Friday, Jun. 30, 2006

Pressed To The End of Impartiality

A little tension? Sure, on the pitch, maybe. Oh, and among the fans packed in the stands, without doubt. But not amid the hardened journalists who chronicle sports events like the World Cup day in and out; who eat soaring hopes and shattered dreams of others smeared on their pumpernickel; who are here to recount the why, what, when, and how, then blow town for the next stop in this month-long grind. No, this is work. We're all just observers who keep our secret team preferences to ourselves — if we even have any longer — and stick to the dispassionate facts.

Yeah, right.

After 90+ minutes of regular time and two full extra periods left Germany and Argentina tied at one-all, the hard-boiled scribes in the press tribune and media center were as tense and focused as the most hardcore fan gnawing their flags and smearing their face paint in excitement. Strict neutrality be damned, the habitually jaded and difficult-to-plus journalists in Berlin exploded as one in joy Friday, when previously hard-to-get playing fortunes started making eyes at the German hosts of this Cup, and ultimately ushered the Mannschaft into the semi-finals in a shoot-out win over the Argentines.

When German keeper Jens Lehmann stopped Argentina's second shooter, Roberto Ayala, journos joined dewy-eyed, insouciant fans in cheering the save — one of two that Lehman wound up making in the 4-2 session. Exciting? You bet. Still, by the time Lehman — whose selection as starting keeper at the outset of the Cup stunned many fans with its consequential benching legendary goalie Oliver Kahn — dove to block the final Argentina attempt by Esteban Cambiasso, German victory was virtually assured; the save really just sparing Germany from taking its last try.

How did reporters react? Like fans: they lost all sense of perspective and decorum, hugged and high-fived one another — three gentlemen from Asian nations whose teams aren't even in the Cup (much less affiliated with Club Germany) literally rolled on the floor in delight and relief. So much for distance and neutrality.

Since when did everyone become such a big fan of the loveable Germans that they'd join this country's unusual (and until recently, some mighty have said troubling) display of patriotism and national pride? In the quarter final, it dated back to the 49th minute goal Ayala scored to put Argentina up in what until then was a close, tough-fought match. The sight of the prostate German goalie picking himself off the pitch and picking the ball out of his trembling net caused similar shivers to spread elsewhere: it was the first time since the Cup started when the notion of host Germany and its 80 million gung-ho fans looked in danger of getting the hook — and possibly losing interest to boot. Who wants the host of the best party the block ever had to retire with news his grandfather has been quarantined? Who wants an entire hospitable and welcoming population to suddenly develop a disappointment-provoked case of Tourette's Syndrome?

Not the international press corps, who visibly brightened up (and audibly exploded) with Miroslav Klose's equalizer in the 80th minute, and Germany's relative domination of play in the extra periods. By the time Lehmann put his mitts on that last, futile Argentine shot, Germany staying in, interested, and thrilled by the Cup it is putting on seemed virtually fated. Though not taken for granted. Chancellor Angela Merkel — who was on hand for the match — looked like a little girl thrilled at a special present of a clever trick an older relative had surprised her with; clapping her hands and letting some of the same unrestrained happiness bursting out around the stadium issue from her as well. And that was nothing compared to the black-yellow-and-red mass that ever so slowly made its way out of the stadium and towards points more central, while singing in a tireless, joyful sea of celebration.

"I knew we couldn't lose. We couldn't!", shouted Germany fan Thomas Vender above the singing of the five or six thousand friends he seemed to have just made in exiting the Olympiastadion. "Even when Argentina scored, we all said 'Just wait. We'll come back'. Look at what's happening. It's impossible we'd lose."

Slightly less triumphant, even in hindsight, a blonde, face-painted German fan named Inge admitted she'd suffered all the way to the end — never getting over the feeling of vulnerability she experienced when she saw her team down. "I hasn't happened before, and I just thought, 'How awful it will be if we lose'," Inge said, laughing over male protestations over any doubt. "It would be terrible if Germany lost."

All over Germany, around the stadium, and among furiously-typing journalists in the press center, there were thousands upon thousands of people knowing exactly what Inge meant. True, few of them were Argentines — but uniformity is boring anyway.