World Cup Road Trip World Cup 2006 – The Road Trip – Barcelona to Berlin

km 4700

Life of Riley, Ready to Go, Three Lions, Vin-da-loo, I’m listening to all the classic songs on the train from Koln to Gelsenkirchen. In a few hours England will take on Portugal in a World Cup Quarter Final in the AufSchalke Arena and the nerves are starting to build. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day, a chance to watch your country in the last eight of a major tournament. Time to change trains as we pull into Oberhausen, the platform is a sea of red and white, the St George Cross is everywhere. Onto the Gelsenkirchen train and The first chants of “Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land” ring through the carriages. It’s really starting to build up now.

My mind drifts back to the day before. We had seen a classic match up of football superpowers in Germany v Argentina. I’d travelled up with Dirk to watch the game in Koln, with an old Barcelona friend of ours, Uli. This time we skipped the packed out madness of the FanFest, not wanting to queue from midday in the intense summer sun. Instead we went on a lakeside biergarden in one of the Koln parks, a long rambling series of little tents and shades with big screens and TV’s stuck under with them. Almost everyone sporting the red, white and yellow colours. This time though there was a lot of realism mixed in the optimism. People knew that this was step up from the rest of the tournament. And from there, drinking the local brew of ‘Kolsch’ we watched a classic unfold.

From the start, after some early niggles, Argentina were dominating the midfield, Tevez especially causing problems down the left flank. The only time Germany looked at all dangerous was when Ballack powered a header over the bar. The fans around me were already getting nervous, getting excited at the smallest bit of positive German play. The few times Germany did get forward, the Argentines were then just taking the pace out of the game by playing keep ball. Half time came with no goals, and everyone knew it was going to be a long tense game. The second half kicked off with the news that the ‘super fan’ Maradona wasn’t in the stadium.

Then everyone had their heads in their hands as Ayala powered in a header to give Argentina a 1-0 lead. I thought that was it for the German ‘train’. Argentina kept coming forward and cutting through the German defence but without being able to make a final ball. Then slowly but surely Germany started to edge back into it, a series of set pieces enabling them to put pressure on the Argentine defence. Into the last twenty then fifteen minutes and there were shrieks and screams coming at any half chance at either end. The TV showed a shot of the Beckenbauer looking very nervous. A few chants of “Deutschland, Deutschland” came out, but they were pretty half hearted. Then as we hit the last ten minutes a flicked on cross was met by Klose and it was 1-1. The biergarden erupted! A nervous last few minutes, and a shot of ‘The Kaiser’ smiling again and we were into extra-time.

Extra time produced nothing, except tense nervous football and a couple of half chances, the most notable being Coloccinis cross shot almost catching Lehmann out as it clipped the bar. And so it was onto Penalties. I turned and asked five different fans around me. “Will you win the penalty shoot out??” Each one gave an emphatic “Yes!”. And of course they did, banging in four confident spot kicks, leaving Lehmann to take the plaudits as he saved two. Such confidence from the players AND the fans. I wondered then how it would be the next day if England came to that point. Would i be so confident if asked the same question??

Thinking on this as the train pulls into Gelsenkirchen, I’m quietly confident that’s not going to happen. After all we’re playing against a Portuguese team with two main players missing, suspended after the mini war against Holland, it’s going to be tough, but this is the quarter final of the World Cup, this is when we raise our game!

We’re ushered off the train and out through the station amongst hordes of England Fans, northern, southern, scouse, manc, geordie accents, all mixed in together. We even see a couple of English Bobbies there! Bloody good idea that, they’ve been brought over to work with the German police, they have all the information about getting to the ground or the FanFest and can communicate it to our fans in English. The station announcements are also broadcast in English (with a distinctly London accent!). The odd group of Portugese fans march through as well, there chanting very distinct from the familiar English terrace songs that are ringing out.

We meet up with Frank, whose just come down from Berlin after seeing the game there the day before. He’s pretty wrecked after making an 800km round trip and partying half the night away after the German victory. Dirk is pulling for England today, he wants a classic England v Germany final in Berlin. Frank is still not sure. After stopping for a good lunch in a local bar we then head off to catch the stadium tram with plenty of time left. We don’t want any of the last minutes worries we had in Dortmund!

Then, for about the first time in the tournament, German efficiency fails us. The central tram stop is rammed with people. Every time they send a tram through there’s a huge crush of people trying to force there way on. so if you aren’t right next to a door you’ve got no hope of getting on. Finally we manage to get on one, but after only a few minutes it stops, the driver mumbles something in German, and we all have to get off apparently it’s broken down. Luckily at that moment a stadium bus passes us by, so we hop on it, and within ten minutes we’re in sight of the AufSchalke Arena.

A big blue modern stadium this one, sticking out clearly from the grey industrial buildings that are typical of the area. It’s one of the most modern all purpose arenas in Europe, seating almost 60,000 with a roof that can be closed and a pitch that can be moved in and out of the stadium. Getting off the bus we find out we’re on the other side from our section, in order to get through we find ourselves taking a short cut down a very steep piece of grass. Highly amusing watching some ‘barrel-chested’ tattooed England fans charging headlong down it, totally out of control. Luckily they make it ok, although they almost take Dirk out at the end of it!

A call from my father back in England, they’re all getting nervous back there too. Time to get into the Stadium. We’d officially changed the names on the tickets a few days before the game, which turns out to be a good move as on the way through the stadium security are taking aside a fair proportion of the fans to be questioned as to where they got the tickets. Some lads are looking particularly gutted, hope they make it through.

Finally up to our block, and into the stadium, 15 minutes before kick off. A grand bowl like arena greets us, the seats blue in the colours of local team FC Schalke. Today they’ve closed the roof for TV purposes, creating an enclosed atmosphere. We’ve got excellent seats again, right behind the goal. Away in the other corner of the ground is the main cluster of Portuguese fans, the rest of the stadium must be almost 90% red and white. Whatever people might say about England fans, they must be the top in terms of the sheer numbers that follow the country. The whole facade of the top tier of the stadium is draped with banners, the vast majority a St Georges cross with a proud club name blazoned across it. The odd Portugal flag as well, and away to the left, one Mexican flag. These Mexicans, they get everywhere!

The chants start to ring out as we come closer to kick off. Then the stadium announcer welcomes the teams, and here they come, Becks and Figo leading them out onto the pitch to a wall of noise. First national anthem is “God Save the Queen”, proudly sang. Then, most heartening, a respectful silence as the Portuguese Anthem is played. The teams break off, the captains elect to change ends, we’ll have England kicking towards us during the first half. A deep breath … here we go …

The first half passes by surreally, quick yet slow, like tumbleweed in the wind, no real chances as the teams cancel each other out. We all know that England are going to have to raise their performance considerably in this game, yet we show no sign of doing so. Eriksson has persisted with the formation that leaves Rooney alone up front, which means that he’s just getting kicked and frustrated, it’s not his natural game. The England band sparks up after around 20 minutes, “Great Escape”, “Come on England” and “God Save the Queen”, seem about the limit of their repertoire. Good effort though, and the crowd gets behind them. The German guy sitting next to me is getting a little narky about me getting up and singing “England, England” all the time. Well screw you mate, this is my country playing !

Half time comes and it’s all pretty inconclusive, there’s been no real incidents in the game. Joe Cole’s doing ok, and Owen Hargreaves is having one of his best games in an England shirt. But poor old Frank Lampard’s having another mare. Needs something special to spark it to life. Rooney maybe ? On the plus side, Portugal haven’t really done anything either. Although there players are falling down like feathers. Dirk has the thankless task of queuing for the half time beer, which is apparently pumped through 52 kilometres (or something like that!) of pipes that run around the stadium. Apparently they lose thousands of litres every summer when they have to clear the pipes out in the off-season.

Second Half, and no changes, Rooney is still up there on his own. And then a few minutes in Beckham goes down. Captain Fantastic is not in a good way, you can see straight away, and within moments he’s hobbling off to be replaced by Aaron Lennon. Our talismanic captain is out. How are we going to react? Well pretty positively actually. Suddenly Rooney is supported by someone a little more ‘forward’ like, there’s a bit more space around and we’re starting to look a bit more threatening.

Then disaster … Rooney is involved in a little tussle for the ball around the centre circle, looks like nothing like where we’re from, maybe a foul for us, then suddenly there’s a Portuguese player down, and a group of red shirts clustered around the referee and the white shirt of Rooney. It’s all confusion as the referees wanders round the other side of the melee and pulls a red card from his pocket. Rooney’s off!! It’s all happened so fast, as he traipses off the pitch we see him kick a water bottle towards the Portuguese bench in frustration. There’s no replays in the stadium for ‘controversial’ issues, so we really don’t know what’s happened. I fire a quick text off to Mike in England to find out. Quite bizarre really, sending a text 2000 km’s to find out what’s happened 100 metres away from me !

Sven has to switch it, and Peter Crouch is on for Joe Cole. Come on Crouchy ! But now we know it’s backs to the wall stuff. The text comes back from Mike. “He stamped on the player, but looks like an accident to me” Portugal are the team pressing now, the midfield is theirs as they work the ball from side to side, looking for a gap. But we’re holding firm, each attack seeing the ball cleared up towards Crouch, the only one up there. And Crouchy, the Brazilian like player that he is, is doing a great job of getting the ball and holding it up, allowing us precious breathing space. The English fans are right behind the team, “England” chants reverberate round the stadium. What is very frustrating is the ease with which the Red shirts of Portugal are going down now, any contact around the box and they’re over. Ronaldo is being particular annoying, and he was really involved in Rooney’s sending off. The clock ticks down, ten minutes to go now, it’s getting nervy out there, a few crosses float in from the Portuguese left, they always seem to have a man over there, but they come to nothing. And at the other end we force a couple of throw-ins in deep positions. Suddenly Aaron Lennon is flattened in the Portuguese area. “Penalty!!” I cry with another 30,000 English voices. Nothing from the referee though. We’re all whistling and telling him “Your not fit to referee”, and other more choice insults. Text from Mike, “Not a Penalty”. The whistle blows, 90 minutes is up. we’ve held out, now it’s another 30 minutes. We discuss the spectre of penalties, which is looming large now, I’m actually confident we could pull it off this time, because of our backs to the wall performance.

Frank & Dirk wish me good luck, they’re really behind England now after the Portuguese antics. Extra time starts off, and it’s more of the same, Portugal pressing, England defending, and then getting the ball away and up to Crouchy or Lennon. Still Portugal aren’t really creating any clear chances. The break comes and goes, only 15 minutes to go now, penalties are just round the corner. Then a cross in from the left and the balls in the back of Robinsons net, but it’s ok, it’s ok, the linesmans flag is up. We breath again. An England break, Gerrard has the ball. From where we are we can see Hargreaves making a great run into acres of space on the right, but instead he hits it to the opposite side where Lampard can’t make anything of it. That would of been a real good chance had he hit it to the other flank. Carragher comes on for Lennon, must be thinking about the penalties. Very, very nervous now, any Portuguese attack is almost too much to bear, we’re all screaming for the whistle. Finally it comes. Penalties.

Sven and McClaren are out there sorting out the kickers, as we contemplate who might take them, two near certainties in Beckham and Rooney are already off the pitch. I repeat my thought that this time we’re gonna win it, although not with quite the same conviction as before. The referee flips the coin to see where we’ll take them, and they’re coming to our end. I will have a perfect view of England’s success or demise. Text from Mike “Can’t watch it”. Portugal are shooting first. Robinson and Ricardo wish each other luck below us. Lots of noise from our fans as their man steps up … and hammers it past Robinson. Shit. 1-0. Up strides Franky Lampard. Come on Frank, knock it in. Saved. Lots of heads in hands around me, apart from a couple of Portugese guys celebrating down from us. Frank (the German one not Lampard!) tells me, “You’re still in it Robin, don’t worry”. Yeah Frank, but your German, we’re English. We’ve been here before, the scripts written.

But it isn’t! The next Portuguese penalty hits the post and cannons joyously out to the left hand side ! Yesssss! We’re still in it. Whose stepping up now. Owen Hargreaves, he’s had a great game. And he rams his penalty into the corner. 1-1. Come on ! Portugal are up again, and it’s pure ecstasy as the next red shirt knocks the ball penalty wide left as well. Wild wild celebrations in the stands, I jump on Frank, the place is exploding. We’re gonna do it! Stevie Gerrard steps up. This is super Gerrard, captain Liverpool, our top scorer in the competition, the man you turn to in a crisis. I’m on the steps of the walkway by the stand now, i need some room to celebrate. Gerrard steps up to put England ahead.

Saved. Ricardo guessed right. Still 1-1, two penalties missed each. The familiar scenario is returning. It’s affecting the fans now, there’s hardly any noise now as the fourth Portugal penalty flies in. I don’t really want to watch any more as Jamie Carragher walks up. Head down he turns and knocks the ball confidently past Ricardo! But no, the referees ordering it to be retaking. Why? Why? Why? Carragher looks nervous now as he puts the ball on the spot. And Ricardo flies out to his right to parry it onto the bar. It’s all written now as that twat Ronaldo walks up and arrogantly jumps up and down on the penalty spot before placing the ball. He steps up and calmly puts it away to Robinsons left.

It’s over. England are out. There’s not gonna be a dream ending to this world cup. I go back to my seat in the stand, the emotion of the moment and the game is pretty tough to take. There’s something about watching all this live that brings the pain home, the reality is right there in front of your eyes. Forget the fact that the team hasn’t been playing well, that Sven screwed up the squad selection, and all that. This is now, the moment that your country has been dumped out of the world cup on penalties yet again. It hurts. I see vaguely away to the left the Portuguese players celebrating with their fans, all round the rest of the stadium are England fans just staring into space, all of them gutted. I’m not alone. The England players make a sorrowful circuit, we all rise to applaud them. They gave there all today, but it wasn’t enough.

As we make our way out of the stadium and back towards Gelsenkirchen, the pain starts to recede, reality kicks in, i mean we really weren’t good enough to win this world cup. The fans on the way back are all gutted but saying the same thing. Who knows if a different coach or strategy would have changed the day.

The city centre in Gelsenkirchen is packed with semi-drunk Englishmen, it looks like the West End of San Antonio in Ibiza. But it’s a good atmosphere, not really any threat of big trouble, just a lot of drunk people enjoying their last day out in the tournament. We manage to find a bar with a TV where, a little disbelievingly, we watch the French kick the Brasilians out of the tournament. It’s not just England who’ve had a bad day.

Then it’s onto the station, a packed concourse, we manage to get on our train and get seats, and it’s home, or at least to the hostel in Koln, away from the Gelsenkirchen memories.

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Well that was a lot longer than I expected ! Wanted to try out a bit of a different writing style there, as if it’s all in the present. Thought it was the best way to and get across the feelings from inside the stadium. Despite us losing it really was a great day.

But I have to comment on the penalties again. Just watching the two shootouts and contrasting England and Germany and the resepective national psyche. All the Germans were totally confident, and i mean the fans here, not the players. Yet the normal reaction for England fans is, unsurprisingly “Oh no, not again!”. And that really came home in the stadium as well. Frank, who was at the German v Argentina game, said the noise when the Argentines were taking their penalties was incredible. Contrast that with the Schalke Arena, where the vast majority were English fans, it was almost like a home game. The noise for the first Portuguese penalty was loud, but after that there was really not too much. It was as if the first English penalty miss took away all the confidence from us. That’s certainly what happened to me, i was already resigned to defeat after Lampards miss. Even though it then swung to our favour, the confidence had gone. When that feeling is replicated 30,000 times round the stadium it must get to the players as well.

So anyway today is the first Semi Final, Germany v Italy. The big thing here in Germany is that Torben Frings has been suspended for throwing a punch in the brawl after the Argentina game. He’s been one of their most influential players over the last few games, so it’s a real blow. And it seems that the Italian media have forced the issue by sending tapes of the incident to FIFA. The German media are mad about it, it’s really stoked up the atmosphere before the game.

And I’m finding myself in the very strange position of wanting Germany to win this game. With England crashing out, i really would like to see the hosts make it to the final, the atmosphere in Berlin would be incredible. Also the people have been fantastic hosts throughout the whole month, they’ve thrown country and culture open to everyone. I think a lot of English people who’ve followed the country or tournament round feel the same as well, everyone’s had a great time here. As to them winning the whole thing, I’m still not sure, but the other options of Italy, Portugal or the French aren’t particularly appealing either !

Today am leaving ‘Base Camp Langen’ and will head up to Dirks hometown, Marburg, north of Frankfurt. Then on Wednesday or Thursday we’ll make the final push to the summit as we head to Berlin ready for the World Cup Final.

km 5300

Berlin ! Yep I’ve made it. Bronny’s hammered out over 4 and a half thousand kilometres to get here. I travelled up with Dirk yesterday from the country town of Marburg. A full on thunderstorm greeted us, approaching the city we could see the lightning forks and the cracks of thunder, and as we made it to the city centre the heavens opened and it hammered it down for half an hour solid. Not ideal weather to navigate the unknown streets of a big European city! Finally after circling the area where our hostel is about 5 times, we managed to sneak into a parking space. The summit had been reached!

When I was young, Berlin was the symbol of the Cold War, this place that was in the news a lot, where everybody lived behind a big wall, and they shot people who tried to climb it. At least that’s how it came across to a small kid. And then of course, to those a few years older, it signified wartime Germany, the nerve centre of the Third Reich and all the horrors of that regime. Now it’s more known for it’s young cosmopolitan vibe, creative and cultured, the centre of a unified Germany and the hedonistic home of the Love Parade.

So it was quite moving to be driving along the Autobahn, each kilometre bringing us closer to this capital city with so much history and reputation. And the city that on Sunday will host the World Cup Final, the grand finale to this fascinating tournament that’s been going on over the past month, the end of the month long marathon of football and fiesta and the coming together of people and cultures from all over the world.

As we arrived on the outskirts of the city we decided to take a break and grab some food, and this is when one of those crazy, screwed up travel ‘coincidences’ happen. We drove up and parked on this road called ‘Spanische Alley’, Spanish Avenue, quite appropriate I thought. When we got back to the car there was a van parked alongside with a bloody Barcelona number plate ! After a month of driving through Germany, I’d seen one other Spanish car in Stuttgart. And then we arrive Berlin, drive up the bloody ‘Spanish Avenue’ and one parks alongside us. Headfuck! The Argentine couple that were driving it were a bit bemused by my reaction to seeing the Barcelona plate, they’d driven directly up from Spain in two days, obviously didn’t realise how rare it is to see a Spanish car outside of southern Europe.

We’re staying in a hostel in the district of Prenzlauer Berg, which is a trendy little area to the north east of the centre. So far I’ve only seen this little section of the city, but so far it really reminds me of Barcelona. Lots of young people from all over Germany & Europe, and farther afield as well. Street side cafes and terraces are dotted with people drinking a midday coffee or eating a fashionably prepared salad. Bicycles are everywhere, it’s definitely the preferred way to get around Berlin. I guess the good weather that we still have (we’re already back to 30 degree heat after yesterdays storm) adds to it, but there is a really good vibe here, am looking forward to staying around for the next week or so.

The past few days before Berlin I’ve spent in Wolfhausen, a small village near Marburg, where Dirk’s parents live. It’s a great place, real countryside, totally different from the cities and towns I’ve been visiting so far. The terrace at the back of the house overlooks farmland, meadows and wheat fields and small copses of trees, with a line of poplars marching alongside a small stream. There were even half a dozen hay bales in the fields. On Tuesday that was the venue for the big semi final, Germany v Italy. The TV was brought out onto the terrace, and as a German flag was flapping from the flagpole at the bottom of the garden, we ate freshly barbequed Bratwurst and drank local beer. There were three generations of the family there, Dirk and his sister Jana, their parents, and their grandfather. And the neighbours as well. I felt very privileged to be there, able to experience another unique atmosphere to watch the drama unfold.

Before the game they were playing German football songs, both old and new, with mother and daughter leading the singing. Grandfather was very nervous, he was worried about the Italians. The clock approached nine, the teams came out, the anthems were played and finally we kicked off. It was an absorbing game, made more so by the partisan crowd around me. I was also pulling for the Germans, wanting to see them make the Berlin final. Half chances came and went for both teams, it seemed a pretty even game. The main difference was the Italian defence, a blue rock, the Germans really weren’t getting much of a sniff in front of goal. Reports at halftime said that there were 250,000 people watching the game in the centre of Dortmund, and more than a million on the ‘Fan Mile’ in Berlin! After the break it was much of the same. Every five minutes Dirks Mother would bang out a rhythm on the drum, finishing with a shout “Boom, ba-boom, boom, boom .. SIEG!” “Sieg” meaning victory. Around the table people were reacting in different ways. Grandfather was a bag of nerves, sure that Italy would score, Dirk and myself were talking at the TV like coaches on the sideline, telling them to play the ball down the line, use the space more, that sort of rubbish. Jana was quiet for long moments, totally caught up in the game and the atmosphere, but coming to animated life with any slight German chance.

Extra time. 0-0, after 90 minutes, but it had been a great game. Then within two minutes Italy had hit the post, and then the bar. Big sighs of relief all around the terrace Lippi, the Italian coach, was now employing four strikers. Italy, with four strikers, has that ever happened before? The Italians didn’t want to this to go to penalties. But still the game was level, and the clock counted down towards the spot kicks. Podolski suddenly had a free header in front of goal, everyone was on there feet, but he steered it wide. “Scheisse!”, said the two siblings at the same time. Into the second period, Italy are pressing and pressing, but the Germans are holding them. A great save from Lehmann and the ball is out for a corner. 118 minutes on the clock. The corner swung over, was half cleared out to a blue shirt on the edge of the box. A delicate ball played into the area, and as if in slow motion, Grosso the Italian defender curled a magnificent shot into the bottom left corner of the net.

Sheer disbelief around the TV, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. We looked on in silence as the Italians ran over to their bench and celebrated wildly.. Two minutes from the end of extra time, everyone knew it was hammer blow. From the kick off the Germans mounted an attack, but the blue defence broke it up, and surreally the ball came through to Del Piero, who skipped a defender and steered an exquisite lob over Lehmann into the corner of the net. 2-0. It was over, there would be no dream final in Berlin. Grandfather immediately got up and headed home. Everyone is shell shocked, I was feeling pretty guilty at being the outsider in the moment that the euphoria that gripped the host nation deflated. Dirk, ever the optimist, recovered first. “No problem, four more years, we go for South Africa 2010!”. Mother, father and neighbour were fatalistic, a shrug of the shoulders and within a couple of moments they were all chatting and laughing together. It hit Jana harder though, she’d been really caught up in the fervour that has gripped country over the last month, she was finding it tough, needing a bit of time and space to come to terms with the defeat, after all the emotion that had gone on before. Like me after the England game.

And so the German Train was finally de-railed. The reaction around the country has been pretty good. People are sad and disappointed, but also very proud of their team, and also what’s happened in Germany over the last month. After all the confidence in the team as they came into the tournament, especially from the media, was very low. Some had doubts if they’d even get past the first phase. But since the last minute goal against Poland the movement has been going, and the victories against Sweden, and then Argentina have had the whole country behind them, with this patriotic fervour that hasn’t been seen here in the ‘new’ Germany. Ballack, Podolski, Klose and all the players are now heroes and icons for their country, Lehmann is the ‘Elfmeter-king’ (penalty king), and everybody loves Jurgen Klinsmann. But I think deep down people knew that this might happen, that their team was playing at a noticeably higher level than the sum of there parts, and that eventually a really good team would find them out. Italy were that team. In fact having watch a few parts of that game again later, it was really noticeable how much the Italians were dominating the game, something that got lost in the drama of the live broadcast. They were deserved winners, not least for Marcello Lippis brave tactical decisions.

The next day the beautiful ‘aldstadt’ (old town) of Marburg, we watched the second semi final. From a small plaza under the shadow of a huge maple tree, amongst tall medieval houses with criss crossing beams and weird shaped windows, with a classic castle overlooking proceedings from the top of the hill above the town, we saw Zidane and the old French guard kick out the Portuguese, and most enjoyably, and i could use many terms here, but will just say ‘over-confident’, Cristian Ronaldo. Without doubt my villain of the tournament. It was nowhere near the absorbing game of the night before, Zidanes excellent penalty the only goal, but the French looked quite comfortable in the end.

So the World Cup Final will be between France and Italy. This Sunday in the Olympiastadion in Berlin, there will be two classic storylines battling for the trophy. Can Zinedine Zidane inspire ‘Les Bleus’ to glory and lift the World Cup in his last match before retiring from professional football. Or will the Azzurri restore the pride and belief in football again in an Italy which has been rocked by the amazing domestic scandal which might see four of their top teams relegated to the lower leagues? Two of the best teams in the tournament for sure (the French have made me eat my words after I slated them as old and past it!), wouldn’t it be great if the tournament finished up with a classic final?!

As you can imagine I’m getting pretty excited now, there’s not many things that are bigger for me than a World Cup Final, and to actually have a ticket for the game on Sunday is a childhood dream. I’ll try and write a bit in the next couple of days on how Berlin is building up to the big game. You can sense anticipation in the air already, i imagine it should really take off over the next 48 hours as everyone starts arrives in the city for the game. We’ve also got the third place playoff in Stuttgart tomorrow, something that normally nobody gives two hoots for, but because Germany will be involved, the fans here wants to get behind their team one more time, to say thank you for the last three weeks. Not sure where we’re watching it, possibly at the now famous Berlin Fan Mile.

Just a quick post today. Mainly to say how damn BIG Berlin is ! This city is huge, big wide streets and wide avenues, and without it a real ‘centre’ it just sprawls out in all directions. Takes ages to get from one zone to another. I guess it must be a similar square area to London.

Berlin is totally different from any city i’ve visited before, either in Germany or Europe. It’s heart and it’s history are right there in front of you out on the streets. The scars from the Cold War era and the seperation between East and West are very visible, both in the big historic builidings and monuments, and the day to day streets and districts. For instance the old burnt out GDR parliment which sits near Alexandraplaty is so ridden with asbestos that they can’t safely demolish it. In the district we’re staying in, which is quite hip and trendy, the bulidings are still old and atmospheric. But the ambience and felling is fantastic, it’s full of the young free and liberal, slowly rebuilding and reshaping the identity of the city. Top place.

I’ve finally managed to put a few more photos on. Click on the photo below or use the ‘World Cup Photos’ link at the side. At the moment there’s not many of the England v Portugal game, but will hopefully get a few more on soon.

Only 30 hours now until the World Cup Final …

So today, the World Cup Final, once every four years, the biggest game on the planet. Later on tonight Yidane or Cannavaro will lift the famous trophy in the Olympiastadion.

It’s a little strange here in Berlin, because the city is so big with no real centre I haven’t really noticed any change in atmosphere or buildup yet. People on the street are talking about the football all the time, but I haven’t seen any big groups of Italian or French fans yet. After this i’m going to start the journey to the stadium, and on the way walk the famous FanMile where i think all the atmosphere will be.

As I’m writing this there’s pictures from German TV from the Brandenburg gate where tens of thousands have turned out to greet the national team. They flew up from Stuttgart last night after beating Portugal for the 3rd place. Dirk, Frank and some other frineds got down there at 9am in order to get a place. Too much for me that, i’ll let the Germans have there day with there team, i’m saving my energy for the Final.

So France v Italy, the clash of Europe. If you look at this World Cups it’s all turned out to be about Europe, and I guess my journey has as well. So I think it’s appropriate that we’ve got two European teams in the final. No predictions, but i’m definitley shouting for the blue of the Azzurri tonight. And for Marco and Serena, my Italian friends out in Mexico i promise to shout …

FORZA MAGICA ITALIAAAAA!!!!

Time to head home. I was planning to stay in Berlin for the Love Parade this weekend, but in the end i’ve realised that I’m ready to start heading back. It’s a long way back to Barcelona, almost 2000 km. My plan is to hit Munich for a night, then stay in Zurich over the weekend. Then i think i’m gonna pass through the country of the World Champions, and taim to get back to Barcelona in the middle of next week.

The World Cup Final report is in progress! It was such an amazing day, i’m trying to capture as much of it as possible. It takes a long time, especially when you’re in an amazing city like Berlin, so much to see and do here. Hopefully will be posting it tomorrow or over the weekend.

Oh yes, apologies for the grammar in some of the posts. It’s been pointed out to me i use “there” instead of “their” too much. I know, I know, it’s difficult to edit when your banging things out in a rush!

Well I finally finished the tale of last Sunday. It’s pretty damn long, probably about twice the size of anything else i’ve written here. It was an incredible day and I really wanted to try and capture as much as possible, especially the emotions in the stadiums and the little details that you only really get from being in the stadium. More for my sake as much as anything else, i want a record of as much as possible. There’s probably a lot of dodgy grammar and bad English in it, sorry for that. Read it, hopefully enjoy it, and tell me what you think!

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10am, 9th July, World Cup Final day, finds me waking up in a hostel dormitory in deepest Berlin, a little worse for wear after the day before. It hadn’t been a big one, far from it, a game of street football for a couple of hours in the afternoon, then over to Ostkreuz to watch the 3rd place playoff. Basically just a covered courtyard with rows of benches and a small bar. Typical Berlin, encompassing it’s chaotic and diverse spirit. With one of the best TV’s I’ve seen yet though, a clear crisp projection. There we watched Germany go out on a high, as Schweinsteiger scored two and forced an own goal on there way to victory against Portugal. Though Figo, the old master, managed to create a goal late on. Klinsmann virtually snogged the German Chancellor Angela Merkl after the game, much to the amusement of all. Then over to a small house party with a couple of old Barcelona friends who are living here, lots of catching up to do, accompanied by a few beers. Which was some dodgy stuff we’d bought cheap from a Chinese shop round the corner. Tasted alright last night, but this morning …

No matter. It’s World Cup Final day. France v Italy. ‘Les Bleus’ v ‘Azzurri’. The romantic stories of Zidanes last game and Italy bidding to triumph despite the football crisis they have at home. Dirk has already gone, he was up at 8am to head down to the Brandenburg gate where the German team are coming to say “Thankyou” to the fans. Half a million or more people are expected. I’m not sure what to make of it to be honest, on one hand can understand why they want to do it, after the amazing support they’ve recieved. But I’m not sure why they chose today in Berlin. This day is for the French and Italians, one of them will be World Champions tonight, today Germany needs to take a back seat. Whatever, I’m leaving that celebration to the Germans, there’s no way I’m standing out for three hours in the baking sun. I’m saving my energy for the Olympiastadion.

A leisurely breakfast near my hostel, in the hip trendy area of Prenzlauer Berg. I manage to find a copy of today’s Observer in a kiosk nearby. It’s lead headline of the Sports section accompanied a big picture of Zidane, reads “ADIEU ZIZOU – Thanks for the memories”. Further down there’s a phrase that really grabs me. “There will be drama in the World Cup Final, France v Italy, tonight”. Great stuff. The atmosphere notches up a level reading that.

Back to the hostel to pick up the tickets. “64 – Final game – Olympiastadion Berlin 20:00 – Robin James Munt”, it reads. Still can’t believe i have it, and won’t until I’m inside the stadium. Catch a little bit of the German celebration which is now in full swing on the TV. Lehmann, Kahn and the other keeper come out and kick balls into the crowd. The square is absolutely rammed with fans, still waving the German flag and singing football anthems of the past few weeks. Klinsmann comes out to huge applause, everyone loves “Klinsi” here now.

2pm – Time to start making my way across the city. There’s no way I want to be arriving at the last minute today. This time round I want to get in that stadium early, to soak up the atmosphere. First of all though I plan to walk the Berlin FanMile, from Tiergarden to the Brandenburg gate. It’s the biggest of all the FanFests here, apparently there are 22 big screens in total. On the S-bahn train down there I start seeing the first fans, a few Italian shirts here, there a couple of French in tricolour hats. We arrive at Tiergarden to be greeted by a sea of colour … the black, red and yellow of Germany. The celebration finished about an hour ago, and all the fans are starting to head back. Chants of “Deutschland! Deutchshland” and “Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la”, ring around the station.

Out of the station and into Tiergarten, a large green park right in the centre of Berlin, crisscrossed with bike paths and walking tracks. Just off the main drag you could be in country woodland. The FanFest starts at the ‘Siegessäule’ (Victory Column), commemorating 19th century Prussian military victories, it’s similar to Nelsons column back in London, but with the Goddess of Victory on top. Now the fans are starting to appear, and the flags of Italy and France become more prominent, a lot of the food and drink stalls are decorated with them. On down towards the Brandenburg gate, still hidden by the giant TV screens that are constructed across the avenue. A huge Ferris wheel is circling round, the fans on it getting a birds eye view of the city. Still a lot of “Deutschland” chants coming from the German fans, but now they’re matched by “Italia! Italia!” and “Allez Les Bleus!”. Suddenly there’s a gaggle of blue shirts running past me, towards a group of Italian fans about 50 metres away who are singing, dancing, waving flags and proclaiming “Campeones del Mundo”. Then they burst out into the Italian National Anthem. They’re partying like they’ve won it already, imagine what it’ll be like if they lift the trophy.

Finally I come to the Brandenburg gate, always a symbol of Berlin, especially of the Cold War and then more recently of German reunification, Except at the moment it’s more like the “Brandenburg Screen”, the biggest of all the TV’s is setup here completely obscuring the monument. Although you can clearly see the top with the Quadriga statue, the winged goddess of victory driving the four horse carriage. Making my way out of the FanFest and into the famous boulevard of Unter Den Linden, there’s some fans dancing in a fountain there. French? Italians? Germans? No, bloody Australians waving the Southern Cross ! Back towards the gate a huge football is setup, it’s the World Cup Globe, a multimedia football exhibition, making it’s last stop is Berlin for the final. Some police go by escorting some sort of VIP’s somewhere, followed by a little blue fiat with an Italian flag hanging out the back. Classic!

5:30pm – Fredrichstrasse station. 2 and a half hours till kick off, it’s time to start heading to the stadium. Dirk comes to meet me there, our tickets are together. Frank and Marcus are in the same area but in a different sector, so we’re gonna meet them after the game. We’re in the Blue zone, which is rumoured to be near the Italian section, but we’re not sure. I hope so, because tonight i am definitely behind the Azzurri. Dirk turns up pretty damn exhausted from standing for 5 hours in the sun watching the German celebration, he say’s it was so packed that at some stages he literally couldn’t move. “But no problem Robin, we go for the World Cup Final, at the stadium I find more energy!”. We pick up the S-Bahn train running west across the city. Everyone is heading towards the stadium now and the carriages are packed. A Roman Centurion is studying the metro map. Maybe he’s worried that he might end up at the Germania front fighting with Maximus against the Barbarian Horde?

Out and out we go, this is not a short hop, Berlin is a huge city, and we have to ride to the outskirts. Unpronounceable station names pass us by, still haven’t got to grips with the German language. Eventually we’re there, the metro doors opening to reveal the sign “Olympiastadion”. The Centurion gets out first, and happy he hasn’t arrived in the Coliseum, he heads out and away, we follow him, up the stairs and out of the station. And see the first signs of today’s black market ticket prices, i overhear one guy saying that people are offering tickets for 500 euros. It definitely seems to be a selling market, loads of people are walking round with small signs saying “I need tickets”. After a few moments confusion in which we lose all ability to read simple signs, and start to walk towards Munich, we finally get our bearings and head off towards the blue sector. The Olympiastadion rises out in front of us from amongst the trees. An old style stadium with the flags of the 32 competing countries flying in the wind on top, stone columns supporting the structure. From the outside it seems quite small, though Dirk assures me that inside is very different.

As we arrive at the ticket gates, we see the huge banner on the stadium that simply says “BERLIN”. Now just to get through the ticket barrier. It’s great that we changed the names back on the tickets back in Frankfurt, takes away a hell of a lot of the stress about getting in, we can see some people getting stopped and questioned as we go through. But then as soon as we pull the tickets out of the bag there’s two guys by us saying, in Italian accents, “You want sell, you want sell??” “No way mate, we’re going in” “We give three thousand Euro for two ticket”. Maybe you would my friend, but I’m not here for money, I’m here for football, for living out childhood dreams. In through the first checkpoint and the security checks and then on 50 metres to the second. And then we’re through. We’re in, we’re there, we’ve made it, World Cup Final 2006.

6:30pm – An hour and a half now until kick off, there’s plenty of time to soak up the atmosphere. Now we’re in and relaxed we start to look around more, and see the people around us. There definitely seems to be more Italians than French around, which could well mean we’re near the Italian section. But this final is truly international as well, just like the whole tournament. Different flags and colours are walking around everywhere, I’m guessing that almost every participating country must have a fan representation here. Aside from the two tricolour and the colours of the host nation, we’ve seen England, Poland, Switzerland, Ecuadorian, Ghana, Argentinean, Dutch, Brasilia, USA, Australia, all within 5 minutes. And of course the Mexicans, lots of Mexicans, always Mexicans. Their flag is very similar to that of Italy, they seem to have become adopted Italians for the day. There are also a fair number of Canadian Maple Leaf flags around, where they came from I’ve no idea!

Into the bowels of the stadium now, time to get to the seats. We find our sector, the steward waves us through and we come out into the grand expanse of the Berlin Olympiastadion. A huge bowl stretches away before us, the stands arcing around and up, the green pitch framed by the blue running track. This is no sparkling, shiny super modern stadium like the SchalkeArena, nor does it have the intense enclosed atmosphere of the Wiesbaden in Dortmund. No this stadium is about history. It’s old, very old, commissioned by Hitler for the infamous 1936 Berlin Olympics which were used as a Nazi propaganda machine, and where Jesse Owens famously won four golds and refused to salute the German leader. The original structure has not been touched. Instead the inside of the stadium has been totally refurbished and a high tech roof now perches on top of the stands. Just to our right is the famous “Marathon Tor” which bisects the end of the stadium, in effect turning the stands into a horseshoe. It really is magnificent. Normally a stadium with a running track loses some of the atmosphere, because you are so far from the pitch, but here in the Olympiastadion, it somehow contributes to the vast arena in front of us.

As I mentioned earlier, we were hoping that our tickets might near the Italian section of the crowd. Well we aren’t just near them, we’re slap bang in the midst of the Azzurri section. Already more than half full, blue shirts everywhere, banners hanging from all any available space, and the green white and red tricolour flying high wherever you look. Away across the stadium, behind the far goal is another sea of blue, and another tricolour flying, this time it’s the blue white and red of the French. We make our way towards our seats, down, down, down towards the pitch. Four rows back, virtually at the pitch side. This is a pretty unique view, very different from the Germany and England games. Unfortunately we’ve got the bloody Berlin Wall next to us, splitting the different sections, although it’s made of glass so actually doesn’t affect the view too much. Although the hordes of press photographers are doing a damn good job at obstructing it, they’re clamoured behind our goal, watching a couple of Italian players warm up. There’s also a firm grim line of stewards right in front of us. One of the Italians is shouting at them to smile, no reaction though, just stone faces.

Slowly the stadium is filling up, kick off time is now little more than an hour away, time for a beer I think. Back up through the blue masses, a Caesar here, a gladiator there, some bald geezer with the Italian flag plastered all over his head. Arrive at the bar, as this young Italian guy, a little drunk is trying to change his Bratwurst for a Hamburger. The girl behind the bar is trying to understand what he wants, but the lad doesn’t speak a word of German and maybe about 3 or 4 in English. It’s so funny though, everybody laughing as they try and work each other out. Then he turns to me and says “You me understand?”, “Absolutely mate”, I reply. “I am from Naaapppollli”, “I’m from England my friend, but today I am for Italia”, “Today we are frriennds then, Iiing-errr-land and Iiiii-talia!” A great moment.

Back down with the beers, and as i arrive they send in the MasterCard Dancing girls. Now I have to say that elsewhere the MasterCard dancing girls at the FanFests haven’t really cut the mustard. Sure they’re pretty enough, but they had a very distinct Northern Europe style of dancing, in other words no rhythm. Which sort of let them down a lot when they were dancing along to the latin beat of Shakira. But for the final they’d looked around and rolled out the cream of the crop, dancers from all over the world, and these girls certainly put on a damn good show, flips, somersaults and some pretty flexible body popping. I fire of a text to various friends telling were we are and to keep an eye on the telly for us.

7:30pm – Ok, now we’re getting close, really close. And it’s time for the build up to really kick in. From up above us on the Marathon Tor suddenly comes a geezer with some drums and someone singing some sort of rap, surrounded by hundreds kids, who then proceed to dance down the steps towards the pitch. Not bad, but nothing special. Then suddenly from out of nowhere the stadium announcer comes out “Please welcome Shakira!!!”. Shakira! The small and humble latin goddess ! Had no idea she was coming. And indeed she’s there, shaking her booty as around her all the kids are now waving these big green discs. No idea what it’s meant to signify, but no worries, Shakira is certainly proving that her hips don’t lie. Top stuff girl, play us another tune!

But there’s no time for that, after all there’s a football match tonight. It all suddenly starts to feel a bit tense and real, as they announce the official flag bearers. The two tricolours make there way onto the pitch. Then “Please welcome the national teams of Italy and France!”, A chorus of triumphant music and after an interminable moment, we see first the officials and then Zidane and Cannavaro leading the teams out. A huge roar from around us, as thousands of flags wave around the stadium. Brilliant. Just to my right a long Italian Banner has been unfurled across the fans, rippling as it moves up and down. The teams walk out and line up, and it’s time for the anthems. Two of the most stirring national anthems going in my opinion. First of all the Italian anthem, the big stadium screens high above us turn green white and red. All the fans around us singing passionately, as they work up and up to the climax, finishing with a huge roar and a chant of “Italia, Italia”. Then a subtle change of colour in the flag, the green changing to blue, and it’s time for “Les Marseilles”, the stirring legacy of the French revolution. Incredible hearing that powerful anthem in this famous stadium, the crescendo in the middle part especially. As it finishes a line of ball boys run from our corner out across the pitch, scattering to there positions round pitchside. And away at the other end a huge blue French shirt is rippling round over the fans there.

The teams warm up and within a moment Zidane and Cannavaro are up at the centre circle shaking hands. We’re staying as we are, France will be attacking our goal in the first half. Dirk and me shake hands and wish each other “Good Luck”. Here we go …

8pm – The World Cup Final 2006 kicks off. “Forza Magica Italia!!”, I shout, a promise to my friends Marco and Serena, living out in Mexico. A disjointed first couple of minutes as Henry goes down under a heavy challenge. It’s looking pretty bad cos there’s Italian players around him, and Totti i think, is signalling for the physio to come on. But after hobbling off within a moment he’s on the sideline ready to come back on.

Then right in front of us, there’s a little through ball a white shirt is running through, two Italian defenders, the Frenchmen gets a touch on it, and he’s suddenly over in the box. I turn to Dirk, “That’s a Penalty” and sure enough the Argentine ref is pointing to the spot. My god, five minutes into the World Cup Final and there’s a bloody penalty. Echoes of 1974. The ball is on the spot very quickly, of course it’s gonna be Zidane, in his last match, against Buffon, the best keeper of the tournament. Come on Buffon! Zizou steps up, and chips it. It’s hit the bar! It’s out, he’s missed it! But no, he’s wheeling away celebrating, followed by a host of white shirts, the ref’s given it. The far end is a see of blue, white and red flags as the French fans celebrate. Was it over the line?? We’ve no idea from our angle, so I fire off a couple of texts to find out. Unbelievable, 1-0 after five minutes, a dream start from the French. The Italian fans are shell shocked, heads in hands and worry etched across there faces. It’s gonna be a long night. But the Italian team aren’t laying down, far from it, they’re right in this game still and start to put pressure on the French goal, forcing a couple of corners. Some texts come back …

“Amazing Penalty” – Mike.
“Questionable pen, definitely over the line” – Neil. Guess it was a goal then.

Another Italian corner at the far end. Pirlo is over to take it, he’s been swinging some excellent balls in. Another good delivery, there’s a blue shirt rising high, the ball flies off his head, flies through a flurry of players ,and hits the back of the net!

“GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!”

Little Italy erupts behind us, the fans jumping and falling over each other in celebration, I’m going pretty mental as well. What a header! The Italian players are huddled together with one pointing his finger in the air. No idea who. It doesn’t matter, Italy are level, 1-1. Italians faces around me are etched with relief. Across from the loudspeaker comes, “The scorer of Italy’s first goal – Marco Materazzi”. A huge roar. Materazzi who’d been involved in the penalty incident. He’s having an entertaining game. It’s a helluva start, two goals in the first twenty minutes of the Final. What’s gonna happen next ?!

We eke on towards half time, there’s not so many clear cut chances now. Cannavaro is magnificent to watch, he just so self assured as he cuts out the French attacks and cleans up afterwards. Then suddenly an Italian header rasps against the bar. Aaaah, so close, there’s heads in hands around me. Materazzi again? No, this time it was the striker Toni.

Text from Gareth “Are you in the stadium, or did you flog the ticket?”

Five minutes to half time, and a Mexican wave starts going round. Three times it passes us, before an Italian free kick close in get’s everyones attention. But it comes to nothing. Then the referees blowing his whistle. First half over.

Half time. What do you at half time in a World Cup Final. Something special? I mean this only comes around every four years, and the chance to sit in the stadium maybe only once. Surely we should be entering some deep and meaningful contemplation about the beautiful game or something like that? Nope, well can’t think of anything, lets just go and get a beer. The problem with this idea, is that the World Cup Final is just like any other game of football anywhere in the world, at half time everybody heads to the bar or goes and takes a piss. The aisles up are absolutely choc-a-bloc heading up to the concourse. The problem with this old stadium is that they can only refurbish it so much, and it’s a little bit lacking in facilities compared to some of the other modern arenas. I realise pretty quick that getting a beer is going to have me waiting until halfway through the second half. So I sack the idea and head to the bathrooms, by chance alongside this middle aged chap that’s dressed as a catholic bishop, and who all the way through is exhorting his compatriots to shout and sing, gesticulating madly as he goes. He looks pretty emotional. I wish I knew what he was saying. Every so often someone would respond with a chant, and he’d go over to them, a deep hug them and kiss on both cheeks, some sort of Latin bonding i guess. Italians!

As I come back, some guy’s belting out some sort of Opera from the Marathon Tor out into the stadium. I’m not really up to speed on my Opera singers, but the only name I can think of is Placedo Domingo. Sure enough as he finishes the stadium announcer asks for applause for “Placedo Domingo”. I remember the time I almost accidentally ran him over on my bike in Barcelona (a true story!).

Text from Gerry in Galway “Good game … french dive …. hope the italians do it … enjoy there”. The Irish are behind the Italians as well then.

9pm(ish) – Second half kicks off. Behind us to the west the setting sun is bathing the Marathon Tor in a beautiful red glow. 45 minutes to go in World Cup 2006. Unless of course there’s extra time. An early Italian corner, once again safely cleared by the French defence. The Italian subs start to warm up, directly in front of us, clad in little yellow bibs they run through there exercises, occasionally chatting, at one point coming together nervously as the French attack. Lippi is putting his cards on the table, a double substitution. Totti’s one of the men off. He’s looked pretty quiet to be honest. It’s tight, very tight. Suddenly an Italian attack, cross comes over and it’s in ! But, no, it’s not going to count the referee has his arm raised an across on the far side is the outstretched flag of the assistant “No goal, offside”, says Dirk in the same moment A lot of the fans don’t see it till a few seconds later, the celebrations are cut short. We’re still level.

Lots more chanting now from the blue masses behind us. But as the half wears on it’s the French who are on top. Henry almost breaks through to make something down the left. Not sure how much influence Zidane is having, our view is not the best to watch the tactical side of things, it’s the blood and guts pitchside view. The Italian fans have gone quiet, their singing has died right off. I turn round to take a look at the faces behind me, a sea of nerves and apprehension. Then from a rare Italian attack, there’s suddenly a free kick for Italy, right in front of the French goal. Hope springs eternal. A blue shirt, steps up, the kick flies towards the goal … and just wide. The old guy a couple of rows in front of me thought it was in for a split second. Up on the big TV we see how close it is. We can also see that there’s only seven minutes left. It’s a long seven minutes, the French are pressing all the time, and really look the most likely to score, the Italians are looking tired now.

Text from Jane “Extra time? Fantastic game! Haven’t seen you yet – maybe if it goes to penalties”. Penalties ! It hadn’t crossed my mind, but it could well happen. Finally the whistle comes. We’ve got extra time.

The players huddle in the middle, and fans take a breather as well. It was pretty tense there during the last 15 minutes. I realise that in the next half an hour we’re gonna have one hell of an extreme emotion around us when this game is over. Will it be agony or ecstasy? I really hope it’s the latter. Forza Italia !

9:55pm – Italy kick us off into extra time. And it’s much the same as the French are the ones doing the pressing. They’re attacking towards us again, so the action is mainly down our end, Cannavaro is still doing an outstanding job at the back, the skipper really is an inspiration. Henry comes off to be replaced by Trezuguet, the man whose ‘Golden Goal’ beat the Italians in the Euro 2000 final. Maybe history will repeat itself today? Then, a little French interchange in midfield and suddenly Ribery is clean through, a chance for glory for the man who looks like he’s just been let out after a long spell in the foriegn legion. But his shot is creeps wide, the blue hordes behind us breath again The replay shows it was agonizingly close. France are really pressing now, surely it’s only a matter of time. Moments later a cross in from the right. Perfectly flighted, Zidanes there, a rocket header. But Buffon, glorious Buffon has managed to tip it over. How many lives do Italy have tonight? The replay shows us how close it was. “World Class header, World Class save.” says Dirk.

The ref blows up for the end of the first period. Still level, the spectre of penalties is getting closer. But France are looking very strong, they really look like they could win it. It’s been dead quiet in little Italy during the last period. So far the blue rock of the Azzurri defence has held, but it’s been a close thing. Nervous chatter around us, some of the fans are just staring into space. The phrase ‘You could cut the atmosphere with a knife’, never rang truer.

10:15pm – Second period gets underway. Ribery comes off after a couple of minutes, not sure why Domeneche’s made that substitution. Thinking of the penalties maybe. Then from nowhere the plot goes haywire. We can’t see from where we are, but there seems to be a player down around midfield. It’s an Italian shirt, no way of telling who from here. Buffon is running around like a madman. First over towards the linesman, then he’s up to the halfway line and talking to the French players, he’s with Zidane for a moment and rubs his head affectionately, then he’s over talking to someone else, Gallas maybe. We’ve no idea what’s going on. The ref walks over to the linesman for a brief moment, and then walks back and … RED CARD ! … for who though ? … for ZIDANE!. Zidane, the magician has been sent off in the World Cup Final, his last game as a professional footballer. “What’s Buffon said to the ref?”, says Dirk, “He’s said something to get him sent off. I don’t like it”. He’s angry and he’s not the only one. Zidane is now traipsing off the pitch. Whistles are echoing around the stadium. No one has a clue what’s happened, as i said before, they don’t show replays of controversial situations. Obviously something has happened, but what? WHAT THE F**K IS GOING ON?!

The game gets underway again, the atmosphere has totally turned around. The French and the neutrals in the stadium are whistling and jeering every time the Italians have the ball, especially when it comes through to Buffon. The Italian fans are responding with loud chants of “Italia! Italia!”. The texts start coming over from back home

“All gone a bit strange here” – Mike’s is the first one through
“Just so u know That was defo a red card. The bald twat headbutted Materazzi in the chest. Disgusting! Come on Italy!” – Pete
“Surely that must have hurt his head. Not a way to leave your career. Still it’s hotting up!” – Jane
“Guess you missed that, it was a headbutt. Deserved to go, but shame for the game” – Gareth
“Zidane head butted no.23, no Reason clear red card, ref didnt see it, linesman did hence delay. Exciting” – J

Ok, it’s clear enough now. Zidane headbutted Materazzi. No idea why but it’s pretty clear that he had to go. Drama here for sure now. The game is going on still, but the whole buzz is still about that controversial incident. Before we know it the referee’s blown the final whistle. The 120 minutes is up. Penalties.

I normally don’t want penalties. Drama that they provide, i don’t like it when Cup Finals are decided this way. Quarter’s, Semi’s and earlier rounds maybe. But the finals should be about a clear winner, not the ‘lottery’ of penalties. Except my principles went out the window at the end of 90 minutes, and throughout extra time I was willing the Italians to hold on for the spot kicks. I can’t help it. I’ve been infected by the Azzurri spirit !

Turning around and looking up at the Italian fans behind us is a picture. What wonderful people to have as a backdrop to this drama. The emotions are there on the faces, their hearts are on their sleeves. Most of them look petrified, and I remember that the Italian record on Penalties is not exactly great. Almost as bad as Englands in fact. And a few years ago they’d lost to the French in one in France 98. Well now it’s the same again, this time to decide the World Cup Final. The toss of the coin for the ends with Cannavaro and Zidane, except of course it’s not Zidane, it’s someone else, no idea who the French captain is now. We’re hoping the Italians win it and come to us, but we see Barthez and Buffon head away from us, they’re going to the far end, in front of the French fans.

10:35 pm – The players make there way to the centre circle, the white shirts of the French to our left, the blue of the Italians to the right. First team to shoot will be Italy. We see the blue shirt walking slowly up, Barthez jigging on the line. Steps up and it’s in ! 1-0 Italy. Cheers of relief from around us, but no flag waving this time, we’re into the Penalty scenario, where a miss from the other side is celebrated more than a goal of or your team. Now it’s the turn of France. Buffon has been fantastic throughout the tournament, can he stop the first French penalty? No, 1-1. Confident penalty. Nervous sighs from all around us. Two good penalties. The pressure goes back onto Italy. A couple of fans below us have turned away, they can’t watch it. But it’s a great penalty, the net bulges and it’s 2-1 Italy. Materazzi and Trezuguet cross in the middle. The man that smashed Italian dreams in 2000 will try to bring them level. A short run up and he curls the penalty AGAINST THE BAR !!

A huge roar goes up from behind us. A mass of blue celebration, it’s advantage Azzurri now, if they convert the remaining penalties then they will be World Champions. Away at the far end Trezuguet is just standing there, not wanting to believe what’s happened. The Italian players are wandering round the centre circle nervously now, as the next man walks up. The white shirts of the French are just stood silently, hardly moving as the penalty hits the back of the net. 3-1 Italy. The Italian fans are going crazy now. Next French penalty, they really have to score this one. I’m watching the old Italian geezer in front of us, he’s wound up like a spring ready to explode if Buffon saves it. But it’s not to be, a great French penalty, now it’s 3-2. The old boy curses and clenches his fist. Now it’s Del Piero walking up to the spot. One of the favourite sons of Italian football, can he deliver for his country now? He most certainly can, bangs the penalty past Barthez. The old boy is celebrating now ! 4-2 Italy! The scoreboard above confirms it, one big red cross below the French, while the Italian side is just glorious green.

So it’s over to Buffon now, if Buffon saves this penalty Italy are World Champions. The pressure on the Frenchman stepping up now must be huge. Behind me the whole stand is nervously jigging up and down. A short run up and … goal! What a penalty, considering the situation. No chance for Buffon. The atmosphere deflates momentarily, a step back from the edge of euphoria. But only for a moment. Because Grosso, the hero of the semi final is going to take the Italians fifth penalty. If he scores they win. Behind me the fans are primed like a bomb waiting to go off. A few rows back a couple of fans are hugging each other, there face locked in stupid nervous grins. My hands are literally shaking as I try to hold my camera straight, trying to capture the moment. Grosso puts the ball on the spot, walks back, turns, runs up and steers the ball past Barthez into the back of the net.

The place explodes. A sheer eruption of euphoria comes out from behind me, and little Italy goes crazy. This time it’s totally unleashed, Italy are the 2006 World Champions. We’re caught right up in the middle of it, people almost falling over us as they celebrate. Across on the pitch the Italian players are running around like headless chickens. Everyone is off their bench as well and there’s these different blue-shirted celebrations dotted all over the pitch. And there in the middle is a solitary cluster, the French players left alone with defeat. Ecstacy and agony sharing the same canvas. Now the flags, dozens of green white and red tricolours flying high and fast as the chants of “Italia, Italia” ring loud. The players are now congregating in our corner of the pitch, dancing and jumping, celebrating with the crowd. For some reason they’re not allowed to come right over to the fans, they’re being kept on the pitch. From nowhere this big white thing comes shooting past us, it’s part of the stage ready for the presentation, they certainly aren’t hanging about!

There’s been a big surge of people down to the front, Some of them are dancing on the wall in front of. Someone from the Italian delegation, not a player though, comes over and throws a shirt into the crowd, there’s a big scuffle as everyone tries to grab it. For one moment it looks like a fight is gonna break out ! The security get interested, and then the guy that threw the shirt is shouting in Italian, guess it means “Calm down! Calm down!” Then suddenly eveyone is friends again and they’re all singing and dancing together.

The stage is going up in the middle of the pitch, the presentation ceremony will be on soon. Then suddenly the Italian players have broken through the cordon at the edge of the pitch, and led by Buffon and Del Piero they’ve come right up to our stand and are jumping and dancing to the sound of “Campioni Del Mondo!”. Now the whole squads there, and it’s sheer jubiliation from the fans behind us. Last to come is the coach, Marcelo Lippi, the tactical mastermind behind this team. Everyone knows how important he’s been and there’s a big cheer as he waves to the fans, a fat cigar clamped between his teeth. Hang on there’s one more to come! It’s Gattuso, the midfield rottweiler, looking like a teenager now as he ambles up wearing no boots and waving his shorts around his head. Brilliant moments.

Some FIFA officials come over and tell the players they have to go back, after all there’s a World Cup still to be presented. Back in the centre circle as the announcements are being made one of the players and a substitute goalkeeper are play fighting like schoolchildren in a park. Some of these Latin celebrations! There’s a really nice moment when Materazzi is trying to point out somebody in the fans sat away to our right. Gattuso is searching but can’t see them, Materazzi points more to the right and then Gattuso sees them, breaking into a grin and waving up to them.

10:55pm They bring out the trophy. Now i know they’ve probably done something to make it look it’s best for this once every four years moment, but I tell you this thing like nothing else I’ve ever seen. I guess that’s because it’s made from solid gold, but it’s still 100 metres away and it’s shining like a beacon. I’m also surprised how solid it looks, it’s always looked a small trophy in the pictures. But when you see it live in 3 dimensions, the globe at the top looks really grand. It may be small height wise, but it’s thick pure gold. It’s impressed me that’s for sure.

The officials are first up to recieved their medals, and as they do the far end of the stadium delivers a round chorus of boos and whistles. Scapegoats for the Zidane sending off i guess. Then it’s the turn of the French, they traipse slowly up to collect their medals, some of them walking straight off the pitch afterwards. At the far end there’s still a lot of French Fans giving their heroes a huge ovation. They came very close to a second title tonight.

But at the end of the day it’s all about Italy, and now it’s their turn. Captain Cannavaro is an island in the middle of all the craziness, standing alone looking round the stadium contemplating the moment as his euphoric team mates go up to collect their medals. Gattuso’s found his shorts again and put them back on. Gathering round the trophy we see a couple of them kissing it, then someone puts a stupid hat on it, Totti I think. Closer and closer we come to the big moment, the fans behind us are winding up ready, a continuous low ‘ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhh’ and shaking of hands all around us. Then finally, it’s Cannavaro’s moment. As “Stand up for the Champions” rings around the stadium, he walks up to collect his medal. Then he’s hoisted onto the shoulders of his team mates and slowly, joyously lifts the famous trophy as a shower of glitter spray bursts out behind him. In the same moment thousands of Italian hands in the stadium, and I imagine millions around the world, lift to the sky. Italy, Champions of the World for the fourth time.

Above us the sky is filled with glitter rain coming out from the roof as bursts of fireworks erupt overhead. It’s quite a special moment, the end of the championships in Germany are being celebrated in style for sure. The “March of Aida” is playing loud now, and the players are off the rostrum and coming over to our side of the pitch again, this time with the trophy amongst them. Hordes of press photographers follow them. Triumphant cheers ring out again and again, the chant of “Italia, Italia” foremost. The players carry on round the stadium on the lap of honour, except for Buffon, he’s come over to the fans, then grabbing a chair he leans back on it and proceeds to play conductor to the fans and their celebrations. It’s great watching these players as they enjoy what will probably be the greatest moment of their careers.

More fireworks and, again firing out from the roof, a shower of tickertape, like a host of shooting stars as they shine in the bright stadium lights. Then a moment comes that will stay with me forever. Totti suddenly breaks away from the rest of the group, putting the trophy under his shirt, and running towards our end. He turns and signals for the other players to follow him, then sneaks off the pitch and makes his way round the running track, slowly, slowly towards us. Everyone around us is scrambling on top of seats to get a good view as we realise what he’s about to do. Then just a few metres in front of us, he pulls the World Cup from under his shirt and holds it proudly aloft. Incredible, absolutely incredible, Francesco Totti lifting the pinnacle of the football world right in front of our eyes.

The only problem is the horde of press photographers that are clamoured round him, like some sort of Green monster. At one point they threaten to stampede over him. Del Piero then claims the trophy, and does the same in front of the fans just to our left. But again the press are round him and almost knocking him over as they look for there prime picture. Del Piero is getting quite angry with them, but they’re not moving. Totti meanwhile is looking up into the fans, laughing as some guy from the Italian entourage points something out high in the stands.

And then the players start to move away again, this time back towards the tunnel. It’s been a full 40 minutes of celebration since Grosso tucked away the final spot kick. The last to leaven and the last shot on the big TV screen is that of Cannavaro walking down the tunnel in proud possession of the World Cup. The pitch now is an empty canvas, a few officials walking around, with the big white stage still in the middle. Around it is mounds of ticker tape and glitter sparkling in the lights.

Nothing more to do but reflect on the drama of the match. We’re not the only ones doing that, there’s still hundreds of Italian fans here. Frank and Marcus come down to join us from their section. They’d had seats much higher than us, a better view, but we’d had the sheer emotion of being down pitchside, especially during the celebrations. The chanting has died away, now it’s just people there sitting there absorbing as much of this night as they can, not wanting it to end. Most are just sitting with huge grins on there faces, exhausted after all the drama and celebrations of the night. Me as well, my voice has almost gone and I’m emotionally drained. One guy, his bald head painted in the Italian tricolour and a very serious face, is standing holding some placard, no idea what it proclaims, guess it’s something meaningful for him. There’s already a couple of people wearing T-shirts declaring “Winner, Berlin Final” with the Italian flag underneath. Frank tells me that they were also selling the same T-shirt with the French flag! A lonely French fan with a Zidane shirt and an old football on his head wanders past, he’s looking a bit melancholy, but is also just soaking up as much of the day possible.

Finally, wandering slowly up the steps and shaking hands with a few of the fans left sitting in the stadium, we head towards the exit and, to the serenade of Franks Sonatas “My Way”, leave the Olympiastadion. It’s just before midnight, 5 and a half hours since we entered. Making our way to the metro station we pass a few small groups of fans dancing and singing, including a couple of yellow shirts playing some Brasilian Samba. But it looks like most of the fans have already dispersed. Maybe there carrying on the party in the centre. To be honest I don’t care, I just want a beer to salute the moment and then my bed. On the metro ride back we see a couple of blue shirted, face painted Italians with a big inflatable banana, a little bit drunk and very euphoric, as they try and chat up a couple of German chicks on the train. And as we leave it looks like they’ve been pretty successful. Everything’s gone Italy’s way tonight!

In the centre of Berlin we grab a beer at a local bar, and watch as a steady stream of Azzuri flow past us, to the square a few hundred metres down which is a mass of flying tricolours. Accompanied of course by hooting car horns. How many towns and cities around the world tonight will be kept awake by the celebrations?!

And that’s it! A final farewell to Frank, Marcus and who are heading back early tomorrow, it’s been an incredible time travelling round together over the past couple of weeks. As I head back towards the hostel, I think back on the events of the last month and the twists and turns of the tournament. But it’s too much, I’m too tired to think about it. The World Cup is over. The month long celebration of football has come to an end with the drama in Berlin tonight. It’s been incredible, so much has happened, an absolutely amazing time, crowned by the events of tonight. It’s all worked out pretty good really, I came all the way from Barcelona to Berlin … and at the end of the journey … Totti brought me the World Cup !

“All roads lead to Rome”, as the saying goes. Mine as well. In a typical spur of the moment decision i’ve decided to carry on a couple more days and have a little Italian adventuring. Will leave Zurich later this morning, then head over the Alps and down into Italy. I imagine I’ll spend a couple of days in Tuscany before heading on down to the capital. Apart from my brief foray 100m over the border in Chamonix, i’ve never been to Italy, think it should be quite an experience. Especially with the big football scandal going on over there, coupled with the fact that they’ve just won the World Cup.

At the moment i’m due to catch the ferry home to Barcelona on the 24th July, a 20 hour jaunt across the Mediterranean. Of course plans can change, there’s still Venice, Sicily, Napoli, Greece, North Africa …

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In Siena in the Tuscan hills at the moment, heading over to Follonica on the West coast to stay with a friend there. Friday should find me heading down to Rome.

Not much time to write more, but as you can imagine Italy is beautiful, quite an amazing country, so much history around. So far have visited Verona and Firenze (Florence).

Oh yeah have managed to post some more photos, some of them from the World Cup Final. Check them out !

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Italy. Top place. It’s difficult to know where to start with it. It so packed full with old old history, the ancient and religious, the anarchistic and artistic. And then there’s the Mediterranean lifestyle, the superb food and most important of all the people, only way to describe them is as wonderfully Italian!

My week here has taken me from the high alps, down past Lake Como and Lombardy, to Verona, home of Romeo and Juliet. Then Florence, with it’s amazing array of Renaissance buildings, through the beautiful Tuscany countryside, rolling forested hills and vineyards, to finally return to the Mediterranean Sea at Follonica, on the west coast.

Then, with the ‘Gladiator’ soundtrack playing loud on the stereo it was time to head for Rome. I was lucky enough to be able to stay with an old friend from my Aussie travels, who lived right in the centre of the city. He’s Roma through and through, was great to get a local viewpoint on the city.

Ancient Rome was breathtaking. All these old old ruins, some over 2000 years old, still sitting there, an echo of the glory of the Roman Empire. Walking up to the statue of Marcus Aurelius and a few moments later seeing the Colosseum beyond was cool, (I know it’s a bit ‘Hollywood’, but whatever!). Despite being heavily ruined, the Colosseum still has a mythical grandeur about it. It’s really big, the top tier must sit at least 40 metres from ground level. The first time I saw it was at nighttime, lit up from inside. Going up to touch the pillars was a special moment, something so ancient that it’s almost myth, yet it’s there in honest stone and rock. Inside the arches and tiers rise high above the arena floor. This is now uncovered to show the walls and pits where the slaves and animals were kept. A little imagination and you can almost see the arena full with a roman crowd as gladiators fought out the games.

Then amongst all the other historical gems around, there is the other big ‘jewel’. The Vatican. Which is in fact another country! I only managed to see the St Peters Square and Basilica, unfortunately the Sistine Chapel was closed the day I went. The grand oval of St Peters Square is enclosed by four rows of stone pillars with a needle shaped column rising from the middle. Above the pillars are dozens of statues of what I guess are Popes and Saints. At the far end stands the monumental Basilica of St Peter, the rock of the Catholic church. Everything about it is a grand statement of the power and authority of the Vatican and the church. Inside the sensation continues, with decadent adornments all over the church, monuments, statues and frescoes from countless artistic masters. Michaelangelos’s statue ‘La Pietra’ was particularly special, it as an almost otherworldly glow to it. It was all pretty overwhelming, i guess that’s the effect that’s intended.

Rome is a fantastic city. Aside from all the historical stuff, it has a great atmosphere, the Romans are full of life and spirit. It’s also surprisingly green, with lots of trees and parks. I thought it had quite a similar feel to Barcelona in many ways. The only downside was that it was so damn hot that it just wasn’t worth trying to see too much. Next time round I’ll see more !

Oh yeh, forgot to mention about my run in with the Italian Carabinieri (local police)! I was driving down a country road and overtook a tractor. As I passed it I saw a couple of Carabinieri ahead, and sure enough they flagged me down. They were classic Italian cops, with the smart uniform and dark glasses. Communicating in a mix of Italian, Spanish, English and sign language, i managed to convince them I wasn’t a crook, and after they checked out all my documents I was on my way again. Was a bit nervewracking for a while though!

And then the day before I arrived in Rome i finally had a bit of trouble with the car. I misjudged whilst trying to pull a U-turn and clipped the kerb and … BANG! Bronny’s front tire had burst. Shit, i thought, really don’t need this. But amazingly enough I had all the correct stuff in the car to change the wheel (and the Haynes manual!), and after 15 minutes the spare was on and we were on the road again. The first problem in 7000km, not bad going!

Thanks to Tatiana, Giuseppe and Alessia for being perfect hosts for me during my Italian excursion !

And from here I head to Civitavecchia, 100 km up the coast to pick up the ferry, head across the Mediterranean and back home to Barcelona. Seven weeks and seven thousand kilometres down the road, this is the last lap now.

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The trip is over! At around 2pm I arrived back at the Two Towers in Barcelona. The 20 hour ferry ride back from Civitavecchia in Italy was a great way to finish things off, i just sat back and watched the sea roll past. Around midnight we crossed the straits between Corsica & Sardinia, a solitary lighthouse on the Sardinian side guiding our way.

It’s been an amazing trip, Bronny’s clocked up almost 7 and a half thousand kilometres, the only real problem being the burst tire in Italy. I made my goal of getting Barcelona to Berlin and Back again, with the unplanned ‘bonus’ leg to Italy thrown in.

Looking back at that World Cup Month, that footballing fiesta, it’s an experience i’m never going to forget. So much went on, and when i think now of all the travelling back and forth to FanFests and games, it really is quite mindblowing.

So anyway,a few thanks and comments … Frank & Dirk, we realised the dream … Stef, Tatiana, Giuseppe & Alessia for putting me up in Switzerland and Italy … Torben & Nicole for the Berlin lowdown … Uli for the Koln fiesta … Daniel for the ‘Maultaschen’ … Marcus the ‘fanmobile’ fanatic … Jana for showing me Marburg … and last but certainly not least, thanks to Germany and the German people for organising a very ‘efficient’ World Cup which had an incredible atmosphere throughout the whole month.

From Barcelona to Berlin, now i’m back again!