Bundeslihaha: Where Fussball Meets Fun

Late Night Meeting

Summary: The threat of relegation has not escaped the management's notice. (Posted 17.1.15, edited 30.1.16.)

If you're waiting for 'A Shoulder to Cry On (Part 2)', stay tuned! It's coming after this chapter. :)

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A few days after La Manga...

The stars hid behind dark clouds as they overlooked the artificial lights underneath, blinding and oppressive but to the figure walked the Strobelallee, footsteps as abrupt as gegenpressing. The figure's eyes never wavered from the office door a few meters before him–why had Aki called this late?–but he never once slowed down, even when the wind cut into his coat and parted his neatly-styled hair.

Come as soon as you can, Borussia, said the text that had woken him up, this is important.

*** 

 Half an hour earlier...

He rarely questioned Aki's orders (there was no reason to do so, after all), so he immediately took a shower, wore the topmost stuff he spotted inside his closet, and used his hair gel only when he was safely rooted in the U-Bahn. His mind, never one for philosophical exercises or 'what if's, drifted with what he saw: officers barking 'Karte bitte' to the passengers–all the while thinking they'd look cooler with a more stylish civilian clothing. Maybe something like what Mainz wore.

  ***  

The glass never quite showed anything outside as the train grew closer to the Westfallenhallen Station, so he used the opportunity to make sure he didn't look like someone who'd just got up from bed.

Bloodshot dark eyes stared back at him, but otherwise, his reflection looked okay.

This'll do, he tried to convince himself, this is too important for a wardrobe check.

*** 

 A few minutes later, he found himself back in the present, standing before the office of Ballspielverein Borussia 09 e.V. Dortmund.

Without hesitation, he opened the door.

  ***  

The lights in the room mirrored the stars in the sky, never managing to light up the room blanketed with despair.

Unlike what legends said, personifications didn't have the power to read minds or sense feelings in a supernatural way–but in this case, it didn't take an idiot to figure out what was missing: that spark of hope, the dreams, the endless energy that was Borussia Dortmund.

And on its throne, Hans-Joachim Watzke's eyes met the embodiment of his club's, his irises a perfect reflection of his office.

"Good evening, Borussia..." he greeted, fatigue lacing his voice, "Or should I say 'midnight'?"

Dortmund could hear the ghost of a chuckle in Aki's tone, but it was a far cry from the man who almost treated him as an equal, the man who criticized Rummenigge and celebrated his now rare victories like he'd won the league. The physically younger man grinned nonetheless. "Well, I'd say 'dawn', but we're not in a hurry, are we?" he replied, taking his seat in front of the club chairman.

The temperature seemed to drop the moment he said his last word.

"That's the problem, Borussia," Aki declared, no longer bothering with pleasantries, "we are in a hurry."

The moment the last word was uttered, the room closed in on him, imaginary hands squeezing his heart. Pessimism leaked into his mind, gnawing and grating and please dammit stop I don't need this–

"As you know," Watzke, thankfully, broke the silence, but he knew, somehow, that this wouldn't be good, "Our position in the league is not to be taken lightly."

He had been right. Shit, he'd been right.

Who cares?!

The thought came to him, unbidden, reminding him that he wanted, needed to reignite that spark.

You'll be damned if we stay like this!

"We're not going to be relegated, Aki!" he proclaimed, clenched fists propped on the desk, "We're gonna make it to Europe and win everything in sight!"

Watzke's pointed look screamed You forgot Bayern, causing him to roll his eyes. "Fine," he scoffed, "Almost everything."

His boss–he was painfully reminded of that yet again–sighed, the lines on his face heavy with exasperation. "I like your optimism, Borussia... but that doesn't change the fact that we are currently in seventeenth place." He paused, as if he was unsure whether he should break the important news or not, but eventually decided to do so as he cleared his throat. "That is why, Borussia," he said, "we are submitting an application for a 2. Bundesliga license."

"You what?!"

"You heard right, BVB."

Blood drained from Borussia's face. "No," he sputtered, this can't be, "No! How–why–what the hell–"

Watzke didn't even bother reprimanding him. "It's not desperation, Dortmund. It's a precaution."

Well, it sounds incredibly like desperation, you hypocrite! "We can't possibly be that hopeless!" he cried instead, throwing his hands up in the air, "What happened to 'Borussia Dortmund's got the winning genes'?! What the hell happened? Even Hamburger SV still sees the Schale half full!"

"Borussia–"

"No, Aki. No. Augsburg said his only target is avoiding relegation, but because they never give up, now they're in..." He took a deep breath, blood boiling as the league table came into the forefront of his mind, "In sixth place!" His right fist left a dent on the desk for emphasis. "And look at Paderborn, only a promotion club... but they're tenth! They even led the league on Matchday 4, for fuck's sake!" He glared daggers at the old looking–yet in so many things younger–man, burning coals aiming to put the prick in his place. But it wasn't enough, no. Watzke had to know what he had to say about this.

"Your problem, Aki," his index touched Watzke's chest, "My problem," and then his own, "and the problem of everyone else in this club," he made a widening gesture with both hands, "isn't fitness, nor is it Bayern stealing our players... but mentality!" Another dent on the desk, and he didn't spare the cornered Watzke anything resembling mercy. "If you want to keep playing the martyr, do it–but I'll do everything in my power to stop you, as a fan... and as the heart and soul of Borussia Dortmund."

When Die Schwarzgelben knew he'd left a mark, he turned on his heel, donning his coat as he made his way to the door.

"Borussia," Watzke's voice made way into his ears for the last time, appealing for his guilt... but he'd take none of that. Never.

"Think about it," he hissed, leaving Watzke with only his tumultuous thoughts to keep him company.

***

U-Bahn: subway; underground train.

Karte bitte: Ticket, please.

This chapter is a flash one: Found a newsflash from several websites, did a flash-research, flash-wrote and flash-edited this chapter. I don't quite believe the news (neither does BVB, apparently), as they contradict Hans-Joachim "Aki" Watzke's optimistic interview with the club's website, but I hope it's not as bad as it seemed... if you think otherwise (or not), feel free to comment!

Thanks for reading.

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10.6.18: I think I remember why I wrote so many BVB-centric chapters. I wanted to focus on a club I dislike to prove I'm not biased. The result: see for yourself.