Summary: Und wenn du das Spiel gewinnst, ganz oben stehst, dann steh'n wir hier und sing' Borussia, Borussia BVB... (Posted 22.1.15)
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Dortmund, November 30, 2014
I use my remaining strength to drag myself into my bedroom, each step taken sending pinpricks of pain all over my body. When I arrive at my destination, every cell practically begs me to lie down, to succumb to fatigue, but I force my eyes open. I shouldn't sleep again, really–what does it offer, other than nightmares? I'm still in the relegation zone. I should face it.
Maybe the only thing I need is a cup of coffee...
And someone to talk to.
With that decided, I turn on my heel and make my way to the pantry. The ache from my eighth loss still lingers, but I figured that ignoring it lessens the pounding in my head. The methodical movement of making coffee helps take my mind further away from it. Opening the jar, pouring the dark brown powder into a mug, turning on the water heater... Humming a radio hit as I wait, I almost feel like an average person.
It's easy to let go if you're relaxed, I think, fetching my laptop and headphones to use on my couch. I'm just a guy video calling a friend, whining about my team's decline. And he's gonna whine about Leverkusen, how they slaughtered FC Köln and how arrogant Roger Schmidt is.
Maybe, if I closed my eyes and willed it to happen, it would happen. I'd be a guy studying some impractical stuff in college, and Köln would be - a name jumps into the forefront of my mind - Billy Hennes, a classmate who has a huge mansion, yet can't afford something as simple as deodorant. Bayer would be the suck up, the teacher's pet. Hoffenheim, Wolfsburg and Leipzig would lead some bad boy club in the neighboring campus.
But mostly, Kloppo would 'only' be distant Jürgen Klopp, manager of Borussia Dortmund, and I would grow up being a BVB fan, the seeds of love laid down by my parents... who'd taken me to the Fußballtempel when I was five.
The thought of football bursts my illusion of normalcy. Clutching my head, I can only cry as reality comes back to me with a vengeance. No, no, no, please, make it stop...
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
The water heater alerts me that it's done its job, but I don't give a shit. With deft fingers, I launch the browser and signed in, making sure my microphone's working as it loads. Come on, I beg silently, fingers roaming impatiently over the keyboard, come on, come on, come on...
The blue layout of that website finally appears, and I waste no time in searching Köln's username. Thank god he's online, I sigh in relief, oh, thank you!
Without preamble, I press 'Video Call'. The screen fades into white.
Loading...
Connecting to server...
This is taking so long. Far too long. With nothing left occupying my mind, the incessant beep comes back in full force.
"Ah, screw it!" I yell, dashing to the pantry. With such a high coffee-making speed, the mug should be on the floor by now, surrounded by black and yellow shards of glass, but it stays in my grip, burning my cold hand. Normally I would take it slow, inhaling the nice, strong smell of my coffee (and sometimes cream), but now, all I want is to talk to Köln, to share woes with a drink in hand to drown them.
A minute later, when I settle myself back on my seat, I expect do just that.
But Köln, apparently, doesn't want to.
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Humor(A football/soccer club gijinka/personification story.) Ever wonder how football clubs would react at promotion? How about relegation? Wonder no more! Born from the founders' love for the beautiful game, physical embodiments of Bundesliga clubs will...
