Philipp Winkler - Hooligan

I sit down in front of a machine, shake my head, mumble to myself that Kai’s nuts, and down the beer. He isn’t giving up and comes over to me.

“Dude, wait a minute. Axel doesn’t have to know a thing. It’s just something between the four of us. Well, the three of us. We can’t rely on Ulf anymore, that old fart.”

I shake my head again and feed the money-eating machine some change. Kai grabs my hand, making me look at him. Now he’s completely serious for once.

“You keep on saying what a snooze-fest those old guys are. That they don’t have any new ideas. Finally daring something again. This is the chance, man. And if it goes well, and it will, from then on, all people will be talking about is Hannover. Then even your uncle can’t be pissed at us.”

I pull away, dodging the question: “I don’t know, Kai. For me it sounds like too many chances for it to go south.”

“ You ,” he emphasizes the word aggressively, “were the one who told me Axel took you to that insufferable junky in the madhouse. Because he wants you to take over the leadership someday. Wouldn’t this be a chance to show initiative? To prove you have everything under control? Can take the reins? In your way, Heiko, not Axel’s?”

My head slumps momentarily under the flood of thoughts Kai is pumping into my head. Then I try to concentrate on the game.

“Come on, at least let me play a round,” I say.

I can remember exactly how we were lounging around on the battleship-sized sectional and zapping through the channels. Then we found live coverage of the memorial service on one of the news channels. It was taking place in Hannover’s completely overcrowded Market Church.

“Look at that, it’s Sievers!” said Kai, who stood in the patio doorway, smoking. Jojo hadn’t made a sound since the day before, when Robert Enke took his life. I thought it was pretty spooky.

“Come on, turn it off,” Ulf said. “Who has the remote?”

We grope the cracks between the sofas before Jojo just stretches out his hand and turns off the television. Ulf and I exchanged glances after looking at Jojo, who was staring at the black screen, hands folded over his lap, remote in his right hand.

“Let’s go there.”

Ulf’s face, furrowed with worry, expressed what was going on inside me too. He asked Jojo if he was certain. “I mean sure,” he said, “Enke was the best and everything, and this whole thing is fucking tragic, honestly, I’m on the verge of tears myself, but do you really think it’s such a good idea?”

“It’s the right thing,” Jojo answered and turned toward us.

Kai had disappeared onto the patio to put out his cigarette but had heard everything. He came inside, clapped his hands together, and said, “All right, let’s go then.”

Jojo whipped his head around. The fastest motion he’d been able to achieve in the past two days of robotic slow-mo. Kai returned Jojo’s gaze but not with the same seriousness as on Ulf’s and my face. He raised his eyebrows, smiled at Jojo; I looked at him sideways, making him smile. Like so many times before, I thought to myself, just how does he manage to get people to react that way? It’s Kai’s personal magic, and though the word “magic” sounds completely gay, somehow it just fits. The guy is completely charismatic. Through and through. An arrogant loudmouth, for sure, but an asshole with a certain vibe.

Ulf and I had a tough time saying no, so we all climbed into Ulf’s station wagon. He’d bought it even before his house. There were no brats in sight yet, but if you saw the way he acted or his hustle, all that was missing was the coffee cup with the label “World’s Best Dad” or some other bullshit. So we drove the mommy taxi out of the suburban hell that’s Garbsen and into the city, and left it at the parking garage behind the train station. Me and Kai wanted to grab some beer in the station. We were at the cash register when we saw Ulf and Jojo standing outside in front of the shop. Jojo was rocking from one leg to the other, and once we paid he led the way. The general mood changed after we got past the square in front of the station and the horse statue. It was mainly occupied by people passing through with shopping carts who didn’t give a rat’s ass about what was going on in the city. Kröpcke Square was full of people. Most wearing at minimum a red scarf. Many decked out in full 96 gear. Jersey, hat, banners, and flags. Many were carrying candles and flowers. It seemed so surreal. I’d never experienced anything like it. Like a flash mob of blind dates made up of 96 fans who were all still waiting for their date, all full of silent nervousness. Typical for people from Hannover. You meet up at the Kröpcke clock or in front of the train station, at the statue.

“I’ll be right back,” Jojo said and pulled out his wallet.

“What’s he up to now?” I asked.

We watched him push through the crowd of despondent gazes, stopping in front of one of the street vendors.

“You can’t be serious,” said Ulf.

“Not really, right?” I said. And I didn’t mean Jojo but the guy who’d blatantly set up shop with a selection of candles he was hawking to mourners.

“Dude,” I started, and could already feel the rage shooting into my fists, “I’d really like to go over there and give that cocksucker some business.”

Ulf said something intended to keep me from giving him a beating right then and there. Even if he deserved it. So just to be on the safe side, I memorized his face in case I happened to run into him on the street someday.

Jojo returned with four red candles, for the price for which you could have gotten a small personalized funeral wreath. He handed one to each of us, and we waited for the procession to start. I can’t remember anymore how we found out about it, that a procession to the stadium was supposed to happen in the first place, but it felt like everyone in Hannover and the whole area knew about it. It was probably in all the papers and talked about at every kiosk and supermarket till.

It started soon after, and this huge throng of 96 supporters drifted right through the city. We kept to the back of the crowd. At the margins. Even though Jojo imitated the other mourners and walked silently in front us, for some reason I couldn’t give in to the mood. Which is why most of the time I was going on about meaningless shit with Ulf and Kai. I was still surprised Jojo would let himself get drawn into the whole mourning business. Of course, it’s all good and stuff, but if I had everything pressing in on me like Jojo, I don’t know how I’d hold up. I can’t stop thinking about Joel anyway.

I felt different when we got to the north entrance to Lower Saxony Stadium, where the fan shop is at. You could barely raise your cigarette to take a drag without touching the back of the person in front of you with the cherry. That’s why I mostly avoided spending time at the train station, the Passerelle mall, or the shopping streets in the city. Everywhere always so fucking packed with people. Cheek by jowl. Another reason the whole ultra thing wouldn’t have been my cup of tea. Sure, it was cool in a way to be in the stands, on your feet, screaming your head off, and guzzling the watered-down stadium piss. If it wasn’t for all the teens and wannabes among the few good men you can find in the fan sections. I guess the feeling I had from my childhood wore off at some point. Reverence for the stadium and the stands, ruled over by people like my uncle. Probably goes back to the damn commercialization. Everyone calls it the Lower Saxony Stadium still, but every few years a new company buys the naming rights, and each time a piece of tradition fucking disappears. But what’s even more important is when you’re one of the oldest in the block at some point and surrounded by middle-class kids who only have the balls to make a scene when they’re surrounded by fences and security.