How Germany and the Netherlands replaced bitterness with banter in their rivalry

Asif Burhan wrote this piece in 2012 on the even of the match between the two rivals in the Ukraine. On the eve of their next meeting, it seemed like a good time to look back at the evolution of the rivalry.

How Germany and the Netherlands replaced bitterness with banter in their rivalry

by Asif Burhan

Almost eight years ago to the day, I was lucky enough to watch Germany play the Netherlands in Oporto during UEFA Euro 2004. It was the last, and least memorable, of the seven previous tournament clashes between these two bitter rivals. Then they were two teams in transition.

Now, behind Spain, who were the two best teams in the world, oozing attacking talent and both expecting to win the tournament.

The night before in the Kharkiv Fan Park, my three Dutch friends and I were approached by three Germans looking to sell an extra ticket they had to the game. Immediately, the banter began to fly back and forth.

Dutch Fan – You’re only selling your ticket because you know you will lose.

Germans – We prefer to go straight to Kyiv now.

Dutch Fan – So you can get to the airport early for the flight home tomorrow?

Germans – No, so we can reserve our seat for The Final, we will make you a postcard if you want and send it to you back in Holland.

Dutch Fan– Oh, like the ones we sent you from Johannesburg two years ago.

And so it went on. . .and the whole conversation all in perfect English! “We in Holland, we all speak German. We just don’t want to!”

The morning of the match, the Dutch guys went out early to get hold of some orange face paint.

Their plan was to create a YouTube video of themselves dyeing a German football shirt orange. A random German, Sebastian, was found in the hostel and invited to cry in mock despair as this act of “sacrilege” was filmed. It was all done in good humour. Would an English fan have seen the funny side if the Three Lions had been similarly desecrated?

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“Matches against Holland have cost me years of my life. But I wouldn’t have missed them for anything. Those matches always breathed football of class, emotion and unprecedented tension. Football in its pure form”

Der Kaiser – Franz Beckenbauer

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Two years ago in South Africa, it was all about K’naan’s Wavin’ Flag and Shakira’s Waka, Waka.

The two inescapable songs of this tournament have been Oceana’s “Endless Summer”, the official song of UEFA Euro 2012, and The White Stripes’ Seven Nation Army, the song played after every goal is scored and the template for a thousand football chants around the world.

On another scorching Ukrainian afternoon, with temperatures in the mid-30s, mean that most of the fans making the 15 minute walk to the Metalist Stadium from the nearest metro stop look as tired and bedraggled as I feel. There is no singing, no discernible excitement. If it wasn’t for the fact, that half of the throng were sporting ridiculous orange outfits, this could be any old rush-hour crowd on its way home after a long day.

The sun finally sets just before the match kicks-off ensuring a boisterous atmosphere within the ground. The Dutch, going into the game handicapped after losing their first game, make the early running but don’t take their chances. The Germans then take theirs to effectively win the match at half-time despite a late Dutch rally in the second half.

There is a feeling of anti-climax at the end. Results elsewhere mean that, despite two wins, the Germans are not definitely through and, in spite of two defeats, the Dutch are not definitely out. The mood of the fans leaving the stadium is therefore as subdued as it was two hours before.

Suddenly, for about five minutes, every street light in this remote suburb of Kharkiv go out, pitching thousands of visiting foreigners into complete darkness. The locals begin to chant “Oo-cry-een-ah!, Oo-cry-een-ah!” in comic recognition of the deficiencies of their own country. It was intended to be and came over as incredibly good satire.

It was the kind of thing that the doom-mongers had predicted would occur at every turn in this, from a western standpoint, misunderstood and largely unexplored country. In my four days here, I can honestly say it is the first thing that had gone wrong.

I am now waiting at Kharkiv airport waiting for my flight home. The departure lounge is full of German fans on their way home or back to Lviv for their final group match. The Dutch squad pass through customs to only the mildest of barracking. The handful of Dutch fans dotted around are not goaded like they might have been. There is only simple analysis of the match between the people of two countries with much in common.

The poison that contaminated this match 20-25 years ago when they these two nations last had the best two teams in the world seems to have dissipated.

Now Germany v The Netherlands seems much more like any other international match where two magnificently-supported nations play each other and the better team usually wins.

Isn’t that what football should be? Or is that all just a little too boring?