Sitting in a warm pub that made it’s own beer in the centre of the room, the big screens were aplenty and the German leis common amongst the patrons. The general consensus was clear; Netherlands would be one of the final’s competitors, and should Germany get a goal or two over Brazil, they would be able to face off with an old foe.
Things didn’t exactly pan out that way. In fact on both fronts that the Germans were expecting, it was the opposite outcome. Beating Brazil 7-1 brought with it a joy that didn’t last long as Argentina upped their defensive play to such a level that not even a rampant Netherlands side could get past them. Germany knew they were favourites to win the World Cup, they had all the ingredients necessary to take it out; and with that came a nagging feeling that it all might be too good to be true.
As the final came around, our area in Stuttgart turned into a patriot’s dream; flags, flowers in German colours, signs, cars beeping and people nodding to each other in excitement while covering themselves head to toe in Germany merchandise. At 5pm on Sunday, after much debate over where to watch it, we made the trek to the local beer garden only to find it was already full to the brim and people were filling the areas outside with no view of a screen.
We wandered around town trying to find a pub that might have a spare table for us – none would take reservations and many said they had to take their phones off the hook because they were ringing with requests so often – and finally we found a place setting up their outside chairs with a screen and got enough space to sit with a decent view. It was a small nightclub off the beaten track and as well as some people setting up a BBQ in front of it, a kebab (sorry, döner) shop down the road was ready to serve everyone dinner.
The game itself went by incredibly slowly, with every German in the vicinity on the edge of their seats. I could feel my own boyfriend’s pounding heart throughout the entirety of extra time, who by now I was sitting on the lap of to make way for other friends to join us.
When the goal came the release of those feelings and the elation was short lived. Lionel Messi had a free kick and if anyone was going to step up and save their side from a final loss, he was surely the one you’d choose to have do it. The outside area of this usually pumping nightclub was stunned into silence. And then, within seconds, a sea of beer, high fives, sounds of fireworks and car horns were surrounding us and the roads became the scene of one massive party.
The rest of the night was a blur of dancing, running from fireworks, following the directions of cheerers from the tops of traffic lights and buildings, and so many flags. The police joined in, the traffic happily stopped for dancing strangers on the roads, and for one night everyone took part in the wonderful atmosphere, whether from their armchairs with their neighbours or on the streets in the centre of the city.
The morning brought empty offices and those who did show up were in a mutual understanding that not much would be achieved. There would be celebrations in Berlin with the team and parades around the country, and while it all feels like a dream now, the flags still sit outside the apartments, and on the cars, just to remind us it really did happen.
One of the most wonderful things about winning the World Cup is that it takes more work than almost any other competition in the world. Germany came third in 2006 and 2010 in their pursuit of the trophy, but even in those last seconds of the 2014 final it looked like it might hang in the balance of penalties to get to football’s holy grail.
While for many of Europe’s fans Brazil’s World Cup is but a distant memory, Germans are going to be enjoying this tournament for a long time yet. And having moved to Europe to find football’s holy grail myself – starting in London and now ending up here – it’s something I won’t forget for a long time either.