FC St. Pauli v FSV Frankfurt

It’s my party…

FC St. Pauli v FSV Frankfurt (23:10:11)

As it was a very special occasion, we'll let birthday boy and EFW regular Nick Davidson wax lyrical about a trip to see his beloved FC St. Pauli once more....

I realise there’s only a finite number of reports I can file on my visits to the Millerntor that the folks at EFW can accommodate with their usual good grace and, having written about my trip over in August for the Aachen game, I’m rapidly approaching the threshold. However, this was my 40th BIRTHDAY SPECTACULAR. And, in the best traditions of Lesley Gore, I threatened to blub like the only-child I am until Danny acquiesced and let me warble on about my ‘Special Day (TM*).’

However, there are some key differences from my regular jaunts to St Pauli… First, it wasn’t just me, it was my wife, two girls and my mate Shaun and his kids. Second, rather than my usual lightening fast visit– that’s usually curtailed by having to dash to the train station to begin the marathon haul across Europe back to St Pancras – we flew, and we were staying three days. Finally, we were going to tick off a few of the city’s tourist attractions that we’d not previously got round to seeing. So, whilst I can’t promise any new footballing insights – the Millerntor is, after all, the Millerntor and it’s always fantastic – I can offer a write up that includes: a new found obsession with TV Towers, harbour cruises, sugar-dips, early-morning runs, mid-morning drinking, excessive toilet stops and swimming with, err, dinosaurs.

The trip got off to a flying start at Luton airport (see what I did there, eh, eh?), when despite the ungodly hour we all managed to check-in, clear customs and rendez-vous with time to spare. I’m not the greatest of flyers but with the kids in the party steadying my nervous by taking bets on exactly when and where we’d crash land, the flight passed quite quickly.

We’d passed up the usual budget hotel option to live it up in a rather splendid hotel in Sternschanze, just a stones throw from one of my favourite landmarks on the Hamburg horizon, the Heinrich-Hertz-Turm or, more simply, the Fernsehturm (TV tower.) Expedia had done us proud, and the view from our room offered a fantastic view of the tower, the Millerntor and the docks beyond.

TV Tower at dawn

TV Tower close-up (I have hundreds more photos - available on request)

Big cranes: on the, err, Max 'Harbour' Kruse.

We decided to go heavy on the culture on the first day, and headed down to the Elbe to catch a lunchtime boat trip around the harbour. In our rush to get a boat we by-passed lunch and forgot to check if the tour included an English-speaking commentary. As a result, when we returned to the quayside an hour later we had some very hungry and very grumpy kids on our hands. It was officially and unanimously voted the ‘worst part of the holiday’ by the younger members of the party. The adults quite enjoyed it, though. It certainly gives you a sense of the importance of shipping to Hamburg’s history and economy. The container port is vast and highly mechanized, whilst the scale of the Blohm & Voss shipyard could also only be appreciated from the river. It was also fascinating to meander through the distinctive redbrick buildings of the warehouse district and contrast it with the shiny glass and steel of the new HafenCity. But the cultural value of such a trip can be seriously compromised if you’ve got tired and hungry kids on your hands, so as soon as we were back on dry land we headed for a café and some sustenance in the form of (Ham)burgers, chips and currywurst.

With the 3.30am start starting to catch up with us, we knocked the scheduled visit to Beatlemania on the head, settling instead for a kick-about in the park and an early tea. No drinking until dawn at the Fischmarkt for us, we were safely tucked-up in bed by 10pm.

Sunday. Matchday. Another delight of having young-ish kids is their ability to wake up early no matter what time they went to bed the previous night. Fortunately, the early start gave us a fantastic view of the sunrise over Hamburg from our hotel window and inspired me to head out for an early morning run. The bloke on reception did a double take as I emerged from the lift in shorts and a t-shirt, shunning the high-tec (and warm) surroundings of the hotel gym for a run around St Pauli. It was lovely, crisp and cold. At 7am, Budapester Straße down to the Millerntor was almost deserted, aside from the occasional worse-for-wear reveller staggering back from a Saturday night on the Reeperbahn. I stopped to catch my breath and take a few pictures of interesting bits of graffiti around the stadium, including stickers calling for the release from custody of renowned, local street artist, Oz.

Refreshed by a shower, it was nearly time for our party to split along gender lines. The girls were off to the zoo, whilst the boys were heading to the Millerntor. My eldest daughter (a veteran of FCSP’s 2010/11 opener in Freiburg) was a bit gutted to miss it, although the fact that we were standing this time would’ve made it tricky for her to see what was going on – and besides, the prospect of feeding elephants was keeping her spirits up, as was a secret pact to return to the club shop on Monday morning!

First stop was the Fanladen to collect our tickets (a delightful €11). It was good to catch up with Justus and Stefan (who I’d managed to miss on my last few trips.) Buoyed by it being my, erm, ‘Special Day’, Shaun and I decided to have a celebratory Astra. Shaun’s son joined in the fun with a bottle of Spezi, that curious mixture of orangeade and coke, favoured by many in these parts. It was 10.30am. I don’t drink a lot at the best of times, so the beer quickly went to my head, and shortly after that my bladder. I also picked up a great ‘I Just Can’t Get Enough’ t-shirt, which not only sums up how I feel about trips to the Millerntor, but also handily contains an image of my new favourite thing, the TV Tower. We then moved on to the AFM container to rendez-vous with some fellow fans from the St Pauli messageboard, but not before I’d made several trips to the portable loos outside the ground.

What Reni did next. Shaun has waited 15-years to wear that hat out in

public.

New favourite t-shirt complete with TV tower.

Man emerges from portable toilet – again!

Obligatory concrete badge shot

We elected to get into inside early to get a decent spot on the Südkurve. It’s always a pleasure to drop a few Euros into the Ultras collection tin, at least then I can feel I’ve played a very small part in supporting the amazing choreos that they put on throughout the season (and that usually I enjoy from the comfort of my computer screen.) Once in the ground we opted for more beer and currywurst. The beer was being served in ‘Denis Naki’ cups, which seemed like a good omen as he’d been sidelined by injury for much of the season, but was in contention for a start today. I spilt currywurst all down my scarf, a sure sign (as if I needed one between the regular trips to the loo) that the beer was kicking-in.

The crowd steadily built up around us. Shaun was cock-a-hoop when one of USP gave him a quick salute of recognition as he passed (probably impressed with the hair, eh, Shaunio?!) Hells Bells sent the usual shiver down the spine, as did an impressive choreo from the Nordkurve (the north terrace was all St Pauli today, as FSV Frankfurt had only brought 70 or 80 fans with them.) Not to be left out, the ‘singers-corner’ on Gegengerade was flush with shredded paper pom-poms. The sky was a beautiful pale blue, and the stands were thick with brown, red and white, it was a perfect day to watch football. Only, trouble was, I needed the loo – again. So, after a handy close-range save from the St Pauli keeper, I decided nothing much more would happen in the opening exchanges and picked my way through the crowd. Bladder emptied, I made it back to the top of the steps to see the ball looping into the FSV net. I joined in the celebrations, totally unaware of who had scored St Pauli’s opener (turned out, it was a deflected Max Kruse effort that had wrong-footed the Frankfurt keeper,) then made my way back to our spot on the terrace.

Dennis Naki, back in the team and obviously motivated by his appearance on so many plastic cups, slotted the second home to make it 2-0 at half-time. Apparently, I missed a miniature helicopter doing laps of the stadium, but what did I care, I was able to empty my lightweight bladder without missing any more goals.

The second-half was a bit of a come down. FSV got a goal back and St Pauli, as is occasionally their want, did their best to gift them an equaliser. But we held on for the win, and I held on for the entire second period without a toilet break.

Nordkurve choreo

Gegengerade confetti-storm

We hung about a bit at the end, soaking up the last of the atmosphere and the autumn sun, then made our way out of the Südkurve. However, before we met up with the girls, I had one last special request for my ‘Special Day,’ I snuck back into the ground to say goodbye to the Gegengerade. There’s a high possibility that the next time I’m back in Hamburg, I’ll be greeted by The Wave, failing that a more conservative terrace option will replace the crumbling, but much loved Gegengerade. But for now, it was one last chance to stand where, for me, it all began on the beautiful back-straight. Pictures in the bag, it was time to head back to the hotel. That’s usually where my report would end, after another intoxicating afternoon at the Millerntor. But we still had a day left.

One man confetti-storm

The fabulous painted steps of the Südkurve

Goodbye Gegengerade

On the Monday, we packed our trunks and headed off to the Festland pool to swim with dinosaurs – great big fibre-glass things that spurted warm water from their mouths and in one particular case, its, erm, bottom. The complex was massive, brand new and spotlessly clean. And owing to the fact that Hamburg’s half-term break was the week before, it was virtually empty. It also has a fabulous, heated, outdoor pool with steam rising from the water as it met the cold autumn air, giving it a slightly otherworldly feel.

One final trip to the club shop (as promised) and we were done. Another great trip to Hamburg, made more ‘special’ by the fact that I was sharing it with family and friends. I’ll be back, but this trip will always be referred to as my ‘Special Day,’ although, harbour cruise aside, everyone else enjoyed it too. Thanks to EFW for indulging me even further. Normal service will be resumed next time.

 * There were constant references to my ‘Special Day’ on this trip and, the more I think about it, I’m not entirely sure the other members of our party weren’t taking the mick. ;-)

Nick is all about: http://www.modernfootballisrubbish.com

Follow him on Twitter at @outside_left 

FC St. Pauli v Alemannia Aachen

There’s no place like home...

FC St. Pauli 3-1 Alemannia Aachen (05:08:11)

Nick Davidson makes his annual pilgrimage to see 'The Rebel's Choice', FC St. Pauli...

I like August. And not just because it signals the start of another football season. It’s also the time of year when I have enough holiday to combine a game of football with an unfeasibly long train trip. It’s a train trip that starts in the depressingly anodyne surrounding of Milton Keynes, home of franchise football, and ends 23 hours later with me emerging blearly-eyed out of the U-Bahn and onto the Heiligengeistfeld (literally, the field of the Holy Spirit), home of the Hamburger Dom and FC Sankt Pauli. From the ridiculous to the sublime via, London, Brussels and Köln.

This is the fifth season in a row that I’ve participated in my own little InterRail adventure (my other half thinks I’m compensating for missing out in my youth – I stayed home, a shy, nervous teenager, terrified at the prospect of ‘sleeping rough’ on train platforms across Europe whilst my mates partied to non-stop Euro-techno. To complete the melancholy picture, I’m pretty sure I spent the entire summer listening to The Smiths - There Is a Light That Never Goes Out. #youthwastedontheyoung etc,.) It is also my fifth season watching St Pauli and nearly four years to the day since I first made the trip to the Millerntor to watch the season opener. Although, watching the first home game this year, was a feat only made possible by the idiocy of some bloke throwing a beer cup at a linesman (at the end of the home fixture against Schalke in April) and the general ineptitude of the German football authorities who decided to punish the unruly pupil with a class detention, moving St Pauli’s first ‘home’ game of the season 60 kilometres north, to VfB Lübeck’s Lohmühle Stadium. The 2011/12 season had kicked-off unfeasibly early on the 15th of July – before the kids had even broken up for summer! So, the all-round stupidity and repercussions of the beer throwing had done me something of a backhanded favour – it had kept my first home game tradition alive.

Executive dwelling St Pauli style (sausage train not visible)

I was here this time last year as well, and witnessed a 0-1 defeat at the hands of TSG 1899 Hoffenheim  (SAP 1899 Hoffenheim, anyone?) with the Boys in Brown falling to one of those crushingly depressing late goals that would prove to be our undoing on numerous occasions. Hoffenheim was our first home fixture back in the big time of the Bundesliga. Our last was an embarrassing 1-8 tonking at the hands of Bayern Munich. Much changed over the course of that season both on-and-off the pitch, so my trip was a good opportunity to take stock of the lasting impact of a season in German top-flight on the heart, soul and spirit of St Pauli.

One of the constant themes that underpinned last season was the worry that St Pauli – the football club and the district – was changing. And not for the better. The district is at risk of creeping gentrification and rising rents are forcing people out. Urban redevelopment is not confined to the mammoth HafenCity project, St Pauli too is fast becoming desirable real-estate. Meanwhile, in football the rampant commercialization that sours the game at the top-level  in England was becoming more noticeable in Germany too. This has put pressure on St Pauli’s core fanbase. A shiny, modern stand packed with business seats and executive boxes had replaced the old Haupttribüne and caused divisions among the traditional supporters and the newer ‘mode’ fans. This culminated with the inspired ‘Jolly Rouge’ campaign that turned the Millerntor into a sea of red flags for the home game against SC Freiburg. The Jolly Rouge (a red flag with a black skull and crossbones flown by pirates indicating they were in the mood to take ‘no prisoners’) was a clever appropriation of the highly branded ‘official’ Jolly Roger used by the club. The campaign went someway to repairing the divisions between different sets of fans, and between the fans and the club itself – an uneasy truce, if you will.

AFM container, early doors

Of course, I missed all of this, watching from afar on the internet, so I was interested to see what the atmosphere would be like as the new season got underway. I arrived in Hamburg just after lunch, literally dodged some very drunk Aachen fans who fell over in front of me, shouting something incomprehensible in my direction, and stretched my legs by wandering around the stadium taking pictures of some of the bits of street art and graffiti that help make the area around the stadium so special. With the stadium empty, the contrast between the two new stands and the two surviving older stands couldn’t be more marked (although the Ultras have done their bit to pimp up the Südkurve over the summer by painting the terracing, and I must say it looks splendid.) That said, if I could wave a magic wand and change anything, it would be to halt the redevelopment right there. The awkward tangle of concrete and scaffolding that is the Gegengerade should be preserved for all eternity, to me it represents so many of the things I treasure about St Pauli –ramshackle, yet soulful. I also got to see up close, the Mad Max post-apocalypse executive box that had sprung up between the Gegengerade and the Nordkurve. The boys over at The Football Ramble couldn’t get enough its ‘sausage train’ that delivers beer and sausages to guests in their seats, and I agree it’s a great concept and the box does look very ‘St Pauli’ but there’s always that nagging doubt that it’s actually, well, a bit pastiche. Anyhow, I got some snaps, just in case the Gegengerade is gone by the time of my next visit.

The Gegengerade

Next stop was the Fanladen to collect my ticket and meet with a couple of other UK based fans who’d made the trip over. Any worries about atmosphere were soon dispelled after loitering outside the Fanladen and watching the fans roll up. I was particularly impressed with one chap who appeared to be sporting homemade Ultra Sankt Pauli socks – a fabulous brown-white-red-white-brown combination that even managed to knock the spots of the excellent hooped 2011/12 home socks (which I’d just purchased – I know, I'm a merchandise whore – and intend to wear pulled right up for the rest of the summer.) The clock was ticking and the atmosphere was building, and it was time to head over for a pre-match Astra or two at the AFM container. ‘Top-tip’ here: don’t wait outside and queue to be served through the hatch, be brave and go inside to get your beer, it’s a zillion times quicker (cheers, Dunc!)

Finally, it was time to head onto the Südkurve, which with 40 minutes to go until kick-off was already pretty full. The sun was out, the fans were in good voice and Hells Bells still sent a shiver down my spine – things were looking good. Fans on all sides of the stadium were loud, driven on by the Südkurve’s call & response chanting, the atmosphere was just as incredible as I remember it.

The match itself was an error prone shocker, but a goal right on full-time gave St Pauli a 3-1 win, their first ‘home’ victory at the Millerntor since February 2011. The place went mental and I got soaked in the ‘traditional’ beer shower. Any lingering doubts about St Pauli’s status as something different had been banished. It had been the usual inspiring, invigorating, beer soaked trip. My sanity is regularly questioned for spending nearly 24 hours on trains just to watch 90 minutes of football (and it’s true, I could fly.) But it’s not really the football I go for. It’s the fans, and the atmosphere they continue to generate. It’s about having a beer with like-minded folk; chatting with people who have been going to the Millerntor from the UK for over 25 years – and have seen real changes yet still keep coming back; about meeting members of New York City’s East River Pirates fan club watching a rare live game, soaking up memories to see them through the countless matches they watch on tape-delay in the Big Apple. This, to me, is what makes the FC St Pauli community special.

Gegengerade celebrates St Pauli's third goal

Mandatory final score confirmation shot

I just had the trip to do in reverse now, but I was bolstered by a great day on the Heiligengeistfeld and had taken on supplies for the journey home: I’d managed to acquire, not only the 11 Freunde new season guide, but also a glossy guide to French football and a handful of Cadbury’s playfully named Wunderbar, err, chocolate bars to see me home. Heady days indeed. I left Hamburg station at 9.00pm reassured that the spirit of football was very much alive, and I returned to Milton Keynes Central 16 hours later, to a timely tweet from a certain Andy Brassell (occasionally of this Parish) alerting me to the fact that AFC Wimbledon were just about to make their Football League return. Perfectly timed proof that English football has a soul too, despite the best efforts of those that govern the game.

Wonderful trip, wonderful chocolate

FC St Pauli isn’t perfect, it doesn’t exist in a commercial-free, ideological bubble, and I know it’s a bit of a (social) romantic cliché but it is still the closest thing I found to the very heart, soul and spirit of football. I love it there – it feels like home.

Note: Danny, do I win some sort of large cash prize for writing a whole piece on St Pauli and not once mentioning the Reeperbahn, punks or prostitutes? If I do I’ll put it all towards my next Euro adventure, promise! (I'm afraid not old chap, but I've got the EFW parcel dispatch team to mail you out a box full of Wunderbar, possibly - Ed.).

Like that? Then you'll like this: Borussia Dortmund v FC St. Pauli 

Nick is the Editor of the excellent http://www.modernfootballisrubbish.com

Follow Nick and European Football Weekends on Twitter

Borussia Dortmund v St Pauli

You'll Never Walk Alone

Borussia Dortmund 2-0 St Pauli (19:02:11)

Stepping up to the Readers' Lives plate today is Nick Davidson, author of Modern Football is Rubbish, to regale us with a story of his European Football Weekend in Germany...

Borussia Dortmund v St Pauli at the Westfalenstadion (Signal Iduna Park, if you must) was the first game I looked for when the Bundesliga fixtures were announced last summer. The Westfalenstadion was ‘The Big One’ (© Tony Pulis, probably.) Anyway, it was the one I desperately wanted to tick off my list of German grounds visited. I’d tried a couple of times to combine a trip to Dortmund en-route to watch St Pauli when we were in 2.Liga, and often played on different days to the Bundesliga, but the fixtures had never fallen for me. But to go there with St Pauli – that would be something else.

It still wasn’t that straight forward. The game, part of Spieltag 23, could be played anytime from Friday night to Sunday tea-time and the kick-off wouldn’t be confirmed by the Deutsche Fußball Liga (DFL) until a month or so before. The Friday fixture would be impossible due to work, and Saturday would be pushing it. As a result, I took a keen interest in Dortmund’s Europa League campaign, as BVB negotiating the group stages would guarantee a Sunday slot for our game. Unfortunately a 2-2 draw for Dortmund away at Sevilla wasn’t enough to get them into the Round of 16 and, as a consequence, my trip would rest on the whim of the DFL.
To add to the suspense – in my head at least – the DFL kept me hanging on until mid-January before confirming the kick-off times for Spieltag 23. Dortmund v St Pauli was scheduled for 15.30 on the Saturday – it would take some planning, but it was just about possible.

As I’m not overly keen on flying – don’t worry the Dennis Bergkamp jokes have been done to death already – my trip started on Friday evening at Milton Keynes Central (central to what? Not Milton f@*%ing Keynes that’s for sure.) As I walked towards the station I spotted a young lad in a brown St Pauli hoodie leaning against the wall. I took it as a good omen that, in the land of the concrete cow, anodyne shopping centre and Franchise FC, someone was sporting a Totenkopf – genuine fan or fashionista? I didn’t have time to stop and chat, I had a train (the first of many) to catch. Anyway, my trip appeared to be blessed with much better karma than in August when, on a rare plane journey to Hamburg, some clot in an English Defence League t-shirt was flitting around the platform of Birmingham International station looking for aggro as I was heading for the airport.

After an overnight stop in Brussels and a train ride to Köln, I met some fellow members of the St Pauli messageboard on the platform heading for Dortmund –all Port Vale fans and a sound bunch. In Dortmund, there was time to meet a few more messageboarders in the pub including a long awaited (and much postponed, last time due to the volcanic ash cloud) meet with a fellow Watford fan, before heading off to the ground to meet Justus from the St Pauli Fanladen who’d got my ticket. I can’t praise the Fanladen enough, they always try to sort us out for tickets, something that has become increasingly difficult after our promotion to the Bundesliga last May. Back in August, they’d been fabulous sorting seat tickets out for me and my 8-year old daughter for the game in Freiburg. In the wider scheme of things, helping international fans get to games is just the tip of the Fanladen iceberg, there’s a good summary of their work here.

Ticket in hand, I stood staring at the exterior of the Westfalenstadion thinking profound thoughts like, ‘bloody hell, it’s big.’ However, from the outside despite the vivid yellow roof supports, it does look a tinsy-bit like a lot of other new stadiums, just on a much bigger scale. Once through the ticket and security check – at an entrance shared by both home and away fans, imagine that at Old Trafford or Ashburton Grove? – it’s a different story. I was in Block 8, right at the bottom of the away terrace. As I headed down a short flight of steps, I noticed piles of seats stored neatly ready for the infamous conversion of terrace to seating for international fixtures or European competition. Then it was down some more steps to an entrance that brought me out into the stadium, right at the base of the away fans section – not that I was looking at that, my attention had been diverted to my first glimpse of the ‘Yellow Wall’ at the other end of the stadium. Much has been written about that vast expanse of terrace, so I won’t bang on about it too much, but seeing it pretty much full 30 minutes before kick-off was a sight to behold. In fact, the whole stadium looked huge, turning round looking at our section, the terracing was dwarfed by an upper tier of seated St Pauli fans stretching up to the heavens (and containing somewhere therein, the Port Vale massive.) Cathedral, temple or opera house of football – take your pick, it’s truly breath taking.

Cathedral, temple or opera house of football?

"Cultural magpies"

There was a bit of bother to the left of me, about 20 minutes before kick-off. A few fists went flying and I assumed that a home (or rival) fan had decided to get in amongst the St Pauli hardcore. Apparently, it was more to do with the stewards not letting the fans hang their banners over the advertising hoardings at the front of the stadium. The ‘over-enthusiastic’ police and stewards response, wasn’t the best move after the problems at Wednesday night’s game in the Volksparkstadion.

But things settled down, and it wasn’t long before the St Pauli fans were in full voice. Kick off was preceded by a sing-a-long version of You’ll Never Walk Alone, which, despite the piped-music accompaniment, was ace. Of course, being St Pauli (and YNWA being one of ‘our’ anthems) we managed another verse and chorus once the music had stopped, before launching into my favourite chant of ‘Aux Armes’ which sounded great bouncing between the upper and lower tiers. Cultural magpies them St Pauli fans, appropriating YNWA from Merseyside and ‘Aux Armes’ from the Marseilles…

Sing-a-long a YNWA

We are the ticks’  – can’t see the English translation without launching into a rakishly out-of-tune rendition of Suede’s ‘We are the ticks / we are the swine’ (with apologies to Mr Brett Anderson)

The game itself was unremarkable and the score line fairly predictable. Despite St Pauli’s recent run of form, most fans didn’t expect to be leaving the Westfalenstadion with more than a point, and even that slim hope was ended early in the second-half when Ralph Gunesch diverted a shot into his own net to give the league leaders a 2-0 lead. But I’d not come looking for a win, I’d come to stand and sing with the St Pauli faithful in this grand setting. And I’d come to see and hear the Südtribüne in full flow. In true, away fan fashion, it felt like we were out-singing the home fans for much of the game, especially as we had a new chant of ‘Derbysieger’ that needed a lot of airtime. If the noise coming from the Südtribüne wasn’t especially impressive, the sight of 20,000 fans pogo-ing on the spot sure made up for it, it was then I really appreciated the vast scale of the terrace. In the end it wasn’t the acoustics that blew me away, but the seething mass of bodies. Whether jumping up and down in unison or holding scarves aloft it was a sight that took me back to the great terraces of the 1970s. It was reminiscent of The Kop or The Stretford End as seen on old Match of the Day footage. Great stuff.

It finished 2-0. Fairly respectable considering we were missing derby hero, Gerald Asamoah and midfielder Fabian Boll (I think I’m obliged by European law to mention that Boll is a part-time police officer, even if I’m not 100% sure if it’s still actually true?) and centre-half Carlos Zambrano due to suspension. We also lost left-back Bastian Oczipka due to injury early in the first half, which meant another appearance from former Times columnist, Moritz Volz. As the St Pauli players came to applaud the fans, my mind was starting to wander to the long journey home.

Had it been worth it? Too right it had. I’d stood on the terraces, drinking beer and supporting my team (St Pauli having overtaken Watford in my affections sometime ago – a combination of the politics of the St Pauli fan scene, general disinterest in the English game and not helped by having Lord Ashcroft as club owner – give me the German 50 +1 over a Tory Peer anyday) in one of the greatest stadiums in world football. The only downsides being I didn’t get inside early enough to find a place to hang my handcrafted Sozialromantiker flag (it’ll keep until my next visit to the Millerntor) and trying to steer clear of the currywurst due to an attempt at a health kick!

My first attempt at a banner for football in about 20 years, aaah the distinctive aroma of Dylon fabric paint!

Worth the trip? Too right

Despite the bitter cold, I made all my train connections home, in fact so efficient was the free U-Bahn service from the ground back to the main railway station, I managed to get a train back to Köln an hour ahead of schedule.

Whilst on the subject of trains, over the weekend, I had traversed parts of Germany, Belgium and France without a hitch, yet there was the obligatory 10-minute wait 500m short of Milton Keynes station, as they struggled to find a platform for us. You’d think they’d get the idea by now: a train generally requires a platform on which to deposit it’s passengers. Yet, every time I get to MK it’s the same. Imagine Network Rail, or whoever is responsible for our running train stations this week, trying to transport 80,000 fans efficiently away from a major sporting event. Actually, don’t.

Another great trip, another great stadium, right up there with the Millerntor and Union Berlin’s Alten Försterei as one of my favourites.

Thanks a million to the excellent BVB Schwatzgelb.de fanzine for the photos.

Modern Football is STILL Rubbish by Nick Davidson

- Feel free to comment below - 

HSV v FC St Pauli

Burger That For a Laugh

HSV 0-1 FC St Pauli (16:02:11)

FC St Pauli won away at their not-so-friendly city rivals Hamburg on Wednesday night, but that doesn't tell half the story writes Teddy Barrett...

The Hamburg Derby was supposed to take place on the 6th February. As a St Pauli fan, I was looking forward to it, not least, because we were in good form and HSV weren't . As it was, such is the necessity in these modern arenas, the grass needed to be replaced mid-season, and HSV chose to do this 3 or 4 days before the match, having not checked the weather reports. Three days of torrential rain followed, the grass didn't grow properly and suddenly the city of Hamburg was faced with the embarrassing situation of having no derby on a weekend which proved to be hosting many derbies across Germany. Grass related jokes amongst St Pauli forumites and the twitterati reigned. In amongst this, the rivalry between the two Hamburg clubs seems to have intensified. Whilst perhaps not so politically fuelled as in previous generations, HSV's current malaise on the pitch, combined with St Pauli's relative success, has created a bitterness and outbreaks of violence that I had never witnessed when I used to live in the city. A very small minority of HSV fans' reaction to the derby cancellation was to attack the St Pauli fan pub "The Jolly Roger".

Eventually the match was however rescheduled. Time enough to sort the television schedules, but not enough for many of my friends to arrange time off work to make a Wednesday night game. I, however, was one of the lucky ones and before long was sat on the train, with a copy of German football magazine "11Freunde" for company. HSV are on the front cover of this months issue as part of the main article - 50 most stupid ideas in football. I assume that the article was referring to the pink shirts they once wore, rather than the club in general, but I took it as a good omen.

A text message arrived from a friend telling me to meet her down by the riverside, as we would then travel in a group to the ground. I assumed she meant a few of our mates, but as I waited on the bridge leading over to the river Elbe, gradually the place filled up. It was rather like that scene with the black crows accumulating on the climbing frame in the Hitchcock film "The Birds", as more and more St Pauli fans dressed in black gathered. By the time my friends arrived, the police had found out about the gathering, had parked up and were shuffling about nearby, perhaps slightly taken aback by this spontaneous event. Suddenly the group was on the move, climbing the steps down into the underground station. "Haende hoch das ist ein Ueberfall, heute kommen wir von ueberall, und wir sind daaaa! Ultra' Antifaaaa!"/"Hands up this is robbery, today we're arriving from everywhere, and we are here! Antifascist ultras!" echoed around the station. The sheer mass of people granted enough anonymity for the place to end up covered in supporters' stickers. A well organised departure, meant despite the crowding and narrow platform, everyone made the train to Othmarschen, another station closer to the edge of town where HSV play. We then piled onto buses and were shipped to the ground. Despite the relatively plentiful buses laid on by the local transport company, there is a lot of queuing in order to get to the Imtech Arena, and even after that you then have to queue to get in. The security checks, plus 3 separate ticket checks, mean getting onto the terrace, is a slow process.

Having survived the checks, our group of friends regrouped and we headed into the lower block together. Katie Perry - Firework was playing at the time, which I happen to like (I know, I know. A guilty pleasure), so I took that as a good omen too. The HSV fans had hung a banner up on their terrace. "Rebellious skull and crossbones - sold out! Self-managed home terrace - sold out! Trendy legend- sold out! The person who has nothing left, must dance on the pole". Its a reference to recent concerns at St Pauli around too much commercialism, and that one VIP lounge at the Millerntor ground featured a pole dancer, all of which has faced huge opposition from St Pauli fans as part of the Jolly Rouge/Sozial Romantiker campaign. The banner was a bit of light, harmless joshing , the HSV fan's anti-commerce critique albeit somewhat lessened by the array of adverts and inflatable lemonade promotions on the pitch in front of it. The St Pauli response came from the upper tier. A banner mocking HSV's claims of tradition. It said something like "a concrete bowl on the edge of town. Protect tradition - AOL Arena forever", a reference to the fact that HSV's ground has gone through a series of corporate name changes and so tradition really only equates to the sponsor from 10 years ago.

Shortly before kick -off, various in-stadium speakers and celebrities had their go at whipping up some sort of atmosphere, but what prompted the noise in the end was the appearance of the players. In the HSV end, an admittedly very well accomplished choreo took place. A large flag over the upper tier, two large lines of text over the lip of the tier and then some sort of colour mosaic on the lower tier. I couldn't read it though, as by this time our narrow away block had turned into a sea of brown and white flags, framing a large St Pauli badge hanging off the lip of the upper section.

The match started and from where we were standing, the atmosphere was not quite as loud as Id hoped. The sound escaped due to the high roof. When the HSV end got going, we could hear them. The easier songs from our end also reached somewhat higher volumes, but it was quite hard work. In the first half HSV were by far the stronger team. We barely ventured out of our own half, and when we did it only provoked brutal challenges from the likes of Jarolim. Meanwhile I was worried about Pliquett being in goal for us. He's an actual St Pauli fan, so is instantly likeable and its fair to say he was highly motivated in this match, having been attacked by a group of HSV fans on the way back from a match last year. Nevertheless Kessler, who normally plays in goal for us, has been supreme this season and I would've liked to have seen him between the sticks marshalling the defence. I shouldn't have worried. Pliquett played an excellent first half (and by all accounts a great second half too). Coming under constant pressure from crosses, he saved St Pauli quite a few times. Ruud VanNistelrooy meanwhile was doing that old trick he used to do at Manchester United, of standing offside, only to leap back onside at the last second. It prompted the chant of "Oi, Oi, Oi! Scheiss VanNistelrooy" on numerous occasions from our end. I couldn't sing that. He was my hero for many a year.

Part way through the first half, and flares were let off in the lower section where I was standing. Smoke bombs went off in the upper section. Still under pressure on the pitch and the atmosphere generally struggling in all four corners of the ground, it seemed the wrong time for deployment even for a fan of pyrotechnics like myself. Someone later pointed out, it coincided with the time 19:10hours. 1910 was the year St Pauli formed. Five minutes or so later, we saw the police in full riot gear enter the upper tier. They began to fight with the fans. Pushes, shoves, truncheons wielded. A number of flag poles were jabbed back in their direction from the St Pauli fans who had considerably less padded clothing. We joined arms in our section and began springing up and down and singing. The jumping always gets the atmosphere going, but probably in this case was also somewhat to do with the rumour that the police were trying to get into our section too. Linked arms would of course slow them up. And come they did. 20-30 riot police stormed into the lower section of the away end. This wasn't a good idea. After the attack by some HSV fans on the St Pauli pub mentioned earlier in this article, the police turned up and arrested a women seemingly in the wrong place, at the wrong time. During the arrest, they broke both of her arms. Even the club, St Pauli, were moved to issue a press statement decrying it officially. The police were never popular with St Pauli fans, but that occurrence hasn't helped. Back in the block, they pushed and shoved to begin with, one of them with a joycam on a stick filming for evidence. They were trying to get to the section where the flares were let off. There simply wasn't enough space though, and it started to get tight. A cry of "hey" went up, which whether at a football match or demonstration usually means someone is taking a beating or is being rather roughly arrested. The police were pushing further now but also using their battons and reinforced arm padding to jab and swipe at people. I began to get crushed. 20-30 extras in a fenced in terrace, plus panic, is a recipe for disaster. I couldn't see that well, as people were pushing their arms up to make more space. It gradually became more comfortable as more space appeared, but I could then see people climbing up the fence at the front to get out of the way of something. There was blood on many of their faces. It later became clear, that the police had also used some sort of pepper spray to get people out of the way. Water was then passed by fellow fans, through the fence and down the terrace to the bottom for those either crushed, beaten or peppersprayed. Meanwhile a football match had been going on. The first half had finished, and Id seen little of the closing stages. The singer on the fence, called to the lower block "its up to you", he said, "but after what has happened, we (and here I would assume he meant a number of members of the influential group Ultra' Sankt Pauli) would suggest that we shouldn't be watching the football under these conditions and would suggest leaving the ground in protest". The ultras collected all of the flags together. Another call came "do we want to stay or go out?". There was a significant showing of hands and nods in the lower section. Despite the difficult circumstances, a semi-democratic process had been carried out. 50-60 fans left the most important match of the season, with over 40 minutes remaining. Not an easy decision, which only shows the strength of feeling on the matter. Disgusted by what I had just witnessed, not to mention mildly concerned about further crushing as the police remained where they were, I was one of those who left. We left the ground, shaking our heads in disbelief. A long line of riot police, followed us out too to monitor us. Still seething with anger, I went up to them and, on reflection, somewhat comically (as I probably resembled a white boot wearing striker finger wagging an incorrect offside decision) I shook my head, and wagged my finger as they trooped past me. I no longer cared if I was arrested. "You could've killed someone!" I cried. They continued to file past and I was not arrested. I rejoined the group of ultras, normal fans, old and young, men and women who had decided to boycott the rest of the game.

Part way through the second half, Asamoah put St Pauli a goal up. We didn't know who had scored, but we knew which team had put the ball in the net from the roar of the crowd inside. There then followed the bizarre scene of 60 fans jumping around and hugging each other outside the ground. The rest of the match was tense. No one wanted to go back in, but we were relying on the rest of the crowd to indicate what was going on, through their oohs and ahhs. Outside in the woods, we could see masses of blue flashing lights and three water cannons, as preparations began for the exit at fulltime. St Pauli hung on and then there was a huge roar. St Pauli had won it!

After a great deal of celebrating we were reunited with the rest of the away crowd and headed for the buses back into town. Despite it being a relatively new ground, transport links aren't the Imtech Arena's strong point and we queued for a good while before we made it on to a bus. After heading to the Jolly Roger, where two further water cannons were parked up in the street outside, the out of towners in our group decided it was time to head home. My friends fears of retribution from HSV fans, were ignored by me. I lived here without much trouble I thought to myself, it'll be fine. We jumped in the car and I was busy staring at twitter, reading the reaction to the match and the small matter of my own English team, somehow beating Chasetown 4-2 with only ten men. I looked up as we came to a crossroads, only to see a group of 15-20 hooligans, some in balaclavas, some with baseball bats and sticks coming down the middle of the road. They were heading seemingly for the Jolly Roger, but we were in the way! Ok my friends were right, lets get out of here! We headed rapidly down what may have been the wrong way on a narrow one way street. I by now was tweeting and texting anyone I could think of who was still in the Jolly Roger to warn them. Give me a nice, low key match anyday!

This was the first win against HSV since 1977. A historic moment. Travelling home, we savoured it. One of our group had stayed inside the ground and could even describe the goal to us! However, what happened in the away block for me left a slightly bitter taste. In order to remain as neutral as possible, it must of course be accepted that the use of the flares is currently illegal, and that some sort of a reaction from the police should therefore be expected. Whilst it is true that there is a contradiction in the appreciation in the media of "vibrant", "colourful" flare filled grounds in foreign countries, and their own criticism of the same behaviour in German grounds, that doesn't negate the issue that uncontrolled use of pyrotechnics can be dangerous. That said, the flares deployed at the derby were perhaps down to around 20 fans. To that sum you could then add fans who may accept or tolerate the usage of flares, but whether you agree with their view or not, it does not make those sympathisers guilty of any crime. In this light, the violent storming of the lower away block by the police to apprehend this minority, complete with liberal use of pepperspray, was incredibly unfair on those fans who just happened to wish to stand in that section but had done absolutely nothing wrong. That it created so many, fortunately only minor, injuries, as well as crushing and that this at least on early evidence, has not been reported by the media, only increases the risk of such a wreckless tactic gaining acceptance and being carried out again. The next time the dimensions of the terrace may not be so favourable, and someone could be seriously injured or worse. Then it wont matter who the "Nummer eins" in Hamburg is, because by then it will be too late.

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FC St Pauli / Rot-Weiss Oberhausen

That's The Way I Like It

Rot-Weiss Oberhausen 3-0 Arminia Bielefeld (19:11:10)

FC St Pauli 1-1 Wolfsburg (21:11:10)

Andy Hudson and Ed Barrett continue their European Football Weekend in Germany by popping into a game at Oberhausen coupled with a trip to see the Rebels Choice, FC St Pauli. Pull up a chair as we enter Huddo's world:

Saturday evening and after Bochum we arrived back in Dortmund in time to watch Leverkusen v Bayern. At last, the first part of the weekend that hadn’t seen me rushing about. I had arrived at Weeze airport on Friday afternoon and knew that if I was quick then I’d make the Rot-Weiss Oberhausen match. A snap decision to jump off the bus in Duisburg was rewarded with a 5 minute train ride to Oberhausen instead of the 25 minute journey if I’d remained sitting to the next stop in Essen. With time against me and no research being undertaken other than a quick Twitter message to our EFW Editor, I bypassed the fans drinking outside of the train station and jumped into a taxi enquiring “fussball stadion bitte” of the driver who struggled to understand my accent.

Jumping out at the Niederrheinstadion I bought my ticket (only €9.50 for a German Bundesliga.2 team; when will English clubs halt their greedy ticket pricing policy?), entered the stadium, grabbed a beer and took my place on the terracing behind the goal just in time to hear “Who Let The Dogs Out?” accompanied by the club mascot, an oversized mutt, lapping up a lap of honour. The Oberhausen and Arminia Bielefeld players emerged from the tunnel and the home Ultra’ group turned their section into a blanket of red with their flares. Unfortunately for me, this appeared to be merely a flirtation with a great atmosphere. The stadium is quite old school in English terms apart from one thing: an athletics track which runs around the pitch, which in German terms makes it very old school as many stadiums have since removed the offending athletics aid. Any singing from either set of fans failed to make it across the lanes and despite the efforts of two drunken fans in front of me, who continuously tried to start singing but failed to co-ordinate their songs together, the noise remained on the wrong side of quiet for me. Even as the home side took the lead, after only two minutes, the celebrations were slightly muted despite the goal being cleverly worked and hammered in from just outside of the box. Oberhausen piled on the pressure against a very poor Bielefeld team and had a two goal cushion after twenty minutes when the Bielefeld defence decided that they couldn’t be bothered with any of that marking malarkey and allowed a free header in the six yard box.

Flares: yes. Flags: yes. Terracing: yes, yes. Athletics track: oh.

Fussball bitte

Grabbing another beer from the stall just behind me, and politely accepting another cigarette from the steaming-drunk guy on my left, I settled for the second half which continued with Oberhausen well on top. Their danger man, the once highly rated Nigerian Moses Lamidi, captured a well deserved third goal with minutes remaining, catching the static away defence out of position again to roll the ball across the ‘keeper into the net. One person missed this goal. A few minutes earlier I heard raised voices at the beer stand and two guys were arguing over who was first in the queue. Both then got served at the same time, off two different girls, and proceeded to throw their beer over the other and follow up with a few punches. The watching Polizei were straight in and after fending off advances from friends of the protagonists they deposited one back on the terraces and the other outside the stadium.

Bielefeld were involved in the 1971 Bundesliga bribery scandal; they might have to summon the ‘spirit’ of that season if they are to avoid relegation this year. Oberhausen, seemingly the brother of Cliftonville FC if their club badge and kit is anything to go by, could start looking up the table and not down after this performance. My immediate future was in a Dortmund pub, which is where we also headed after the Bochum match on Saturday before joining some of Ed’s friends at a party.

Who could get bored of this wonderful old scoreboard though? If only the individual bulbs lit up to to reveal a players face (imagine that - Ed.).

There is a God.

Knowing that we had to catch a train at 7am on Sunday in order to meet up with the Sankt Pauli Mafia fans’ coach, we really should have started drinking a little later on Saturday evening. But then we would have looked out of place when everyone was chucking back bottle after bottle of pilsner lager. I went as Eddie Murphy by virtue of that being the first name appearing in my head when I was asked what my fancy dress was supposed to be (I turned up in a grey hoody and a leather jacket alongside Ed who is obviously well versed in wearing fancy dress and arrived as The Dude from The Big Lebowski). After a long discussion with He-Man about Borussia Dortmund, and a promise to go to a future match with him, we staggered off some time after 6am for the long journey north to Hamburg.

Being both drunk and tired the journey was arduous. Even with bottles of beer available for €1 I found drinking them to be difficult and I wasn’t alone with my slow drinking. I’ve travelled on supporter club coaches in England before and the mantra is smuggle as much beer on as you can, drink it as quickly as you can and then dump the evidence as soon as possible. With such a relaxed vibe onboard, and talk of politics and football, the drinking took a back seat all round with the only activity completed with any speed being a smoke whenever the coach stopped anywhere.

We arrived at Millerntor with just over two hours to go until kick-off. I had expected to be heading straight to a bar like my previous pre-match St Pauli experience but today was different. The St Pauli fans are a special bunch, as most German fans are, and with their promotion to the Bundesliga, coupled with a relatively low stadium capacity of around 24,000, a new problem has been presented: ticket touts exploiting the normal fan in order to make some cash. Tickets are at a premium in Hamburg and everyone is eager to watch the boys in brown. Why should others make money off these fans? A demonstration against the touts was organised and this seemed a much better use of my time than getting destroying my newly acquired soberness in the Jolly Roger. With a stack of pre-prepared signs provided, one side displaying ‘tickets for sale’ and the other displaying ‘I need a ticket’, we set off through the funfair that sits alongside the stadium and headed for the touts’ favoured stamping ground. Leaflets were distributed to passers-by and cars navigating through the throng found leaflets attached to their back windscreen wipers. I never did see any touts before the match but I was assured that they would have been there; too embarrassed to pop their heads up and exploit the fan who just wanted to watch some football.

Our tickets were in the area popular with the Ultra’ Sankt Pauli, behind the goal in the Südkurve. In order to get a decent spot you have to get in early and so we made our way in an hour before kick-off and entered the already packed section of terracing. The Capos started just before the teams emerged for the start of the match, their megaphones gently directing the enthusiastic crowd towards another song. Any individual let-up in singing was noticed by our Capo who would fix an encouraging stare on that person and drive them into a roar. As I pogoed around the terraces, focused on any German songs so that I didn’t let down any of my neighbours with a lack of noise, I found my throat begin to strain under the vocal pressure. But I didn’t care – standing on that piece of concrete I had proper football. The flags lapped across the top of my head; arms on either side linked mine; the songs came, varied and quickly; the whole stadium was singing; and then Markus Thorandt scored for FC St Pauli from a corner. We went wild.

A quick snap, and then a pogo and a hundred songs and our work here is done.

The hand of God.

Wolfsburg, under Steve McClaren, haven’t set the Bundesliga alight this year, despite having one of the world’s most sought after forwards in Edin Dzeko. They were unimaginative and lacked any spark for vast periods of the match. They equalised after 54 minutes when Dzeko, receiving a pass from ex-Werder and Juve player Diego, scored from close-range with his only clear chance of the day. The Bosnian superstar said afterwards that the team “have higher ambitions, we have 15 points from 13 games. We will have to fight on” and McClaren will surely hope that he can motivate his players to perform much better if they are to avoid a lower table finish this season.

The St Pauli crowd sensed that they were more likely to grab a winner than the visitors and the noise increased during the final quarter of the game. Fabian Boll, perhaps the only player in one of Europe’s elite leagues who combines a playing career with a job as a police officer, almost scored a St Pauli winner but amidst a huge “ooooooh” from the crowd the ‘keeper grabbed the ball at the second opportunity. Afterwards we made our way back to the coach and caught up with the main organiser of Football Supporters Europe who summed up the mood of everyone onboard when she asked “we should have won that; how didn’t we win that?”. A film dubbed in German was playing loudly on the bus as we headed back to the Ruhr and I struggled to sleep due to one song playing over-and-over in my head: “’cause we support Sankt Pauli, Sankt Pauli, Sankt Pauli and that’s the way we like it, we like it, we like it”.

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