Wednesday, 18 February 2015

European Midweeker Diary; The February 2015 Germany Trilogy.

What else are you going to do on a cold, quiet, opening week of February; your first full week off in over four months away from the mind-numbingly mundane and wearisome world that is the retail industry?

Relax, catch up on TV series you rarely get an opportunity and have been meaning to watch? Take your other half for stress-relieving break in the Lake District? Start constructing that erotic love novel you've been intending to compose which centres on the character of a flawed but well-meaning middle-aged mechanic and EDL supporter named Bruce, who's attempting to rekindle the flailing romance with his grossly overweight wife Sharon? Or simply just enjoy being able to regain your sanity for a whole week without any idle housewife glaring at you like you've informed her you have just murdered her children, all because you've had the audacity to notify her that the honey & mustard homepride cooking sauce she so badly craves is currently out of stock?

No, none of the above. What you do is scour Ryanair and Easyjet for their dirt-cheap flight offerings and start planning your next continental football trip in the arse end of nowhere.

Well, not quite the arse end of nowhere in this case. My bandwagonization of German football has meant I have developed a serious thirst for watching football in the country I have developed a warmly affection towards. This would not be my first trip of the season out there - like a true societal outcast, back in September I spent my 23rd birthday in swashbuckling style; in my own solitude, taking in the awe-inspiring delights of fourth division football at KFC Uerdingen 05 at their wonderful behemoth relic of a stadium. A member of the Bundesliga until as recently as the mid nineties, their plight and plummet into regional football, now regularly pitting themselves in fixtures against reserve clubs that they used to face, is pretty much unparalleled to anything you'd find in the English pyramid.

Even Portsmouth, who have flirted with relegation from the football league in the past two seasons have not suffered such a fall from grace. Uerdingen, who overcame Bayern Munich to be crowned the country's cup final winners in 1985, had less than 2,000 supporters rattling around in their 34,000 capacity home on the evening I attended. Yet there was something so wonderfully romantic about the unfulfilled potential at their monstrous home, which really did resemble something from a bygone era that is usually extinct to chaps of my tender years.



Grotenberg-Stadion: the splendid home of KFC Uerdingen 05. 

A privilege to visit such an imposing terrace; one's that are becoming extinct in our country. 
That brief foray into Deutschland also yielded some top-flight action for me between two of the country's biggest and most historic clubs; the 1970's dominators Borussia Monchengladbach and Hamburger SV; an importer of our very own Kevin Keegan from the same era. That evening at Borussia Park also exemplified to me that those Germans know how to produce superb modern stadia as well - I thoroughly enjoyed my evening witnessing the noisy nordkurve spur the hosts onto earning a deserved 1-0 victory.


Gladbach 1-0 Hamburg, my view at Borussia Park on 24/09/2014. 
Those couple of games reaffirmed my enjoyment of watching live German football, something which I fail to offer up an apology for, despite the sneering attitude of some of the closed-minded, little-Inglanders who seem to imply it's dirty and alien to enjoy such a thing. Quite simply, I thoroughly enjoy the matchday culture and experience which to me seems far greater catered for the enjoyment of the supporter, rather than the current British approach of ripping off the 'consumer' at will. I like that the majority of clubs have sections of the fanbase that attempt to support the team vocally throughout the entire game. I like colour, and how a high proportion of German football supporters deck out to games in memorabilia, whereas now it's sneered at by macho-male "replica shirts are for kids and poofs" types over here. I like having the choice of being able to drink alcohol in view of the match and having the reign to do so without being considered a degenerate. I adore bratwurst and all the other wonderful variants. I enjoy feeling like I'm getting value for money from what I've shelled out on my match ticket.

I'm not going to go on to claim that German football is total rainbows and butterflies and that everything about UK football is totally shit as this isn't the case, I will weigh up some discrepancies later on in this blog. But neither will I continue to give a fuck to those who will belittle me as some sort of hipster wankstain that doesn't know his arse from his elbow. If enjoying something which I deem to be a thoroughly enjoyable environment to watch football, the sport that consumes me, is something to be ashamed of, then more fool them.

Once again I'm really extending out this prologue in my archetypal monotonous fashion so I will proceed with the details of what I'm actually meant to be talking about.


Scouring the list of midweek fixtures, I tried to connect games that would both appeal and would also be able to connect geographically to another one, as Bundesliga midweek rounds (which are rare) are split equally over Tuesdays and Wednesdays. And fortunately enough the announcement of exact dates fell immaculately to what I was hoping - Eintracht Frankfurt's bout against Wolfsburg would commence on the Tuesday night, thus enabling me to also attend FC Koln's fixture against well-supported VFB Stuttgart on Wednesday.
The initial planned two night trip would soon extend into a quad; a preluding visit to the highly rated Heidelberg would be added, while Ajax's hosting of AZ Alkmaar provided too much temptation for an inaugural visit to the seedy city of Amsterdam (and Netherlands itself), having discovered that advance intercity rail trains can actually be affordable when booked in groups. Just a €24 subtraction from my bank account for the 2hr 50m journey from Cologne, while none of the other cross-city trips would amount to anything upwards of €13, such was the savings when booking in groups of three.

Furthermore, in what is a rather large two fingers up to those of you who deem yourselves too cool or too beyond obtaining a nectar card, my flight from Amsterdam to Luton would total the princely sum of £6.08 after deducting £25 worth of points. It truly is a case of something for nothing, so please make sure to sign up to www.nectar.com if you're arrogant enough to not have already done so. Thanks.

My Dover-supporting accomplices on this trip would comprise of the two customary faces on my European joints; Kieran Dodd and the much-maligned Martyn McGarrigle. The latter himself a regular Rhine-Westphalia visitor at MSV Duisburg, his father's adopted hometown, when he remembers to bring his passport for making such excursions.

The final addition to our circus troupe would be in the form of everybody's favourite Barrovian, the much adored Stuart Nichols. He is the catalyst behind the 1.FC Koln UK Fan Club, which he co-founded, after becoming infatuated with the club on his first visit in 2008. I'd been conversing with Stuey for an extended period of time trying to sort out a meet out there and fortunately this one fitted like a jigsaw. He was already planning on going to Koln's away game at Hamburg on the Saturday so thus I coaxed him into lengthening his trip into a six night one, also immersing Preussen Munster v Dynamo Dresden prior to joining us in Heidelberg on the Monday evening.

People have often enquired why several Dover supporters have such close friendship ties to several of the Barrow lot. The explanation is a fairly amusing one.

Nearly five years ago, five of us travelled on the train to Bishop's Stortford for our game there only to suffer the annoyance of having our game postponed with fewer than a couple of hours until kick off. Travelling back into Kent, we hopped off at Gravesend and made our way to Stonebridge Road for Ebbsfleet United versus Barrow. Phil Smith, ever being the crafty, penny-pinching sod that he is, managed to persuade the poor lass operating the turnstile that five Dover fans had been allowed free entrance into the match, following our misfortunate situation in Hertfordshire, as agreed by their chairman in a fictional phone call made by ours. Completely oblivious to Phil's mischief, she permitting us through, only to realise the stupidity of her kind-heartedness when mentioning it to her high orders.

Anyway, come the end of the first half we'd received word that the stewards were on the hound for us, with two members of our party having been chucked out after failing to disguise the colours of their DAFC tops, so we had the option to either go incognito or face a severe bollocking from the EUFC orders.

We chose the former. Extremely impressed by the Cumbrians following in numerical and vocal aspects for such a lengthy trip to a filthy footballing backwater, we coerced amongst their supporters, who provided a few of us with blue and white scarves to complete our transformation. We returned the favour by joining in with their songs, well, what lyrics we could successfully make out from their northern monkey accents.

Thereby we engaged in a sickening love-in during and following the match, thus remaining in contact with several and solidifying status as #footballfwends ever since.

And now I can technically claim that I've been on holiday with one of them too.

Heidelberg


The town of Heidelberg was first drawn to my attention by Lenny Baryea, a Maidenhead United fan and part-writer of the blog 'Go Mad Or Stop Caring', who centred a footballing trip based in the historic town. His escapades on that jolly can be revisited here.

Lenny's enthusiasm and endorsement promoted me to educate myself on the history and intel of the town, which I have to be honest I was completely oblivious towards before. This probably entirely due to its lack of footballing heritage; despite the 150,000 inhabitants it currently fails to play host to single professional club, nor even anything in the regionalliga or oberliga.

Instead it is renowned for its prestigious university, picturesque surroundings and magnificent castle. I would liken it to cities like York, Cambridge (coincidentally has a twin-partnership) and Oxford in paralleling similarities; places where the grandeur doesn't need to conveyed by the success of a sporting team.

Nonetheless this doesn't mean it should be ruled out on the basis of being a footballing destination; indeed, there are several big clubs clustered in the Baden-Württemberg state and surrounding areas. Karlsruhe, Kaiserslautern, Frankfurt (x2), Stuttgart, Hoffenheim, Mainz, Darmstadt and Sandhausen ALL play host to either top flight or second tier football and can be reached within 30-90 minutes directly by train. And of course there are several other gems to be found in the divisions beneath that. So if like Lenny your goal is to achieve the not-so-mythical three game trip, you can book flights and hotels prematurely and still be guaranteed at least a couple of belting fixtures to take in.

If you do intend to go to Heidelberg though just make sure you don't repeat the same mistake as I did. That would be having the naiveity to assume that Ryanair's dirt cheap flights to Frankfurt Hahn airport would take you anywhere near to the centre of Frankfurt. It's actually a whole 80 miles westwards and it is actually situated closer to fucking Luxembourg! And not only that, shuttle buses are really infrequent and there are no reliable transport links anywhere nearby. It's a desolate airport situated in the middle of nowhere.
For some reason it didn't clock onto me that such big city as Frankfurt would have more than one airport but even so, claiming this as one serving the city is bordering on fraudulent.

I was on the verge of booking train tickets from Frankfurt Airport (the real one) to Heidelberg until Stuart alerted me that I wouldn't actually be heading there. And it's a good job he did otherwise I could have had a serious cock-up someway up on the embarrassment richter scale.

Instead with the bus infrequencies it was quicker and more viable to get a shuttle bus into Mainz and then catch a train onto Heidelberg, which would give us the best of both worlds. Some beautiful scenery from the snow-clad valleys on the long winding motorway, while getting the opportunity to neck a pint in a city none of us had visited previously. We also surpassed FSV Mainz's Coface Arena home en route to the city, which was well out of the centre, like most German football (and new build) football grounds, this one built in 2011.



Snow. It makes landscapes just that little bit prettier, dunnit? 

Hunsruckstadion, a quaint little ground in a town called Simmern. 


It can be quite blurry trying to take pics on a moving bus.... 
Every detail and elucidation of Heidelberg that had been eloquently described in the manuals well and truly surpassed the billing of the town's vast beauty. I've been to some stunning cities upon my travels in the past 18 months; the likes of Prague, Vienna, Krakow and Budapest to name some. But even from such a fleeting (>24 hour) spent there I'd honestly say it would even eclipse all of those.

Like most of the grandest towns and cities, it lies on the banks of a river, in this case the Neckar. A lot of its appeal is drawn in from its picturesque cobbled streets crammed with traditional restaurants and pubs. There are majestic buildings at every corner you turn, but the real centrepiece of the town is the Schloss, its castle. To enter the castle you have to pay €6 to get take a cable car up to it's entrance, such is its steepness, which also enables admission inside. And my word, the view that overhangs the rest of the city is absolutely breathtaking, I can't succinctly sum just how stunning it is so I'll have to allow the photos to do the talking instead.

The castle itself renders Dover one into resembling the rusty wooden shed in my garden. Complete with a moat and collapsed ruins that are still in tact, I think it would fair to say it's more factual than opinion when I state it is 'aesthetically pleasing on the eye'.
























In addition to the castle we also cast aside enough time to squeeze in a visit to the town's zoo. I know, working-class blokes on a football, beer and bratwurst trip deep down unzipping their true softy colours by wanting to see all the cute fluffy animals. Despite the tough guy exterior we all present to the wider world, deep down we're just good honest chaps who feel at ease with mother nature.

At €7.80 for admission in the off-season it was worth venturing into. I have to say though the depth of animals was nowhere near as interesting as the other ones I have been to in the previous year. With the size of Vienna's that is to be expected, but even then it fell shy of the standards of Krefeld's, a city far less spectacular in stature.

It was an enjoyable way to spend a couple of hours, however, and funnily enough of all the wildlife it would be the goats that would throw up the most entertainment. They have the unhindered access of fraternizing amongst the humans and thus took a particular shining to Stuey, unsurprisingly. Daft, stupid but harmless creatures. They taste bloody nice, too. The goats that is.





I like owls. For some reason I have one tattooed on my leg. This legend right here swallowed a dead mouse in a singular gulp. 

Decent choreo from the Heidelberg Flamingo ultras. 

Unfortunately our evening out the previous day hadn't amounted to anything too exciting. My assumption that being a big university hub, the nightlife would remain thriving and boisterous all week round would turn out to be a misguided one. It was eerily quiet in the lovely Altstadt, which would later prove unsurprising given the circumstances. Not only being that the temperatures were sub zero, I later found via the hostel staff in Frankfurt the following day that it was the exam season out there. D'oh!

Regardless, we had a #lovelytime catching up with Stuart in some of the bars we ventured into, out of which I would most recommend the Brauhaus Vetter for any fellow beer connoisseurs out there. It produces its own beers on site (I can confirm that their schwarzbier effort ist fantastisch) while also serving a wide menu of authentic local and national cuisine. I opted for something called 'Schupfnudeln', not having the foggiest clue what the dish entailed, such is the diversity of my taste buds that I feel capable of taking on anything. And it turned out to be quite the most quintessential German food imaginable; 'potato noodles', pan fried with sauerkraut and bacon lardons. 'Reet bloody nice it were too, even if my northern accomplice Stuart was aghast to its lack of gravy!



Ben Mitchell and Ian Huntley enjoy their whole litre each of the good stuff. 

With regards to Heidelberg it definitely wasn't the ideal time to go to enjoy bustling nightlife but I can only envisage how much it thrives in the spring and summer season. I reckon that the best possible time to soak up its unquestionable delights would thus be at the very start or end of the football season. It is somewhere I would no doubt  wish to return to in the future to squeeze out the best the town has to offer, even though the expeditionist in me rarely feels compelled to return to an overseas city, such is the extent of the world I still yet want to see.

Frankfurt

The main thing eludes you when you're travelling is the most invaluable aspect of all; time. Prioritizing a greater length of stay in Heidelberg, when we arrived in Frankfurt at 16:30 on Tuesday afternoon we were designated with little over half a day to spend in Germany's main financial city. And such scant time would be made even sparser when you factored in we had the small matter of attending our first football match of the trip in that evening.
Thus we were unable to get a real good feel of the city which left me harbouring feelings of unfulfillment, as the vibes I had gained out of it were very positive.

Arriving into Frankfurt's Hauptbahnhof is quite something - especially for those of you amongst us are a bit nerdy when it comes to trains and the rail industry. The sheer scale of the building is astronomical with commuters flying left, right and centre. It is one of the biggest terminal stations in Europe, boasting 26 different platforms and a daily passenger turnout of 450,000 people. Its central location in Germany explains why it is such a hub and the sheer depth of possible destinations you can reach from there would make the Josh Watkins in all of us dribbling like a.... er, you can finish off that simile. 


Josh Watkins for the record is a Dover Athletic supporter with a deep lying passion for all things railway; he's a genuine trainspotter and we all love and respect him for it. 

Exiting the hauptbahnhof you're left with an impression that immediately reinforces the perception of it being a prosperous business city. There are skyscrapers galore and various other high-rise buildings all of which form the so-called 'Frankfurt-Skyline'.

Our hostel was immediately visible from leaving the station, literally directly over the street; the swankily named 'Frankfurt Hostel'. This turned out to be both positive and detrimental. The brighter aspect being that between us we are all utterly useless at navigating maps and following directions, regardless of meticulously I plan things. But the real negative was that it meant we needn't venture off and explore deeper into the city. By hostel standards this was a real decent one - possessing a decent 24hr bar serving a varied range of all the well-regarded pilseners and weissbiers at sound prices. 
Thus when we returned from the soccer game, we needn't felt much desire to move away from our comforts - what with it already being late, tiring out from a long day and memories lingering of the calmness in Heidelberg's town centre the previous evening. Oh, and an early(ish) train to Cologne to look forward to the following morning. 

I regret that, I do, as I know that beyond the ultra-modern, stylish buildings there is meant to be an interesting Aldstadt entrenched in traditional character, but I know it is currently undergoing rebuilding to restore some of it's old famous buildings, reduced to rubble by our very own RAF some time ago over some war or something. 

But you can't have it all unfortunately. I awoke far later than expected (my body clock seldom allows me to awaken later than 6am on days off of work) on Wednesday morning so I was denied my chance of exploration, but I did have just enough time to wander down to take a peek of the city from the banks of the River Main, which runs through the city.







But I while I may carry that sense of a squandered opportunity, the real raison d'etre of arriving in Frankfurt was of a footballing nature......


Eintracht Frankfurt 1-1 VfL Wolfsburg
Attendance: 34,400 (approx 200 away)
The Commerzbank Arena
Ticket Price: €25 (seating)

Leading into this game I had very high hopes of this providing a real cracker for what would become my milestone 150th football ground visited; a journey which has encompassed some of the rustiest, backwards, filthiest and downright disgusting backwaters across the south of England. Really, given the nature of my journey, it would have been fitting to hit such a 'feat' at some completely irrelevant outpost such as Hemel Hempstead Town. 

Instead I'd be watching football in the best attended league in the world, featuring some of the game's greatest players albeit most of them play for Bayern. But fuck my roots. I want entertainment. And the two of these would surely throw up a thriller between them, right?
Going into this fixture, Wolfsburg (37) and Frankfurt (35) were by far the division's most prolific goal-getters, if you ignore the abnormality that is Bayern Munich. Speaking of whom, the visitors would be going into this game on the back of an astonishing 4-1 win against the Bavarians, solidifying their positions as the division's leading also-rans. 


Eintracht aren't only great at scoring them though, they're also generous in leaking them in; their tally of 38 at this point registering as the division's second highest 'against' column. Such a gung-ho reputation had been compounded by a couple of extraordinary results - a 5-4 loss to the goal-shy Stuttgart side and a 4-4 draw to another struggler in Hertha Berlin. Both of which came at their Commerzbank Arena home. 

Thus this game had all the makings of a classic - which therefore had me convinced that we would have the biggest dud in store for us imaginable. As it turned out, the truth would lay somewhere at neither end of those expectations - a 90 minutes of football which I could most eloquently explain as 'alright'. 

I had more reasons than football itself to anticipate the encounter, however. I had became increasingly aware of Eintracht's reputation as one of the most passionate and loudest supports in the country, signified in particular by their recent Europa League exploits. Their 12,000 strong following at Bordeaux last season conjured up a rather spectacular pyroshow in France, thus leaving the hipsters amongst at home creaming over their fanatical support on youtube videos. 

While that was a rare cross-continental excursion for them, I had grown knowledge of their favourable reputation domestically too, thanks to a chap called Mir Ko supplying me with videos of their ultras best moments via facebook. Mir Ko is one of the chaps I met at Duisburg back in May 2013 and is a friend of Martyn. An MSV supporter, he harbours a strong liking for Eintracht too, somewhat enhanced by the *supposed fanfreundschaft between the two clubs. 

*Martyn claims this, though a consequent search has led me to discover little to reinforce this is the case. 

The Commerzbank Arena, still commonly known as Waldstadion to the Eintracht faithful, is easily accessible from the hauptbahnhof, with several S-Bahn and tram services running to the complex - situated 5KM south of the city centre. The stadium is another contemporary one having been completely rebuilt on the site of the old one in preparation of the 2006 World Cup. 

On this bitterly cold evening the first course of action for us (bar Stuey) was to purchase a scarf each from one of the various merchandise sellers such was the severity of the cold. Well, that's my excuse anyway. Add to that, I've long been a fan of Alexander Meier before it became the fashionable in-thing. 

One thing that struck me from surveying these stalls were the presence of anti-Bayern Munich and Kickers Offenbach scarves. The former I just assumed as standard petty-minded jealousy but the latter I was more dumbstruck by. I was aware of Offenbach's existence, had heard of the name and knew they were a well-supported club floundering in the Regionalliga, but I had no idea that the town was essentially a suburb of Frankfurt. And having subsequently read the fascinating Tor! book, I now know that the rivalry has rich context behind it rather than just pure local jingoism. Eintracht defeated Offenbach 5-3 for their first and only national championship title to date (when the league was still decided by a knockout  format) in the final of 1959. 


In the lead up to the game Martyn had been rabbiting onto us about a legendary food stall near Frankfurt's ground that sold 15 inch bratwurst hot dogs and had insisted that we tracked it down. Naturally though, like all obese people, he caved into ordering food from the first food and beer stool we encountered. Which wasn't a bad thing in my case; I ordered a sausage called a rindswurst, which I was aware of being a special delicacy to Frankfurt. Made out of pure beef, it was incredible. So succulent and so much flavour. 




I didn't quite fancy trying the other local recommendation, apfelwein, an acidic-like cider which is very popular within the city. Unusual that, I've rarely ever seen cider available in mainland Europe. 

Of course, walking about 15 metres onwards we went underneath a bridge and duly encountered these infamous mammoth sausages, being freshly grilled in this passage decorated with Eintracht graffitied fan art. Complete with full rib-steaks as well, this truly was the carnivore's dream, even though we'd just have to make-do with beautiful waft lingering in the air. If you go there you have to try it on behalf of myself; too lazy to bother to join the lengthy queue to be even more greedy.  

The layout of entering the ground is unconventional. The turnstiles are located a few hundred metres away from where the ground actually is, you're essentially entering a complex. You walk past a couple of training pitches and then you're just free to mingle about (away fans are also integrated amongst in this layout), visit the memorabilia and refreshment stalls, and then just wander off to whatever part of the ground you're ticket is meant to be validated for. Only there didn't appear to be any strict examination from the security team - I do not recall ever having ours looked at any given point. Then again, we were in the cheap seats north of the away fans, in a sparser populated area of the ground. I'd imagine there's more scrutiny for the terracing, though none of us felt particularly compelled enough to challenge the security measures of this evening. 




With the ground named after a bank and the placing of glass preserved Alfa Romeo's, it did have somewhat of a corporate feel to it. 

Memorabilia wankers. 
Many English football fans will know of this venue as the scene of where England commenced their world cup campaign against Paraguay, won in the opening minutes when David Beckham's free-kick was graciously diverted into the goal via a South American bonce. 
I had read mixed reviews from those who have previously been, some praising it for its great range of facilities and fine acoustics, while others labeled it as a bit bland and boring by Germany's high standards of stadium production. 

For me, I really liked it. I think bowl shaped grounds automatically get a raw deal from the football conservatists who will regard them as identikit regardless of their unique features. This isn't a St Mary's, a Pride Park or a King Power stadium. Granted, the 51,000 capacity means its probably unfair to compare against those but this is an excellent stadium in its own right. 

It's three-tiered, though the middle corporate section is minimal compared to the obscene proportion you would find at somewhere like Wembley. The upper and lower tiers possess plentiful space, further benefitted of course by the existence of terracing in the lower tier of each goal, albeit only a cornered section for the away fans.
The roof in particular is idiosyncratic. It entails a spiderweb style structure that holds a block of four TV screens , thus enabling a good view from any end of the stadium. 

Furthermore, the stands are unusually well spaced away from the pitch despite the absence of a running track; this isn't necessarily a bonus, but either way the noise contains excellently and it gives the ground a unique feel. 

My main real qualm, as often is an occurrence in European football these days, was the policy infiltrated of only being able to pay for food & beverages on a topped-up fan card (usually with a minimum deposit of €10), rather than cash. I can see why they're implemented; if you're a regular then they are super quick and EFFICIENT, and you don't have to worry about losing out on your money as you can just use it next time anyway, or possibly at other grounds as many use the same system - we jointly topped up on Stuart's old FC Koln one for a whipround. However, really you should be given a choice. The games I've been to at Duisburg, Monchengladbach and Koln (who have since abandoned it) have demonstrated that the key to dealing with hefty queuing is just to be well staffed, well stocked and well prepared. All traits which are naturally inherent to the super EFFICIENT Germans. 

The other disappointment on this evening was the absence of people. It became apparent in the build up to kick off that this crowd would fall significantly short of Eintracht's average of around 48,000 but this even fell well short of the season's previous smallest of 40,500. Just 34,400 ventured out for this Category D fixture in the sub-zero temperatures, not aided by a somewhat pitiful following from Bayern's closest challengers. 
I know slagging off pitiful away followings has become a tedious past-time to the modern internet fan these days (usually by people sat behind a keyboard who would never make the same journey in similar circumstances for their team) and I myself am a fan of one of the most modestly supported clubs in my team's division - I have been a part of many a double-figure away following this season, so am able to sympathise with lesser supported clubs. Even so, Wolfburg's following on this night, one that couldn't have been much upwards of 200, was absolutely woeful by Bundesliga standards. Yes, it's a quite a trek for such a midweek game but this is a club who are enjoying a fine season with some excellent attacking players in their ranks - who also went into this game having just further bolstered that with the addition of Andre Schurrle. 
Having said that, those who did show up did make a decent effort throughout the game and I will commend them for that, even in spite of their efforts being mostly drowned out by the vociferous Frankfurt ultras. 

Schurrle wouldn't be making his debut on this evening though, with manager Dieter Hecking feeling little obligation to tinker with a side that had so convincingly seen off Bayern Munich three days previously. Particularly as their opponents here had been gubbed 4-1 by strugglers Freiburg on their weekend outing. 

Au contraire to expectations though it was Eintracht who made the livelier start. Alexander Meier gave the visitors an early warning by cushioning a header into the path of the diminutive Japenese midfielder Takishi Inui, but the ball just evaded him when time came to strike the shot.

As expected though, Wolfsburg started to grow into the game and created two golden chances to break the deadlock, both of which they squandered. Firstly, in-form Dutch striker Bas Dost volleyed wide from a cross having been presented with a glorious amount of space to connect with it. Then it was Ivan Perisic who was guilty of missing a glitz-edged chance, having seen his soft shot blocked by Eintracht defender Carlos Zambrano after a quickly taken free-kick allowed Kevin De Bruyne to advance down the wing and play in a perfect cut-back. 


In an otherwise fairly laboured and disjointed opening half of football, Eintracht did manage to produce another opportunity of their own, with both Inui and Meier combining again. The former collected the ball and waited for Meier to spring the high defensive Wolfsburg line, before threading through a divine through ball with the outside of his boot. Meier, while majestic but not blessed with pace, had to strike the ball early with the advancing Naldo covering back, but his fierce drive was well palmed away by Swiss international Diego Benaglio.  

I love Meier, I do. He sort of reminds me of a fusion of Matt Le Tissier and Teddy Sheringham. While not even an out-and-out forward, more usually operating in between the lines, he often defies his hefty 6ft 5 frame. Indeed, he's undeniably an asset in the air but the majority of his good work is performed with his feet. He's intelligent with his movement and is capable of the spectacular. And he's quintessentially Eintracht too - now in his tenth year with the club having remained with the Eagles even in spite of relegations. 

He wasn't the most technically gifted player on the field though, that would be Kevin De Bruyne, whom everything good Wolfsburg did he was at the centre of. He combined well with Vieirinha just before the half drew to a close but from the return pass only managed to fire straight at Kevin Trapp in the home goal. 

The second half commenced with precious little action being threatened to occur at either end before suddenly bursting into life out of nowhere with a magical goal conjured up around 15 minutes into the re-start. Takishi Inui, circled on the byline with little space for maneuver, somehow managed to squeeze himself around two opposition bodies, before drawing Luis Gustavo out of position, drifted past his challenge before squaring off the ball of a plate for Simon Aigner, who gratefully finished with a precisioned shot into the corner. A goal of real quality.; Inui really does seem to be a real creative grafter, typical of the high technical ability that the Japanese imports bring to the Bundesliga. 

Eintracht clearly developed a taste for it and really ought to have doubled their lead soon after. A fluid counter attack through the efforts of defender Marco Russ and forward Haris Seferovic saw the latter tee up the former but his shot was acrobatically cleared off the line in some last gasp defending from Ricardo Rodriguez. 

Wolsburg began to mount a recovery from here onwards though and eagerly sought to recoup something from the match; a golden opportunity with Bayern dropping points at home to Schalke on the evening. They should have levelled when a De Bruyne inspired move saw him square on a plate for Bas Dost, but his open goal tap-in was wrongly ruled off for offside in what was a very tight call. 

They further pressed, Dost again missing a golden chance when Rodriguez floated in an inviting cross from the left channel but the Dutchman glanced the ball over the bar. 

But just when it looked like it wasn't to be their evening, they tied the scores with less than a couple of minutes remaining. The Swiss international Rodgriguez, who had provided overlapping support on the left flank all evening, this time wouldn't see his cross be unfruitful. After a well-worked move, Aaron Hunt released him on the overlap and this time his low cut-back was swept in from close-range by who else other than the key man on the night.........Nicklas Bendtner(!)

Not really, it was actually De Bruyne. But I left the Commerzbank Arena that night eager to tell all my adoring fans back at home that I had seen the mercurial Dane rescue a point after arriving late to the game as a supersub. Why? The screens displaying the goalscorer attributed it to the enigmatic ex-Arsenal striker, and from a distance a gifted Belgian talisman doesn't look too dissimilar to such a player. 

That's the way the score-line remained. Probably a fair result given the respective balance of play though both would have felt aggrieved for not maximising the points. As someone who harbours little interest in the very faint idea of Wolfsburg breaking Bayern's stranglehold, I felt a little aggrieved that Frankfurt failed to hold out, as I had developed an affinity towards them throughout the game. 

Their Ultras, as expected, were excellent value throughout the game. Non-stop from start to finish, and when they all bounced together in unity, it was a tremendous sight. Stuey was less impressed than us, perhaps justifiably so, as more of a veteran in attending Bundesliga matches than us. He thought they were good but "it was pretty standard fare for German atmosphere". I disagreed. I think that given the context of what it was, a poorly-attended, less glamorous home game against unfavourable opposition who they were expected to lose against, it was pretty damn decent. When you can create a good atmosphere in the lesser important fixtures, that's the real sign of an excellent fanbase IMO. 

I think it does represent somewhat of a contradiction of the values in German football though when clubs like Wolfsburg and Leverkusen are amongst those who pose the biggest threat to breaking Bayern's monopoly. I'm all for smaller clubs defying the odds to overachieve, but even with the 50+1 rule in place there still seems to be a market for clubs to be bankrolled to a certain degree and punch above their weight. I do understand that Volkswagen and Bayer are critical to the local communities of each club and are closely intraciated to their respective identities, but even so, without the financial input from these companies there would be greater supported clubs ahead of them in the hierarchy. It's not just those two either; look at the success of Hoffenheim, Red Bull Leipzig and now Audi-funded FC Ingolstadt running away with the 2nd.Bundesliga; it does somewhat make a mockery of the notion of German football being a perfect model run on socialist principles. 

Regardless of that though, and the rancid, frostbite-inducing weather we'd have to endure, it was another thoroughly enjoyable night of German football. 







The Wolfsburg masses.



Bloody tourists at football, for christ sake. Makes you sick. AMF. 


One thing I do adore; glasses. 

Cologne
To be continued......



Tuesday, 30 December 2014

2014 - A year of PROGRESSION.

A couple of days ago I was sat by myself on the 18:05 train out of London Victoria, with time to reflect to myself on how ground-breaking the stark contrasts were for both my  life and Dover Athletic in just the space of 12 months.

On the very same day one year previously, we had just completed the double over Ebbsfleet United in the conference south in which both clubs had become embroiled in a full-scale war. That afternoon I found myself on the receiving end of dog's abuse from a sizable quantity of their vocal support, who partook in several choruses of that hilariously original "10 man and his forklift truck couldn't carry Lampard Callum" song for much of the contest. 

Our superiority on that day, however, was by no means a measure of our league performance on the whole. We still remained outside the play-off berths and trailed the internet-sellout club by 5 points even in spite of that result, plus our dreadful home form would yet to be eradicated over the following couple of months with inconsistency set to confine another league campaign to failure. 

Fast forward twelve months and I'd be making my way home after visiting the Hive; the swish new home of Conference Premier pace-setters Barnet, who had led the pack since the very infancy of the 2014/15 campaign. They are a side managed by a wily old dog in Martin Allen and have plenty of football league quality amongst their ranks; to accompany the state-of-the-art facilities in their new surroundings. 
We escaped there with a very creditable point after a hugely entertaining 2-2 draw. Granted, it was tinged with disappointment that we had surrendered a two goal lead, but that was more an indictment of our opponents' strength than any shortfalls of our own. We still had chances of our own to have killed the game and any sorrowness of our failure to hold out was a measurement of just how far our club had progressed in such a short space of time, rather than genuine displeasure. 
After all, this result had just extended our unbeaten run in all competitions to a stunning run of 15 games, some feat for a club our size with what we're competing against since our division jump. The slaying of two football league clubs are also amongst this impressive stretch; which has thus bagged us an FA Cup 3rd round tie against Premier League outfit Crystal Palace, netting the club a huge windfall after its selection of televised status. 

I'd also leave this game roughly 8 and a bit stone lighter than I had weighed during my public display of mocking on that day at Stonebridge Road. 

Ebbsfleet United, meanwhile, having been condemned to at least another season of feeder league oblivion by the club who have (or had) a supporter who required a forklift to get past its turnstiles, marked this otherwise inconsequential anniversaire by being trounced 5-1 by the might of Basingstoke Town. At home. To leave them meandering behind league leaders Boreham Wood (who 'attracted' a Boxing Day 'crowd' of 278) by a whole 10 points, despite their shit-or-bust scale of spending in a ridiculously piss-weak league.

I'm under no illusions that eventually that club will sort themselves and buy drag themselves out of that division, especially now they have appointed a seemingly competent manager in ex-White Jamie Day, who performed spectacular at Welling United given the meagre resources available. If he can eradicate the jobs-for-boys culture at the club and weed out all the ex-Dover pea-hearted mercenaries like Daryl McMahon and Billy Bricknell, I'm sure he'll eventually be a success there in due time. At some point in the future we'll no doubt be on equal footing again, or worse still, they'll surpass us. 


However, I'd be lying if I said I haven't smirked at the irony of our contrasting fortunes in this moment of time. Generally, I bit my tongue a bit after our great Nathan Elder induced triumph of 10th May 2014. By my standards, I was rather constrained in the aftermath of that game. Partly because the sheer joy of finally escaping out of that tedious division overrode the need to mock our defeated rivals. The elation of not having to visit Boreham fucking Wood or Staines Town for the umpteenth time and instead being able to set our satnavs towards Blundell Park, The Memorial Ground and Plainmoor meant I was able to set aside my bitterness against our fallen opponents. 

Part of me thinks that an enormous, whopping big "fuck you" with Stone Cold Steve Austin middle fingers raised alike is long overdue against that club and its fanbase. But why should that disgruntlement remain? Ebbsfleet United, and Steve Brown in particular, have paved the way for DAFC to be the club it is today. The club that is currently experiencing some of its best moments in living memory. If he hadn't have raided the club for the bottling, overrated failures that we were for some reason disheartened to lose in the summer of 2013, then it would be very difficult to envisage DAFC being in the position that it currently is. Ebbsfleet may have instead appointment a man who would've put better use to their available astronomical funds and we wouldn't be lumbered with players who have ultimately shown that they are devoid of any mettle or moral fibre. 

So thank you Ebbsfleet United, it may have been fucking horrible at the time but you have ultimately shown that your recruitment policy of signing past and present DAFC employees has been fruitful in restoring one of Kent's most famous and beloved non-league clubs back to where they belong. It's just a shame for you that at the time you didn't realise that I would be talking about us. 

Some people (well, my Dad at least anyway) also believe that I should display gratification towards you for helping me achieve my subsequent transformation in both weight loss and life outlook. However, if the catalyst towards me finally managing to sort my life out is a gaggle of oddball non-leaguers taking the piss out of me, then I probably ought to take a long, studious observation of myself. 

Though I will not try and lie and pretend otherwise; having a whole stand verbally mock and laugh at me for my obesity did hurt me somewhat at the time. Especially given some of the perpetrators were people I have previously acquainted myself with and at one point would have considered them as friends. As much the abuse was disguised under the tediously cockish, overused line of defence "it was only banter", I felt pretty damn humiliated at the time, as much as in the macho-male bravado world of watching soccer you would wish to pretend otherwise. 

I'm not going to play the precious victim card here though. I opened myself up to the abuse I received by my conduct on several online outlets - both on football forums and on social media. I too have written some unsavoury and harsh stuff about Ebbsfleet United prior and in the aftermath of the games. I too, like 90% of match-going fans in the cockish world of football behaviour, have dished out and given abuse to players & officials from the safety confines of being behind a barrier. So I'm certainly in no position to pretend to be some virtue of morality who should be exempt from receiving what I regularly give out (although neither does it make it right).  

Some said it should have been a compliment that the abuse of their fans was veiled at me, rather than any DAFC employee who had been embroiled in the public tit-for-tat spat in the local press(es) that had been stirred in the game's lead-up. 
The abuse was personalised though, and without wanting to come across as a precious flower I wasn't able to see the funny side at the time. There was an element of truth to their claims anyway - weighing in at around 20 and a half stone at that point - it would have been difficult to envisage a man being able to carry me without the aid of some form of machinery. You can't argue with those sort of facts. 

To use this game, as my Dad would, as a tipping point and main provocation into undergoing such a dramatic weight loss, however, would be wrong. It was merely coincidental that it happened at such a point. It may have hit home and reinforced the ideal that I needed to lose weight - but it was certainly an issue that had already been circling me in the lead up to the new year. 
If "non-league bullies prompt obese lardarse to lose nearly half his body weight" makes for more of a sensationalist tabloid style story though, feel free to go along with it. 

The predominant factor for needing to lose weight was mainly my health. Around this Christmas point, I was struggling  to walk more than 5 minutes without needing to use my asthma pump. This was undoubtedly also caused by my suicidal tendency to still smoke heavily at weekends at this point but it had been progressing to a stage where my lack of breathing was of major concern. My prescription rate for requiring new inhalers had reached its frequent rate during my time on earth. I smoked my last ever cigarette on the early hours on that Boxing Day.

I'd even been reaching a point where at night time I was struggling to sleep sometimes because I could hear my heart rate palpitating. Now that's pretty scary. And worrying. I don't think it's melodramatic to say that if I continued for much longer with my then-lifestyle that I would soon have suffered a heart attack or contracted other potentially fatal coronary-related diseases. I had pretty much driven myself to the brink with my careless, carefree, do-what-I-like attitude towards drinking and eating, stemming from my general apathy towards leading a fulfilling life. 

Of course, the self-image side of things also served as an incentive to lose weight. For who wouldn't it? Around this point it had reached the stage where I found myself untagging 97% of the photos I had tagged in on facebook, due to the sheer contempt of my own appearance.When it is coming down to that you know that it's a necessity to start taking action. 
Family photos at Christmas were ones that were particularly strong at hitting home; I looked revolting. A novelty, an embarrassment. I knew that I had piled on the pounds in my post school years but I think I had seriously underestimated just how much by until these latest ones emerged. 


New Year's Eve, 2013

Christmas Day 2013


I knew I would have to take serious action if I wanted to live beyond my mid twenties and thus began a new diet on 6th January. By the time I returned to Stonebridge Road for the play-off final in May, I had already shed more than five stone, making that victory all the more sweeter knowing that I was (probably) now slimmer than some of the ghastly figures who had once laughed at me. By early July I had already reached my initial target loss of 6 & half stone. At my last weigh-in before Christmas I had reached a body weight of 12st 3lbs; a total of 8st 4lbs vanished in less than 12 months. 

I think it would be fair to say that it's with matter-of-factness rather than arrogance that I can claim to have done rather well. It is a rapid rate to have achieved such a loss and especially when you consider I have managed to balance it out well by allowing myself to unwind, indulge and enjoy myself at weekends and on european trips away. 

However, my "achievement" is somewhat lessened by the fact I would describe my weight loss as easy, rather than strenuous. Once you get yourself into a routine, and find yourself increasingly buoyant from how much you are losing, it is a piss-of-piss to maintain that continuity. All you require is to not lax on discipline and have a strong element of self-trust. If you are truly committed to achieving your goals then the buzz of losing weight should be enough to see you through. I lost 12lbs in the first fortnight and at that point I knew there was no option of going back. 

I found myself enjoying eating healthily and my newly found positive attitude to food, learning all about cuisine and even beginning to cook for myself. It helps that I'm not a macho male dickhead enough to sneer at the thought of eating bulgar wheat and dried apricots. I wouldn't think it's uncool to opt for a falafel pitta bread over a 8oz steak burger. Fresh fruit and vegetables deserve to be embraced rather than mocked. Constantly eating shit, processed foods, however, does. You are not cool or anti-establishment for wanting a vile McDonalds Muffin delivered to your house for your Sunday hangover; you are in fact a bellend and nobody cares. 

People have always assumed that my speedy weight loss is a result of some meticulous and intense eating and exercise plan in which I have North Korea levels of restrictiveness on what I can do. That is hardly the case at all. My programme has pretty much been a cliched, simple case of "eat healthily and be active". That's all there is to it, in my view. I won't lie, I immerse great pleasure in the type of people who pay £40 to subscribe to herbalife and think that drinking a few genetically modified protein shakes will have them looking like Cyndi Lauper (or whoever the fuck is currently the embodiment of mainstream beauty these days) by the end of their programme. The same types who appear bedazzled when I inform them that I don't go to the gym or go out running. 

That's not to say that I don't take care over what I eat. At the turn of the year I still suffered from the indignity of being a checkout operator. One of the very few benefits of this mind-numbing role is that it enabled me to closely study the calorie, fat and sugar contents of the vast majority of our Sainsbury's products. I would do so with great interest - it enabled me to learn just how horrific dairy products, chocolates and biscuits were, while I soon learned the joys of how beneficial things like chicken and non-oily fish are. 
That might all seem pretty basic stuff but I was astoundingly ignorant towards food content before - I had always adopted an "I'm not listening" attitude to food. But hereafter I would stick to using skimmed milk, avoid the vast majority of cheeses and only use cereals with a low fat content. Breakfast would typically be weetabix or porridge; lunch a huge bulky salad usually accompanied by snackajacks and several fruit, while dinner would be varying - whatever me old dear had knocked up. She had catered towards me slightly by introducing regular chicken wraps as a meal and rice dishes like jambalaya would become more frequent - but overall I benefitted from a wide range of cooking.

And as for exercising - the stress some people place on the need to do complicated workouts is completely unjust and unnecessary. From my experience it's getting a healthy diet that is the prerequisite towards losing weight - not intense exercise. Don't get me wrong - I kept active. I regularly walk at least one of the 3 mile legs to or from work. This is hardly sacrificial - it only takes 50 minutes and a good walk is useful for helping to cleanse your soul or examine dead seagulls that you encounter on your footpath. 
It also helps that working in retail I am constantly on my feet since exiting checkout work - all that rushing around and lifting is much more of a workout than it would seem on the surface. 
But other than that - my level of exercise has been fairly modest. I went through a spell where I would go swimming once a week, and swim 30/40/50 laps dependant on at what stage my fitness had built up. My hectic working schedule has prevented me from going in months but I found it a great way to knock off a few calories, improve my body strength and fitness while doing something I enjoyed. 



Slightly less repulsive, Christmas 2014. 
Without wanting (but failing) to sound like a classic case of "first world problems", I will say that the transition from being a fat, useless no-hoper to somebody who can now be seen as more than just a novelty is less rainbows & butterflies than you would imagine. 

Losing weight doesn't suddenly mean you have a personality transplant to go with it; it doesn't mean that you automatically extinguish all your unlikable features and traits, become confident in your looks and suddenly gain arrogant levels of self-confidence and feel like you can take on the world. Au contraire; quite the opposite has occurred with myself - at times I've had a crisis of self-identity and my crippling lack of self-belief and confidence has remained a burdening issue. There have been spells where I've tried to remove myself and distance myself away from certain things, whether it's been for my greater good or not. 

However, I don't want to leave this blog on a sour note by documenting any personal issues that have clouded me at points over this year - energy is best consumed on reflecting on the positives and looking onwards to what the future can bring. 

2015 is a year in which I need to push myself onwards, strive to keep improving and bettering myself a person. I have laid the groundwork on over the course of this year but it's no use if I choose continue to build upon that. Cliched? I know. Gay? I know, you homophobe. 

Some of you may or may not know by now that I have decided to go to university next year. I have managed to blag myself a place into University of Leicester, a top 20 ranking institution and will be studying a history course that interests me greatly. Given I will be turning 24 in September, I know this probably seems that it's come at least 5 years too late to suddenly act upon the decent A-Level grades I attained. However, I'm rather glad the path I have taken has worked out this way. I would never have possessed enough maturity or desire to attain and see out a degree had I entered university at 18. I now feel in a place where I want to push myself academically, want to learn and to develop myself as a person. 

Of course I do harbour some concerns and fear going into it, that's only natural. In my current job at Sainsburys', there is a worrying volume of postgraduates who are still here; one of whom even has a bioscience masters from Surrey! I have friends and acquaintances who worked hard for good degrees but are still working in modest jobs. 

Then there is the age gap. Technically - at 23 and a bit - I am still young and fresh-faced enough to go out and enjoy myself and involve myself socially. However - the maturity difference between someone my age and an 18 year old is more startling than you'd imagine - and I'm not just referring to my rapidly receding hairline! I was reading through one of my blogs on here from a few years back and I winced in embarrassment at my old self; both in my writing style and the way I used to behave. Who the fuck in their right mind would drink Carlsberg? 

I have become prematurely middle-aged over the past 18 months with my newly discovered fondness for real ale, european cities, cooking & cuisine and fine arts. I still retain plenty of my immature aspects and part of me will always remain a working class scumbag - but it's still only natural to worry over how you'll fit in and adapt to new surroundings and people. How will people respond to my quirks, my shit catchphrases, my odd sense of humour? But this is something that I need to undergo to try and make myself more personable and in all honesty - less of a prick. Become more accepting and engaging of other people, while learning how to accept to myself. 

That said, there are also plenty of beneficial factors to beginning university life so late. I'm sharper, older and wiser than I once was. My 5 years of experience in working mundane retail jobs have given me that sense of perspective which should enable me to push on. I have several months to try and prepare myself for my degree both academically and financially. I will, for example, be making a serious attempt to learn German to prepare me for a likely year out studying in either Munich or Berlin. My history-graduate sister has also already plied me with several books to absorb in!

I need to concentrate on the positives, try and cast aside my doubts and general negative outlook and focus on what should be an amazing experience. I have been given an excellent opportunity by a proper university in a proper city, one with top-level student satisfaction rates and it is a chance that I fully intend to grasp. 


2015 has potential to be an amazing year. Dover Athletic's FA Cup adventure continues; we have serious potential and genuine aspirations for a top half finish and plenty of great away days/weekends to follow in the likes of Lincoln, Halifax, Wrexham, Chester and Kidderminster. I'm re-entering Germany in February to take in games at Eintracht Frankfurt, FC Koln and Ajax, and have a few far-flung adventures later on in both Istanbul and Seoul. The two weeks I am spending in the latter should be an incredible life experience in an area of the world I am still yet to visit. And then of course there is the whole matter of joining university.

The year just gone will take some living up to, though. Thank you to everybody who has encouraged or supported me along the way, to whom I probably don't show enough appreciation of. Thanks to all of you who have helped create many amazing memories - it truly is a pleasure for once to be able to look back on a year with fondness rather than one of regret and a lack of fulfillment, as has been the case for far too often. 



Here are some pictures of my favourite 2014 memories to leave you on :-)


The Krakow Derby, February. The atmosphere gave me goosebumps. 

Reacquainting with old Barrow pals in a Cambridge pub. 

Sheer delight at Sutton; our play-off second leg destruction of them with 10 men is the most complete DAFC performance I have ever witnessed. 
.....But we only got there in the first place thanks to Barry Cogan's nerves of steel from the spot on the final day,3 minutes before the season ended. 

Conquering Ebbsfleet for the third and final time. 

Enjoying the title celebrations at Sparta Praha. Bandwagoners!

Pleasantries overhanging the edge of Prague castle. 

Enjoy the communist style stadia at Slovan Bratislava. 

Wasted on lambics in Bruges. 

Vienna Zoo was epic all round but seeing a polar bear in all it's glory topped it.

Toasting our first away day success in the big boys' league with the matchball, from Telford.

Grabbing a last minute equalizer to silence 6,000 Gasheads at the Memorial was one of several unforgettable DAFC moments in the calender year. 

Some might think I'm an oddball for spending my 23rd birthday alone in Germany, but where else will you find such awe-inspiring relic terraces in 4th division football?

With my brother in Budapest. We've lost over 13 stone between us this year, and both managed to bag ourselves a bit of Czech crumpet on this adventure. 

The Bolsheviks make an appearance for the trip to Torbay. 

Getting a bit overeager while closing in on away day success in Alfreton.

An exceptional weekend in Durham also saw us score gold in the shotput.

Spending the early hours of Christmas morning in a Herne Bay nightclub - for only the first time I've been  in 23 years of living here!

Living the highlife with my goggle eyed travel accomplice in Bucharest.

Life was pretty rose after the Cheltenham game. 

More Bundesliga action in the form of Borussia Mochengladbach, a stadium that had always featured on my wishlist.

Lenin meets Callum Snell.

Fair play to Kev; he certainly knew how to knock up some decent scran.