One of the regular punters gave the barman a nod as he chugged his lager.
“Turn it up mate, the Germans are on!”
(inaudible) Well there lies the big question...
(inaudible) … They have a wily old manager...
(inaudible) Bit of a lack of resilience, this Brazil side, at times?
The BBC’s coverage hissed into view. A Geordie accent spoke first.
Alan Shearer: They’ve committed more fouls than in the tournament than anyone else.
The calm Midlander tones of the lead anchor followed.
Gary Lineker: Tough call this. Who’s going to win it?-
Then the guttural tones of a Glaswegian.
Alan Hansen: (interrupting, loudly) Brazil, definitely.
AS: Long night. Brazil.
GL: Rio?
The final voice was a thoughtful, drawling Londoner.
Rio Ferdinand: The Germans.
GL: Ooh!
(collective laughter)
GL: Playing for a place in the World Cup Final, it’s Brazil versus Germany. Your commentators in Belo Horizonte are Martin Keown and Steve Wilson.
Steve Wilson: Thank you very much Gary. Good evening everybody...
The coverage hissed out of focus for a few moments as the connection righted itself. The stage was set. Two of the world’s greatest teams facing off in the semi-finals. Since the second Weltkrieg had ended in 1945, mighty Brazil had won the cup five times, with Germany close behind on three.
The anthems were something spectacular. Deutschland über alles first, with a respectful home crowd allowing the Germans their voice. Then came the Hino Nacional Brasileiro. The music stopped after the first verse, but the crowd sang the rest of the entire anthem in a haunting, gale-force acapella. David Luiz, the stand-in captain after his predecessor’s controversial suspension, held the iconic number 10 shirt aloft, in honour of their injured colleague and star striker. The final word came out of their very souls – Brasil! – and the cheering began.
SW: Forget how the team sang it, what about the ball boys and girls?
David Luiz handed the shirt to his mascot, who gave him a grateful thumbs-up. He hoped to give the Germans a bloody nose today on their way to what would surely have been their destiny, O Hexa (the Sixth), with victory in the final at the Maracanã. He just wanted to make the crowd happy.
Perhaps ominously, he could feel the cameras focusing intently on his teammates, the latest team to bear the mantle of Brazil’s Seleção. No matter. He had played hundreds of televised games, and tonight would be no different. Tonight, he would make his people proud.
Flashes from cameras and cheers as the game kicked off. The advertising boards rolled between globally renowned sponsors like McDonald’s, Yingli and Sony, and esoterically-named Brazilian businesses like Marfrig, Brahma and Oi.
A few seconds in, and Fernandinho fumbled the ball. Höwedes hoofed it from the centre to the Brazilian keeper, Júlio César. Seeking territory, or perhaps a shot across the bows?
Martin Keown: Brazil just not looking very comfortable in possession. So un-Brazilianlike at times...
SW: They’re missing both their captain and their number 10 today. Who wouldn’t?
The crowd cheered anyway. Sure, the early balls were nervy, but wasn’t that always the case for a host side? Start slow, then explode into action?
SW: Marcelo could lose it here. He has. Khedira... Miroslav Klose is in the middle... Off Marcelo who bundles it out... first German corner of the game.
In the eleventh minute, Thomas Müller took control and punted the ball into the net from close range. The partisan crowd were utterly silenced. The German corner cheered.
SW: And Germany take the lead!
MK: Where on earth was Luiz? Müller was unmarked!
The frustrations continued as Germany’s well-drilled players snapped at Brazilian heels and launched crunching tackles. Brazil bombed forward regardless, with the powerful Hulk and the lithe Fred leading the charge – it was the only way they knew how to play. The hopes of over two hundred and fifty million Brazilians rested on their shoulders.
What followed over the next twenty minutes entered footballing folklore. Germany’s patient possession and harassment of the shellshocked Brazilians tore them to shreds.
The second goal of the game was a beautiful move, a pretty triangle between Toni Kroos, Müller and Klose, the latter picking it up and slamming it into the net after a rebound from César. He had broken the World Cup goalscorer’s record. Perhaps more importantly, after just twenty minutes, Brazil’s hopes were on the ropes.
The punter turned to the barman and laughed. “Isn’t Klose a Pole anyway? What’s he doing in a German shirt?”
The barman suppressed an eye roll. A bit of a joker, this one. “Nah mate. Check the Net if you don’t believe me. He’s from Opole. He’s as German as Goethe.” If he makes a joke about pierogi and sausages, I swear I’ll do time.
SW: Alaba, who crosses over to Khedira... to Özil, back to Khedira who picks it up and shoots... Five-nil!... Five-nil! Absolute humiliation! How many more?
MK: At this rate? They could get... I don’t know, nineteen?
The crowd were utterly silenced at this stage. Four goals in six minutes. Five-nil at half-time. Indiscipline and fear had paralysed one of the greatest nations ever to grace a football pitch.
The humiliation continued. The crowd even cheered olé! for the Germans as they passed the ball around late in the second half. André Schürrle, a late substitute, cheered on a billion television screens as he bagged his second, the seventh for a rampant German side.
The punter frowned. “Isn’t that the guy who plays for Chelsea?”
The barman snorted in spite of himself. “Wrong Russian billionaire. He’s with FC Königsberg.”
Kicking the ball straight from his hands into the net, past a furious Manuel Neuer, Oscar scored a consolation goal for Brazil, and sealed his place in pub quizzes for years to come. Too late, though. The humiliation, a vergonha, the Mineiraço was complete. The game ended, and the crowd booed with the fury of two-thirds of a continent.
GL: So, Rio, it looks like you were right about the Germans. What went wrong for Brazil tonight?
RF: Everything went wrong, Gary. From losing their captain to suspension against Kamerun, to their superstar’s injury against Gran Colombia, this Brazilian side’s build-up wasn’t perfect. But even then, their defence against a world-class German side should have been miles better.
The signal broke completely for a moment. The barman slapped the TV, hard.
(inaudible) You think that his suspension against Kamerun cost them this match?
AH: (interrupting) Losing Suárez was terrible for their organisation. Without him they were headless chickens. Still, it’s no excuse for letting in seven, even against this German side. Big Phil will be collecting his P45 in the morning.
The camera panned in to part of the German crowd who were cheering hard for their team. Below them hung a massive banner emblazoned with Gothic writing flanked by double-headed eagles. It read, in English, “We Are Jogi Löw’s Fourth Reich.”
GL: Quite a bold statement that banner – just like this result. I wonder what the Kaiser thinks of his team’s victory tonight?
AS: I tell you something, it will take some doing for Klinsmann’s Confederates or van Gaal’s Batavians to beat this lot. Germany were ABS-o-lute-ly brilliant tonight.
The camera moved from the studio back to the Mineirão, where the crowd volume was upped by an enthusiastic sound engineer. The German fans were belting out a raucous Bavarian drinking song.
The sound hissed out, and the revelry swapped to the infamous German footballing chant, “Two World Wars and Three World Cups”. Lineker gave a cheeky grin his viewers would have associated with a certain brand of crisps. The Germans were well on their way to four.
GL: So, to sum up, can you think of one word to describe this German performance?
AH: Classic.
AS: Legend!
(laughter)
GL: (turning to the camera) Well, unfortunately we have run out of time, but WHAT a game. Grossdeutschland are in dreamland, but Brazil will have to dream again of a sixth World Cup. Football is a game where thirty men throw a ball around for 80 minutes, and at the end the Germans win. Goodnight.
The mascot looked up as David Luiz walked past him, head bowed and red-eyed, towards the changing rooms. There was something wrong with his eyes, thought the child. He’s crying. Just like I was.
He looked up to his mother, and again at the tear-stained shirt in his hands, the yellow shirt marked with the green number 10. He didn’t know what to do.
“Mamãe, does Senhor Luiz still want me to keep this?”
“Keep it, my son. Maybe if you take good care of the shirt, the man who wears it will win the next World Cup.”
He smiled at his mother, who always knew best. He was so near to tears with sadness for Senhor Luiz and his country, but he knew his friends would be so jealous. His smile brightened.
After all, how many of them owned a brand-new Brazil shirt with the great Lionel Messi’s name and the number 10 on the back?
“Turn it up mate, the Germans are on!”
***
(inaudible) Well there lies the big question...
(inaudible) … They have a wily old manager...
(inaudible) Bit of a lack of resilience, this Brazil side, at times?
The BBC’s coverage hissed into view. A Geordie accent spoke first.
Alan Shearer: They’ve committed more fouls than in the tournament than anyone else.
The calm Midlander tones of the lead anchor followed.
Gary Lineker: Tough call this. Who’s going to win it?-
Then the guttural tones of a Glaswegian.
Alan Hansen: (interrupting, loudly) Brazil, definitely.
AS: Long night. Brazil.
GL: Rio?
The final voice was a thoughtful, drawling Londoner.
Rio Ferdinand: The Germans.
GL: Ooh!
(collective laughter)
GL: Playing for a place in the World Cup Final, it’s Brazil versus Germany. Your commentators in Belo Horizonte are Martin Keown and Steve Wilson.
Steve Wilson: Thank you very much Gary. Good evening everybody...
***
The coverage hissed out of focus for a few moments as the connection righted itself. The stage was set. Two of the world’s greatest teams facing off in the semi-finals. Since the second Weltkrieg had ended in 1945, mighty Brazil had won the cup five times, with Germany close behind on three.
The anthems were something spectacular. Deutschland über alles first, with a respectful home crowd allowing the Germans their voice. Then came the Hino Nacional Brasileiro. The music stopped after the first verse, but the crowd sang the rest of the entire anthem in a haunting, gale-force acapella. David Luiz, the stand-in captain after his predecessor’s controversial suspension, held the iconic number 10 shirt aloft, in honour of their injured colleague and star striker. The final word came out of their very souls – Brasil! – and the cheering began.
***
SW: Forget how the team sang it, what about the ball boys and girls?
***
David Luiz handed the shirt to his mascot, who gave him a grateful thumbs-up. He hoped to give the Germans a bloody nose today on their way to what would surely have been their destiny, O Hexa (the Sixth), with victory in the final at the Maracanã. He just wanted to make the crowd happy.
Perhaps ominously, he could feel the cameras focusing intently on his teammates, the latest team to bear the mantle of Brazil’s Seleção. No matter. He had played hundreds of televised games, and tonight would be no different. Tonight, he would make his people proud.
Flashes from cameras and cheers as the game kicked off. The advertising boards rolled between globally renowned sponsors like McDonald’s, Yingli and Sony, and esoterically-named Brazilian businesses like Marfrig, Brahma and Oi.
A few seconds in, and Fernandinho fumbled the ball. Höwedes hoofed it from the centre to the Brazilian keeper, Júlio César. Seeking territory, or perhaps a shot across the bows?
***
Martin Keown: Brazil just not looking very comfortable in possession. So un-Brazilianlike at times...
SW: They’re missing both their captain and their number 10 today. Who wouldn’t?
***
The crowd cheered anyway. Sure, the early balls were nervy, but wasn’t that always the case for a host side? Start slow, then explode into action?
***
SW: Marcelo could lose it here. He has. Khedira... Miroslav Klose is in the middle... Off Marcelo who bundles it out... first German corner of the game.
***
In the eleventh minute, Thomas Müller took control and punted the ball into the net from close range. The partisan crowd were utterly silenced. The German corner cheered.
***
SW: And Germany take the lead!
MK: Where on earth was Luiz? Müller was unmarked!
***
The frustrations continued as Germany’s well-drilled players snapped at Brazilian heels and launched crunching tackles. Brazil bombed forward regardless, with the powerful Hulk and the lithe Fred leading the charge – it was the only way they knew how to play. The hopes of over two hundred and fifty million Brazilians rested on their shoulders.
What followed over the next twenty minutes entered footballing folklore. Germany’s patient possession and harassment of the shellshocked Brazilians tore them to shreds.
The second goal of the game was a beautiful move, a pretty triangle between Toni Kroos, Müller and Klose, the latter picking it up and slamming it into the net after a rebound from César. He had broken the World Cup goalscorer’s record. Perhaps more importantly, after just twenty minutes, Brazil’s hopes were on the ropes.
***
The punter turned to the barman and laughed. “Isn’t Klose a Pole anyway? What’s he doing in a German shirt?”
The barman suppressed an eye roll. A bit of a joker, this one. “Nah mate. Check the Net if you don’t believe me. He’s from Opole. He’s as German as Goethe.” If he makes a joke about pierogi and sausages, I swear I’ll do time.
***
SW: Alaba, who crosses over to Khedira... to Özil, back to Khedira who picks it up and shoots... Five-nil!... Five-nil! Absolute humiliation! How many more?
MK: At this rate? They could get... I don’t know, nineteen?
***
The crowd were utterly silenced at this stage. Four goals in six minutes. Five-nil at half-time. Indiscipline and fear had paralysed one of the greatest nations ever to grace a football pitch.
The humiliation continued. The crowd even cheered olé! for the Germans as they passed the ball around late in the second half. André Schürrle, a late substitute, cheered on a billion television screens as he bagged his second, the seventh for a rampant German side.
***
The punter frowned. “Isn’t that the guy who plays for Chelsea?”
The barman snorted in spite of himself. “Wrong Russian billionaire. He’s with FC Königsberg.”
***
Kicking the ball straight from his hands into the net, past a furious Manuel Neuer, Oscar scored a consolation goal for Brazil, and sealed his place in pub quizzes for years to come. Too late, though. The humiliation, a vergonha, the Mineiraço was complete. The game ended, and the crowd booed with the fury of two-thirds of a continent.
***
GL: So, Rio, it looks like you were right about the Germans. What went wrong for Brazil tonight?
RF: Everything went wrong, Gary. From losing their captain to suspension against Kamerun, to their superstar’s injury against Gran Colombia, this Brazilian side’s build-up wasn’t perfect. But even then, their defence against a world-class German side should have been miles better.
***
The signal broke completely for a moment. The barman slapped the TV, hard.
***
(inaudible) You think that his suspension against Kamerun cost them this match?
AH: (interrupting) Losing Suárez was terrible for their organisation. Without him they were headless chickens. Still, it’s no excuse for letting in seven, even against this German side. Big Phil will be collecting his P45 in the morning.
The camera panned in to part of the German crowd who were cheering hard for their team. Below them hung a massive banner emblazoned with Gothic writing flanked by double-headed eagles. It read, in English, “We Are Jogi Löw’s Fourth Reich.”
GL: Quite a bold statement that banner – just like this result. I wonder what the Kaiser thinks of his team’s victory tonight?
AS: I tell you something, it will take some doing for Klinsmann’s Confederates or van Gaal’s Batavians to beat this lot. Germany were ABS-o-lute-ly brilliant tonight.
The camera moved from the studio back to the Mineirão, where the crowd volume was upped by an enthusiastic sound engineer. The German fans were belting out a raucous Bavarian drinking song.
The sound hissed out, and the revelry swapped to the infamous German footballing chant, “Two World Wars and Three World Cups”. Lineker gave a cheeky grin his viewers would have associated with a certain brand of crisps. The Germans were well on their way to four.
GL: So, to sum up, can you think of one word to describe this German performance?
AH: Classic.
AS: Legend!
(laughter)
GL: (turning to the camera) Well, unfortunately we have run out of time, but WHAT a game. Grossdeutschland are in dreamland, but Brazil will have to dream again of a sixth World Cup. Football is a game where thirty men throw a ball around for 80 minutes, and at the end the Germans win. Goodnight.
***
The mascot looked up as David Luiz walked past him, head bowed and red-eyed, towards the changing rooms. There was something wrong with his eyes, thought the child. He’s crying. Just like I was.
He looked up to his mother, and again at the tear-stained shirt in his hands, the yellow shirt marked with the green number 10. He didn’t know what to do.
“Mamãe, does Senhor Luiz still want me to keep this?”
“Keep it, my son. Maybe if you take good care of the shirt, the man who wears it will win the next World Cup.”
He smiled at his mother, who always knew best. He was so near to tears with sadness for Senhor Luiz and his country, but he knew his friends would be so jealous. His smile brightened.
After all, how many of them owned a brand-new Brazil shirt with the great Lionel Messi’s name and the number 10 on the back?
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