well as they did the whole time and don’t lead at all or are even behind. You’re leading, you’re watching a great game, you’re shaking a little, you’re excited and full of anticipation. What’s the point of “blaming”? Out of place, stupid, inappropriate. Above all, there is palpable enthusiasm in the stadium, which even a reporter would notice and could use as a guide. The “reproach” comes from him, and it is totally out of place. For the TV viewer (the one who was still listening) it looks like this: “It’s no fun either way. It’s not fun for me, and I have a responsibility to make sure it’s fun for you.”
The way one would have to comment on it – especially since all humanity has been lost precisely on the “reproach” — looks like this. “Gosh, now they’ve played so great, had so many chances, a 2:0 would be deserved. And as a friend of the game of football, you wish that it wouldn’t end up going against them.” If you want to say anything at all in that direction. As a commentator and other spectator, one should rather be grateful for the preserved tension. Above all, there would be enough exciting scenes on the pitch for the attentive reporter to tell about. Yes, too bad, that was “for the attentive”. We didn’t have one available at the moment.
The oracle continued in the usual form: “whoever doesn’t take so many chances will end up, according to an old saying…” and so on. Until the score was actually 1-1. There was only the one chance. It’s what football is all about. Sometimes one chance is enough. It can happen, it means you always have a motivation to look, at least as long as it’s close from the result. That goal was well scored, acrobatic, spot on, the ball, just not the goal to the game. It was unfair and not a single tine could fall out of the (self-made and put on) crown of the person who would recognise that and tell the spectator.
Marcel Reif, of course, that no one would jump up: “That’s what happened. 1:1.” That’s it. Nothing of a great job – and that’s what it really was – nothing of conveyed tension, no, that wouldn’t be appropriate here at all, here there would simply have to be the ability to express regret. “This is not deserved. I feel sorry for HSV, because they were clearly superior throughout. But it’s not over yet!” It is the only appropriate thing to do. To declare the oracle fulfilled here is just pathetic. “That’s when it happened.” So to speak, “what I predicted all along.” Mind you, I did sort of predict it, but just in case it happened. If it hadn’t happened, nothing would have been heard of it far and wide. That’s for sure.
HSV just kept playing the way it had all along. And it deserves a lot of respect for that, because such a shock is really not easy to digest. Shortly before the end – just a few minutes later – the eternally young Zé Roberto broke through on the left, van Niestelrooy saw the gap once again and scored to make it 2-1. To describe this as “just keeping his foot in” doesn’t do it justice. There is much more to it. Perfect body control is mentioned first, but also sensing and anticipating the situation. Anticipation is what we like to call it. The world class stood out. From both players.
By the way, so that the objectivity of what is written here is not thrown into too much doubt: Marcel Reif spoke after the game of a “good, exciting football match. A great, successful start to the season.” He should have conveyed this during the match – maybe then someone would have listened to him when he summed it up?
Marcel Reif had another choice for the week, and that was Werder Bremen in the Champions League Quali at Sampdoria Genoa. Of course, the field was set for Werder Bremen to be waved through. After all, a 3:1 from the first leg for the nominally slightly better team seemed a solid cushion. The goal conceded shortly before the end of the first leg did not promise a walkover, but for anyone who had seen the first leg, a 3:0 would have been too clear a result after the course of the game. Apart from that, this goal meant that some suspense was to be expected, but on the other hand the hope was high that one could witness a celebration. That certainly also applied to the commentator.
Basically, the fact should be mentioned that commentary in this country on a match involving a German team is allowed to be biased. There is no question about that. Unfortunately, the effect that can be observed is that this clearly partisan tone is often adopted for the commentary of domestic matches. This can be seen, as just one example, in the above-mentioned sentence by Marcel Reif: “..there’s too little coming from Schalke.” It is the sentence that, if one were biased, one would be allowed to say, perhaps even have to – supplementary: in case it should happen to be true. It doesn’t fit into the commentary of a domestic match, it simply doesn’t belong there, only jargon is being spoken, and this is, a bit like the word already suggests, not particularly reflected. No thought has been given to the fact that one has to be impartial and continues to speak “jargon”.
Here the omens were different. Werder is German, Sampdoria Italian, and apart from a long-lasting “enmity” – which of course refers neither to the destination nor to the imported cuisine – it was precisely between these two countries in the UEFA five-year ranking that the fourth Champions League starting place was at stake.
Werder conceded two goals very soon. After just 14 minutes, this gave Sampdoria the advantage, as they would have progressed on the basis of the away goals rule with this result – despite the aggregate score of 3:3. Logically, disillusionment in the reporters’ booth – oh, aha, there was never any passion, anticipation or enthusiasm, sorry, Mr. Reif — soon turned into tangible and razor-sharp criticism. Now, as such a critical reporter, you don’t have a clear line without knowing it. For in themselves, losers, teams trailing 0:2, are the most pitiful victims of scathing criticism. On the other hand, in this case it is precisely the Germans. Well, what do you do now? Well, keep on talking, that can never hurt (of course, since no one is listening anyway) and look for an orientation. In principle, the Germans should get on, that would be good for the station, hm, indirectly it’s also about my job, about my future. Well, what’s bad has to be portrayed as bad. In this respect, it’s okay to hack a little. Especially since what viewer wants to identify with losers?
“If they don’t do more soon” or “finally wake up”, then there will be “a disaster here”. “Now they have to pull the ripcord soon, get a foot on the ground” or whatever. All banalities that are certainly unsuitable for creating suspense. Even so, the spectator knows that the situation is critical. So a total of 70 minutes of play passed, plus a 15-minute half-time break. Then it happened: Sampdoria scored the 3:0 in the 83rd minute through Cassano with a heel. Marcel Reif could no longer hold on, he muttered indignantly into the microphone: “so, and now it’s over, Werder is out of the Champions League. That’s it.”
It was possible that a fellow reporter sitting next to him – a German-speaking one – poked him in the side, or that the first housewives and primary school pupils called indignantly because they too had long since understood the supposedly “so complicated European Cup arithmetic”. In any case, shame or no shame, he managed to correct this within a good, but for his so many fans – er, if you could find just one of them, the autograph from this one would certainly be worth it, because, due to its absolute uniqueness, it would have to have an extremely high value – agonisingly long minute: “Well, so Werder still needs a goal, then there would be extra time.”
Well, if you now put yourself in the role of programme director and remember that a lady was sent out the door for far less than that – as Olli Dittrich once so cleverly put it, “she would have told Schalke nil five, even though they had won four nil” – and additionally remember that a famous coach was once sacked during the half-time break, then you should actually be able to predict the reaction: It was the penultimate sentence that had to be endured from him. Something like that really shouldn’t happen.
How can you commentate on a game for an audience of millions and not know the individual, possible outcomes with their consequences? Even more: If one really didn’t know, with what stupidity, audacity and arrogance must one be equipped to dare to immediately blast ignorance, stupidity and ignorance over the airwaves? If one has actually dealt with and knows so little about the matter, then one would be out of place anyway – silence would always be advisable, because the information gap was obvious.
It is not possible, it cannot be. There is really no pardon, which he himself did not grant Matip, for example, above. That is, using one of his fancy words, “subterranean”. Another saying he uses so often also fits: “He MUST do it”. Yes, that’s true, he just couldn’t put that one next to it, Mr Reif, yes, you quite personally. If you think anything of yourself – still – the only thing left to do is to resign, unless the chair has long since been vacated, but you really have to assume that the person in charge of the programme is not listening either, and that is meant very, very seriously.
Especially since, especially since, enough with this, it is added for this case that he had a beaten 85 minutes to prepare for this scenario, still during the game, if he had not done it as homework, once briefly recapitulate. The first leg was 3:1 for Werder. Now it’s 2-0. Werder need a goal, we’ve already clarified that — “complicated arithmetic” and all that — otherwise they’re out. If they score, it’s 1:2. Then they’d be through. If Sampdoria score? I don’t know. Then they’re out?
If they scored 3:0, they would be exactly one goal away from the first leg result. Werder lacked that one goal. Could it be any easier? Now it’s 3-0 – and I think: “That’s it, Werder are out.” It’s probably the unwillingness to identify with a loser. “They’re down 0:3 and I’ve been badmouthing them all along. And now I’m supposed to root for them or dwell on their remaining chances? No, they’re so weak, now they’re definitely and irrevocably out, as weak as they are.”
Even if this explanation were closest to the truth: it would in no way qualify as “exoneration”. Rash would be flattering for what can only be described as “stupid”. Especially since he stayed on, had to stay on, and had to testify and bring the episode across. Could it occasionally be noticed that one has made a fool of oneself? Instead, the bigotry grows.
After Werder actually scored the 1:3 in the third minute of injury time – for Germans this luck has become a matter of course, abroad it has consistently earned them the term “the black beast” and that it remains relatively uncommented on, unrecognised, should not surprise anyone – the commentary became even easier for Marcel Reif. The prophet, who just 9 minutes before had said “that’s the end for Werder”, was now back again, directly after the goal: “Yes, but now they have a clear advantage. Psychologically speaking. Sampdoria can’t put that away so easily. They’re at the end of their tether.” So just now he didn’t even know that this goal would be enough for extra time, and now he dares to say that they are more or less further along? Didn’t hear the shot?
And, lo and behold. Werder scored the 2:3. There was no talk of luck, which could simply be brought across. No, Mr. Reif felt obliged to explain the arithmetic of the European Cup to the spectators. What this goal meant, what the score would be and how they would be knocked out. Presumably, during the short interruption before extra time, he had the editor present him with the tape of one of the housewives calling after his — oh, “embarrassing” is not the word at all — remark, listened to it, and even reproduced it almost flawlessly. How can one do that? No, embarrassing is really not the word.
During extra time, after the score of 2:3, he took another opportunity to mock the Italian spectators in the stadium. Because: they were simply thrilled (by their team). They celebrated their heroes and thanked them for the great game and the great performance. A beautiful picture to see and hear something like that, nothing more, and it just did justice to the situation. How hard is it to acknowledge that? Sampdoria played a quite fantastic game, from the first to the last minute, which is sufficiently well reflected in the 3-1 after 90 minutes. On top of that, they were only a good minute away from a dream goal. The Italian spectators appreciated that, thanked and celebrated, themselves and their team. It also expressed a bit of surrender to the beast. “We can do anything, we can beat our opponents, we play as hard as nails. But there’s one thing we can’t do: defeat the black beast. Not only does it have seven heads and seven lives, but it also has gigantic tentacles, one of which it will extend decisively at some point. For that, when nothing else works, she has God’s help.”
Marcel Reif commiserated and smiled at the audience. Now to gloat as well? Not only did the German team just jump from the brink – as you can’t help noticing? –, he has also disgraced himself sufficiently. No, you can go right back to hacking, jeering, laughing. Exactly, embarrassing is the wrong word for it, one has to be invented sometime…. marcel immature?
