Philipp Winkler - Hooligan

“Now go straight—”

“Straight to the first circle, second right,” Axel interrupts me. I fall back on my seat and respond to Kai’s rolling his eyes by rolling my own. He hands me a cigarette. I light it and take a long drag. The space between the metal supports of the headrest in front of me is completely filled by my uncle’s meaty red neck. His shoulders, so angular, as if constructed with a carpenter’s square, protrude to the left and right of the seat. I exhale a plume of smoke toward the red surface between the braces and say, “Exactly.”

We turn off onto a dry forest path. The sand crunches under the tires. We’re immediately enveloped by the shade of the rustling trees. It’s good to be out of the direct sunlight, and I notice how the slight cooling makes me somewhat calmer. It started when we left Olpe. That feeling that always comes just before things go crazy. I don’t know if it’s comparable with stage fright, I never had stage fright, after all. At any rate, it feels like something in my stomach begins to float. As if my belly was filled with helium and pressing up against my lungs from below.

“There,” Hinkel says and points ahead with his fat, hairy finger. The three of us on the backseat crane our necks just to see something. A fair ways down the path we see the motorcade from Cologne. The guys stand around in front of their cars. Axel turns around and stares through the back window. I instinctively move my head to the side so he can see better but then immediately think to myself that I should cool it. I look back too. Everything’s okay. The others are behind us, like before. No one got cold feet and turned around. I would have been very surprised.

“Park here,” my uncle orders. Hinkel maneuvers the van as best he can on the grass strip between the forest path and the bushes. The others park behind us. We get out. The guys from Cologne park the same way. Just on the other side of the path. When the gig here is over, everyone will get back in their cars and disappear in opposite directions.

Axel walks around the hood of the car, positioning himself in the middle of the path, legs spread wide. I take my mouth guard out of the case and don’t let my uncle escape my gaze. Tomek takes up position beside him. They put their heads together. I lean toward Kai and ask him for a cig. He tries to fumble the pack out of his tight jeans. I hold out my hand, keep on looking over to Axel, who is inspecting the guys from Cologne, hands on hips.

“Come on,” I say, “any day now.”

“Take it easy,” Kai mumbles. I sway, rocking from one leg to the other. I go over to Axel and Tomek when I finally have a cigarette between my fingers.

“What?” Axel bellows when he notices someone approaching. Then he sees it’s me. His jaw relaxes somewhat and he briefly rests his paw on my shoulder and pulls me closer.

“I just counted them,” Tomek says with his Polack accent. It sounds like “cow-ted.” “Fifteen men plus camera.”

“Everyone got their red T-shirt on?” Axel asks. Could turn around and look himself, I think, but bite my tongue, of course. I passed out the T-shirts before we left. Precisely so we wouldn’t have to be waiting around now.

“Everyone does,” I say.

I want to add what I’ve worked out regarding formation. That we should try to put the massive guys in front. Like a breakwater, more or less. That way, we could catch a little of the first impact, even if it’s at the cost of speed. But Axel raises his hand to signal I should be quiet. I haven’t even said half a sentence. One of the guys from Cologne walks toward us. I’m guessing he’s the guy I was in touch with.

“Okay,” Axel says.

I don’t know who to, exactly.

“Heiko. You make sure the others are ready.”

He holds his hand out in front of me as if wanting to block my path, which isn’t necessary, and goes toward the other guy, who has stopped in the middle distance and was waiting for one of us. I feel completely taken for a ride. After all, the agreement between Axel and me was that I would handle all the logistics this time. I try to swallow it. Tomek pats me on the arm. There is a faded tattoo of some woman on his hand. I look at him briefly, then at the ground, saying, “Fuck it,” and grind out my cigarette.

Kai stands in front of the van with a cig in his mouth and examines himself in the tinted windows. He plucks at his short spiky hair. Everyone else is wearing the red T-shirts I passed out. He has a red Fred Perry polo on. At least he left the collar down for once. I step next to him, look at him first, then myself.

“You actually know how insane you are?”

Kai doesn’t react, keeps on rocking from side to side and rolls his cigarette between his lips, humming. My face next to his in the dark brown-tinted windows. Expressionless. Corners of my mouth pointed toward the ground. Brow furrowed. Dead serious. At least my hair is shaved back down to a millimeter. A huge shadow pushes across the reflection in the car window.

“Hey, ya losers. It’s been a while,” says Ulf. “Ready?”

“I was fuckin’ born ready,” Kai says and slams his right elbow into his left palm, making a slapping sound.

I blow air through my lips. “You’re a retard,” I say. I turn around and look at Ulf, who’s at least a head taller than me: “Way too long.”

“Tell that to Jojo’s crooked nose.”

We laugh. Ulf gazes down the path. He asks why my uncle’s down there shooting the shit again. If it wasn’t my turn this time. I nod, but simultaneously lift my shoulders, what do I know?

“Come on, you know Axel,” Kai weighs in. “Little uncle doesn’t like to hand over the reins.”

“Fuck it. He should do what he wants,” I say. Ulf shrugs his shoulders too. The XXL shirt stretches tight around his chest and biceps. His collar looks like it might burst any second.

“You set this up here, after all.”

I nod again, say I actually don’t give a fuck so long as there’s finally another rumble. We haven’t had a single match since the new season started. Hinkel and a couple of the other old warhorses come back from taking a piss, breaking through the bushes. All of them form a semicircle around Axel. Skulls roll from shoulder to shoulder. Arms are stretched. Hands are shaken loose.

“Straighten up now! Let’s go!” Axel calls.

I swallow my mouth guard. Bite down. The nervousness is only just an aftertaste. We form three rows across the width of the path. The adrenaline courses through my body. I get light-headed.

The squad lurches forward. Axel and Tomek are a step ahead of us. Ulf and Kai next to me. Fucking hell, he’s grinning, and it gets me started. Then I look straight ahead. At the wall of shaved heads and white shirts pushing toward us. They become faster, bellowing, “Hanoi whores!” Several raise their fists.

Now we accelerate. Watch our footing. You need firm ground to step on. Otherwise you’ve already lost. They’re running. We are too. Don’t stumble now! Don’t step on Axel’s heel! Soon. I feel hands on my back pushing me forward. As if that was needed. Any second now!

One last howl. The forest falls silent. Then bodies slam into each other. Fists and legs are swung. I still see Axel basically sucked into the Cologne throng. A guy in front of me. A fist comes toward me. I take the swing. Duck under the blow. Throw myself against him. He doesn’t fall. Fucker’s too stable. He’s huffing and puffing. They fly past all around me. Entangled. Tilted. In a headlock. The bald guy in front of me is ripped. Who cares? Raise your block. Fake a move to the left. He had the same idea. Is surprised. His punch is hasty. Slides past. Land a jab against his jaw. He groans. Stumbles. Not a clean hit. He comes hunched over, hands raised. I want to juke him again, then someone slams into me from behind. No chance. His fist slams directly onto my collarbone. Probably aimed for my face. Lucked out again. But my collarbone yowls. Seems to vibrate. Fuck it, I tell myself. I jump forward. Fake right. Juked him out. Fucker wasn’t expecting that. He whips his hands up. Kidney shot. He bends over but is able to stay up. His hands instinctively go toward his kidneys. Tough luck! I slam a haymaker straight into his ugly kisser. Folds like a pocket knife, bends over and groans. Spits his mouth guard in the sand. Teeth covered in blood. Stay down, damn it! Stay down! I look around. Not too long! He stays down. Begs off, eyes clenched in pain. My vision is narrow as a bottleneck. I peer through and see Kai. In a clinch. Fucker from Cologne is tugging at his polo shirt. Kai tries to pull free. He pivots, his opponent comes along and raises dust. Another white shirt behind him. No fucking way, you bastard! The guy lifts his leg as I charge. Catches my groin. I’m a fucking idiot! Lose my footing, but catch myself with my hands. He’s already on top of me. Gets a knee to my side. Breath knocked out of me. Try to catch myself. My hand slips and bends in an unnatural direction. Pain shoots from my wrist up into my shoulder. A taste like Styrofoam in the back of my mouth. No time. He comes. I push off him. Create some space. The goon falls for it. Gives me time to get up. My hand is numb. Not my elbow. My left straight-arm connects with his blocking arm and pulls it to the side. Then I slam my elbow into his trap. He goes down. Coughs. Gags and holds his face. I wait. Keep moving. He removes his hand, looks at it. A wide, shining cut over his left eye gushes. He stays down. I’m winded myself. There’s just isolated, exhausted skirmishes that slowly disentangle. I put my hands on my hips. The air jags through my lungs like shards of glass. Fucking cigs! Now light one up. Some commotion behind me. Töller stands in the bushes, a good two meters away. Tatters of his T-shirt hang from his upper body. I go over to him, see he’s standing over a guy bleeding with a split lip. The guy holds his hand feebly in front of his face, but Töller gets in two more shots and is screaming at him. I grab Töller’s arm. My other hand around his waist and pull him away.