The View from Germany: A Raucous Celebration in Dortmund

It is midnight and I am standing in a fountain in a plaza in the center of Dortmund hugging a pot bellied grown man I have never met before. The rain is coming down in sheets. Lightning illuminates the sky adding a surreal element to the thunderous noise of thousands of young Germans celebrating their team’s last minute World Cup victory against neighboring Poland. The masses in the plaza are letting the world know that they are Deutschland and that they will see you in Berlin for the final. I am one of them this night. I am Deutschland. I will see you in Berlin for the final.

Flash back three hours. The game kicks off and I am sitting in the apartment of the father of my friend Bense. I only know Bense through email exchanges that started a few months ago before the World Cup began. I am curious to meet the person behind the messages so I jump at the chance to visit him in Dortmund while his nation’s team is in town.

Immediately upon arriving in town I am given a 1990 German World Cup jersey and a scarf. I am told that I must wear both, as well as carry a small Germany flag. I have never been a fan of German football or the German national team, but on this night I have no choice. I look like the tens of thousands who are streaming through the streets on the way to the stadium.

We watch the game on a small television with Bense’s father. Within a few minutes a few of Bense’s friends arrive telling us that everywhere in town is packed with fans watching the match and that it is impossible to move around town. Like Bense, these guys are in the early 20s. They remind me of my own friends at home, making fun of one another and wagering bets on who will be the hero for Germany tonight.

I speak no German but for 90 minutes that does not matter. It is the game of football, a universal language that requires no translation. I let out a groan with each near miss by Germany and the Germans around me groan with me. When Poland almost goes ahead my feet kick the floor in unison with the others. My heart stops when theirs do. My stomach can relate to their pain.

The game progresses and it is one of those affairs where you know it is destined to end in a draw. Germany does not need to win. Poland cannot afford to lose. It has to be a draw.

For the first half that is indeed the case. But things change seventy-five minutes into the game when a Polish player is sent off after picking up his second yellow card. The German team, which has controlled the game most of the night, smells blood. A tie is not the expected outcome. It is win or be disappointed.

Germany goes on the attack and with each passing minute seemingly misses one golden opportunity after another. I’m a nervous wreck watching it all unfold and watching the reactions of the people in the room who do dearly want their team to win.

And win they do. It is a goal by Oliver Neuville that gives Germany a 1-0 victory that secures a spot in the competition’s second round. The second the ball crosses the goal line I am on my feet pumping my fist in the air and screaming in a language that can only be described as primal. I am not alone. There are hugs and high fives all around. The sound is turned down on the television and you can feel the blast of noise coming from the streets. It is a noise of joyous rage.

We take to the streets and it is a tidal wave of humanity. Police sirens are blaring but there will be no cars on the street leading to the town center. The street has been overtaken by pedestrians singing the songs of Germany, hugging one another and waving the gold, red and black flag of their nation. Nearly everyone has a beer bottle in his hand and it appears that nearly everyone has a few beers in their system already. Even with the drunkenness the vibe is good with people wearing Poland gear freely mingling with their German counterparts.

Bense tells me he has never seen a celebration like this before in Dortmund, not even when the Berlin Wall fell and ushered in unification. An older stranger comes up to me and tells me that he has never seen such national pride from so many young Germans. Pride of nation is still a slippery slope in a country with a difficult recent past, but this moment, this World Cup might be changing that.

No one is thinking of the past as we make it to the Freedom Square. Thousands are there already and it is absolute chaos. A young man draped in a German flag has climbed up on a statue that sits in the middle of a fountain. A few others join him and they lead the masses in the singing. There is a command given that sounds a bit like “USA” but in fact turns out to be something along the lines of “sit and sing.”

We all kneel to the wet ground for 20 seconds and the command is given to jump up. There are thousands bouncing up and down in unison. Wearing my now soaking wet German jersey and scarf, I am jumping up and down.

For one night I am German. I am on top of the world.

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