World Cup Blog | Bruce Crumley Chilled Out In Dortmund subscribe to TIME Printable Version email this story Bruce Crumley: Read all his blog entries

Posted Friday, June 23, 2006; 6.45BST
What's wrong with this scene in Dortmund, just hours before Brazil and Japan face off in their last group match? Fans tumble out of trains wearing shorts, team jerseys, and the occasional scarf, flag, OR good luck animal carcass draped over their shoulders. They shout, even scream. Normal, right? Wrong-o. Those are shrieks of shock: THEY'RE COLD! IT'S FREEZING HERE! Almost in unison, shivering fans wrap their arms around themselves, hoping to retain a bit of escaping body heat. They sprint, not walk, to the nearest clothes shop in search of trousers, parkas, and mukluks — thoughts of the match utterly forgotten.

Okay, they don't do that. In reality, they do what everyone else does: they grab themselves a/several beer(s) and start imbibing lustily. But they're really cold as they do so, and

Previous Entries July 7, 2006 Assessing The Legacy Of Domenec   July 6, 2006 The Runners-Up Final Is Really No Consolation   June 28, 2006 For Fans, Now Comes The Hard Bit   June 27, 2006 All About The Swiss Misses   June 26, 2006 Reading Between The Lines Of The Freebie Press   June 26, 2006 Little (Irritating) Things That Make The World Cup Go Round   June 25, 2006 The Cup's Rough Edges   June 22, 2006 Chilled Out In Dortmund   June 19, 2006 Living It Up In Leipzig   June 18, 2006 Why No Joie de Vivre?   June 16, 2006 Taking Advantage of Poor Refereeing   June 15, 2006 Feeling Let Down By The Giants Of Football   June 14, 2006 Reasons To Be Cheerful for Germany's Win   June 10, 2006 How To Win The Good Conduct Medal   June 9, 2006 Deutschland 2006 Turns Up The Heat

doubtless figure a good buzz will distract them from the hypothermia about to upgrade to frost bite. Seriously — it's cold, and been like this up here in the Dortmund-Gelsenkirchen-Dusseldorf triangle for three days! In Wednesday's match in Gelsenkirchen, they even closed the stadium's roof to prevent Mexican and Portuguese players from stopping play mid-game to catch snowflakes on their tongues (which you just know they'd do). What's the deal here? It's late June — it's summer! It's supposed to be warm, and suddenly everyone in this charming little corner of South Pole-am-Rhein is getting nothing but grey skies and chilly temps. If I'd wanted that, I could have stayed in Paris all summer (and gotten the added feature of living among terminally cheesed off people to boot). But I'm here; it's summer, and it's cold. This sucks!!

It is, of course, common knowledge that the definitive sign of an award-winning berk is his ranting in vain at the weather (I'm expecting a call from Nick Hornby's lawyers for the humor-slaying use of some of his most effective Brit-insults like "berk"). But because I'm way too clever to fall into that trap, I'll instead rail at those responsible for this sudden reappearance of the polar ice cap in western Europe: the boobs who whined about how hot it was in the Cup's opening days. These were the dorks you'd hear blubbering incessantly about it being so sweltering and heavy (the rube-ish clods didn't even have the urban chic of New Yorkers to note "dat it ain't da heat; it's da friggin' humididee").

About how it was sapping players' strength, draining them fast, hardening pitches. How the heat was the real reason why their teams were getting hosed. Sure, right: that's why Eric Ronaldo Carrtman looks knackered and utterly useless five minutes into games, not because he's dragging around a gut the size (and, interestingly, exactly shape) of Ruthinia.

These were also the same people so tormented by the heat that, first sight of a municipal fountain, they'd shucked shoes, socks, and all civic restraint to wade in for the cool, life-saving relief from this Hades known as normal summer weather. (Incidentally, I'd recommend that fountain-wallowing thing to anyone — especially people who couldn't get to Germany, but want that "I'd never do this at home" visitor experience. Because fountains are really clean. Almost sterile. Especially in places where undisciplined soccer fans suffer chronic, beer-provoked bladder pressure. Once you've done that, you might try washing your hands in a bar urinal.) And all the time complaining, nagging, belly aching about the heat. Thanks, pillocks (Nick: to quote George [eew]: "brang 'em ohwn".) Mother Nature heard you, and answered your prayers. Now it's frigid, windy, and dark. You'd think it were August in San Francisco.

Of course, readers in Munich, Berlin, Leipzig (or those so freakishly bored they actually read Yahoo! Weather reports for remote places) will have noticed that temperatures elsewhere in Germany ain't so bad. Pretty damned summery, in fact. So what's with this Jack Frost garbage up here? What's with this Great Nordrhein-Westfalen Weather Scam? I'm going to have to talk to Franz Beckenbauer about this — this holly jolly business in June stuff just isn't on. It even effected play: in the witch's-mammary cold Dortmund Thursday, night the players were scarcely able to work up a sweat. That was just peachy with Ronaldo, however. He liked the chill so much he even scored. Even if they weren't too toasty, the Ruthinians were happy.

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