Friday, 29 June 2012

TuRu 1880 Duesseldorf II v SC Duesseldorf West

 Another night, another dream but always TuRu.

TuRu 1880 Duesseldorf II 1-3 SC Duesseldorf West
Sunday 10 June 2012
Stadion an der Feuerbachstraße
Attendance: 100 (ish)

TuRu II's shot at the Landesliga title is, in unprecedented German stereotype scenes, delayed.

The reason being that a man in a black suit has interrupted the pre match handshakes to hand out flowers from a bucket. TuRu II's manager Georg Müffler gets some (of course Georg Müffler) before his last game in charge. Half the team get a bouquet. I didn't get any though.

Where's my flowers TuRu II? You don't call, you don't write, you don't take me out to Wetherspoons on Steak night anymore. *shakes head* Why TuRu II, why?

A win here and a defeat for SV Uedesheim would mean that TuRu II win the Landesliga championship. However they wouldn’t be able to obtain promotion to the new Oberliga due to their first team playing in that league already. Hard lines Müffler.

As wooden as the acting on Hollyoaks.

All along the wooden benches that span the length of the main stand are 1,200 carefully stencilled seat numbers. Numbers that have been painted in hope, mixed with a splash of black paint, that there might be the need for an all ticket game in this 8,000 capacity ground one day.

"A clean stadium is more beautiful", says the frankly filthy bin.

Don't mention the war memorial.

Taking up about fifteen of these numbers are a group of snap happy Japanese folk. Every move of the SC West right back is tracked by at least two long lenses. He stands around watching the game, flashbulbs shimmer; he shuffles forward, snappy snappy; he gestures to a defender, that’s a Kodak moment. He makes a tackle, nothing. He runs forward with the ball, lens caps are replaced. They're seemingly not interested in any photo that might show that he’s actually participating in a game involving 21 other players as that'd be fresh madness.

Yes. I've taken a picture of a man taking a picture, what of it hey?

Not a great deal happens in the first half. TuRu II play balls up to a number nine who should only ever be described as “burly”. SC West knock it around patiently and the only thing that rouses the non Japanese members of the crowd comes after 25 minutes when a hoofed clearance bounces back into the stadium, narrowly avoiding de-railing the passing 15:19 tram to Benrath. Still, if the tram did get shoved off it's tracks at least we’d be able to rustle up some condolence offering flowers at extremely short notice.

Token match shot.

One for all you groundhoppers out there.

In the corner of the ground there's an outdoor bar pumping out tunes and serving beers and bratwurst. This is obviously targeted at those who are pathetically alcohol dependant and can't go a mere 45 minutes without a beer, those who are too gluttonous to cease devouring food for a short period of time, those too asinine to be entertained by a championship deciding football match and who's brains require sating with idiotic pop music and intoxicants.

So, here's a list of the songs I merrily bopped along to while supping a couple of delicious ice cold beers and shovelling a flavoursome bratwurst into my gullet during the first half.

Run DMC vs Jason Nevins – It's Like That
Britney Spears – Baby One More Time
Eiffel 65 – Blue (Da Ba Dee)
Dario Gradi – Carneval de Paris
Unknown German rap nonsense
The Drifters – Every Night Is Like A Saturday Night
Men at Work – Land Down Under.
Survivor – Eye of the Tiger

Some great tunes I’m sure we can all agree. And here's a handy Spotify playlist to help you re-create that magical German 6th division atmosphere at home. I've replaced “unknown German rap nonsense” with Another Night by The Real McCoy, an often overlooked German treat from the 1990's that definitely isn't nonsense. It's some deep shit.

“Just another night, is all that it takes,
to understand, the difference between lovers and fakes “

See. Deep. It scores an impressive 8.4 on the AiT deeplyrics-ometer, putting it just behind Sweat (A La La La La Long) by Inner Circle. 

Ummm, that's good scoreboard.

Of course hefty linesman with glasses. Why not?

Surveillance on the left back continues in the second half, his every move tracked from every terrace by sinister spooks. There’s no reason to take a picture on 68 minutes as SC West players celebrate Marco Michalzik scoring their second goal in fifteen minutes. TuRu II are crestfallen, the players are dead on their feet and their chances of winning the title, much like the popularity of The Real McCoy, slips away rapidly.

Your actual third goal being scored right there.

 Your actual goal celebration right there. 

A sound resembling a scream of elderly crow with a throat infection that is being viciously violated is played out over the tannoy to greet TuRu II scoring a penalty, however the horrendous noise can't inspire a comeback. SC West score a deserved third leaving Müffler’s mens title challenge laying, like a bouquet of petrol station flowers presented to a heartbroken lover by her philandering boyfriend, in tatters.

And with this sign this blog ends. If only I knew what this sign meant.

Tuesday, 12 June 2012

TuRu 1880 Duesseldorf III v Duesseldorfer SC 99 II

  To me TuRu

TuRu 1880 Duesseldorf III 1-1 Duesseldorfer SC 99 II
Sunday 10 June 2012
Kreisliga A
Stadion an der Feuerbachstraße - Astroturf pitch.
Attendance: 50 (ish)

Find somewhere to live they said. Register with the authorities they said. Declare yourself as a foreigner in the country they said. Grow a mullet so you fit in, that was me who said that. All those things can wait. There's a 9th level title decider to be watching.

This game is not just tinpot. It's beyond tinpot and beyond that again. Uber tinpot if you will. I've seen uber tinpot before, course I bloody have and there's one clear, delightful, sign you're in it's company; the reluctant club linesman. 

Token match shot.

TuRu's lino is a man who appears steadfastly Copydexed to the railings. His ambition to influence play as limited as the likelihood of him donning a pair of skinny jeans. From his position on the half way line he occasionally flaps the flag in a way the referee deems fit to ignore. Any unexpected attempt to keep up with play would send his precariously balanced jeans into a rapid descent from his gut stopping only at the, wildly inappropriate given the body mass above them, word “Sport” written boldly across the back of his trainers. 

Put some effort into it man.
A looping header after twelve dominant minutes sees a tremendous bundle celebration from TuRu III. Their keeper sprints the length of the astroturf (I've never smoked astroturf) and they're totally in control, set for the win that would give them the championship.

The SC 99 linesman's afternoon is equally as futile. One attempt to indicate a throw in is overruled, resulting in a mumbled rant and a hilariously petulant swirl of the flag. His biggest challenge is to avoid his own team's manager. The Adidas clad boss marches along the touchline, shouting orders then ducking to watch play from ground level, crouching like a coiled Andre Villas Boas on a disappointingly animal free hunting safari, until finally being ordered, by the man who's in sole charge of proceedings, the referee, back into his dugout.

"Our ball, Lino, which way......backwards....backwards? What do you mean backwards?"

Back in the dugout he joins a man who looks like what would happen if I asked you to draw a stereotypical German man on a rain soaked English seaside summer holiday called Rudiger.  Which I am. Draw me Rudiger.   

Crouching trainer hidden Rudiger.

The ground has a few small terraces, two tin huts full of giggling school girls (they told me they were 18 your honour) and a man sat on a tree stump. Now I'm a huge fan of people watching football amongst foliage, see here for further proof and here. Told you. This means the ground is a brand new entry into the AiT top 10 grounds of all time. I know. Really, a bold decision. But, wait eine minute bitte. What's that high up behind the goal offering a shocking view of the game from behind two wire fences? A sun trap beer terrace? Oh well played Turu III, very well played indeed. Congratulations on making the top 5 AiT grounds ever. Part II. 
 Tree-mendous posture. *groans all round*

 I'm stumped for a comment. *beatings all round*

Uber tinpot also guarantees the presence of, at least, one fat player. That player should always wear the number five shirt. This is an uber tinpot fact. His elasticated shorts must be on the verge of bursting causing an immensely satisfying elastic twanging noise and his socks must be stretched up high to expose on the tiniest glimpse of two fat knees. Aforementioned number five should waddle around the middle of the pitch, occasionally playing a decent pass and more occasionally twatting a much quicker, more skilful opponent before pleading with the referee to avoid a booking. TuRu's number five ticks all these boxes before asking if they're made from edible sugar-paper and requesting a Euro for an ice lolly as he wheezes off at half time.

Those two bumps on your stomach really are impressive.....and possibly a cause for medical concern.

By the time SC 99 equalised ten minutes into the second half, sending their manager sinking the 27cm from his creaking haunches to his knees, I was halfway through a frosty German beer. Throughout the second half my arse remained royally wedged on a sun lounger as the game, which I could barely see due to the two layers of maximum security fencing before me, concluded with Turu III missing out on promotion to the Bezirksliga and with two underused linesmen ran straight into the changing rooms to apply lashings of after-sun.  I'll be honest, I had a great afternoon. I was as happy as a tipsy pig in scheisse with my first trip into German uber tinpot.