The Germans made it all the way to the Finale. Along with the Spaniards.
Tonight they played.
My poet friend Dylan and I sat on folding chairs at Bar Gagarin. The game unfolded on the outdoor TV. Beside us, an Englishman who spoke no German. I ate a salad with salmon.
The Spanish scored early on. The Germans couldn't seem to manage. Every pass they kicked went straight to Spanish cleats.
"No!" we shouted. And: "C'mon!" And: "What was that?" And: "Just one goal, please."
We held out hope till the 93rd minute.
"They really could do it," said Dylan.
"Tell them that," said the Englishman.
The whistle blew. The boys in white and black clustered, faces ashen.The boys in yellow and red marched their silver Europa Cup around the field.
They sang "We Are the Champions."
Which struck me as excessive.
But they played the better game. That I'll grant them. And Spain hasn't won for 24 years. So if someone was gonna beat Germany, I'm glad they're it.
Berlin is quiet. The bars already empty. The TVs now silenced.
We return to our homes. We return to our beds. Somber. And waiting. For the day the men we believe in live up to our dreams.
I've heard rumors that the Italians are not sad. ;)
XO,
Rosemary Posemary
Posted by: Rosemary Posemary | June 30, 2008 at 05:06 AM
Oh those evil Italians! But actually... the Germans are being good losers. Everyone is happy it's the Spaniards won, and NOT the Italians. He he.
Posted by: Lilan | June 30, 2008 at 02:40 PM
Is it wrong that I sigh and hate Pee-tah after reading this?
Posted by: Julie @ the calm before the stork | July 01, 2008 at 10:57 AM
But he's not on the Fussball team! Ahem.
Posted by: Lilan | July 01, 2008 at 11:37 AM