Home 2008 – Adidas
The Country
The Germans. “Their operas last three or four days and they have no word for fluffy”, that’s according to Rowan Atkinson’s eponymous character in the hit BBC sitcom Blackadder Goes Forth. Truth is, we probably all have some sort of preconceived image when it comes to Germany. These range from the drunken carnage of Oktoberfest, lederhosen worn without evident irony or simply the idea that they’re all ruthlessly efficient, hard-working to a fault and not really very much fun, a stereotype that 90% of their population deems outdated according to a recent poll, which government officials recounted six times just to be sure. Still, we mustn’t indulge lazy German cliches in pursuit of a cheap laugh – it’s not as if they have a sense of humour anyway – especially as our Teutonic cousins have been doing rather well for themselves of late. The country has one of the world’s highest standards of living, ranks fourth in global GDP and is one of the EU’s principal exporters of brand name goods, including BMW, Adidas, Nivea, Franziskaner wheat beer – made with real German wheat – and the fairly dire yet inexplicably popular German table wine Hock which, if the aftertaste is anything to by is probably made from real German tables.
Historically speaking, a united German state is actually a very recent phenomenon. For centuries the area instead comprised a chaotic mess of Germanic Kingdoms, Duchies and Principalities all loosely bound together under the guise of the Holy Roman Empire, with the map of Central Europe resembling something dawn up by a toddler in possession of both a brand new set of felt tip pens and an unfortunate habit of sniffing them a little too enthusiastically.
The first prototype ‘Germany’ emerged in 1871 following victory in the Franco-Prussian War. This conflict also saw the famous spiked metal helmets first became a staple of German infantry divisions and they would remain so right up until the opening skirmishes of the First World War, at which point it perhaps occurred to somebody that said headgear was potentially at least as lethal to their own soldiers as anything the opposing trenches could chuck at them
Years later, with Europe rapidly succumbing to a wave of militarised nationalism, Germany got a little – how can I put this? – carried away. Luckily for the sake of mankind, arch bastard Adolf Hitler had a few questionable wartime strategies such as invading Russia without any mittens, dragging Italy along for the ride and generally declaring war on any country that so much as looked at him funny. Thus Nazism crumbled and so began the era of Cold War division as the forces of communism and capitalism vied for control of the nation over the newly erected Berlin wall, leaving the city divided between a depressing grey concrete sprawl on one side and a depressing grey concrete sprawl with Coca Cola and Levis on the other.
The fall of the wall in 1989 combined with the rapid deterioration of East Germany’s Soviet backers saw reunification finally become a reality a year later in 1990. Since then Germany has blossomed into one of the most diplomatically engaged nations in the world*, whilst their tourism industry is also booming. The most popular sights are Neuschwanstein Castle (supposedly the inspiration for Disneyland’s centrepiece), Munich’s legendary Hofbrauhaus beer hall and Berlin’s various historical buildings and monuments, including the gloriously gaudy ‘Victory Column’ built to commemorate military successes against Denmark, Austria and France, which is the equivalent of Donald Trump awarding himself a colossal diamond-encrusted gold medal for winning an arm wrestle against a four year old. Actually, that sounds like something he absolutely would do.
*They did have a minor spat with Saudi Arabia in 2018 whereby the Islamic Kingdom threatened to boycott German produce, not that they would have been doing a roaring trade in beer and sausages in the first place.
The National Team
As both a UK resident and football enthusiast, I can confidently vouch for the fact that the British sporting press likes to big up England vs Germany as the ‘El Classico’ of international rivalries, often straying into less tasteful territory as a consequence, as this infamous Daily Mirror headline from the eve of the Euro 96 semi-final neatly illustrates.
In reality the rivalry is a pretty one-sided affair, both in terms of feeling (most Germans consider the Dutch to be their true arch nemesis) and also results, with our exploits of 1966 comprehensively dwarfed by Germany/West Germany’s four World Cup triumphs (1954, 1974, 1990, 2014), three European Championship crowns (1972, 1980, 1996) and a grand total of 14 major tournament finals reached as of 2018. In fact the Germans have technically never failed to qualify for the World Cup finals, their only two absences coming at the inaugural 1930 tournament in Uruguay – when, like most of Europe they neglected to even enter – and 1950 in Brazil, the result of a temporary banishment from FIFA following the country’s chronic misbehaviour during World War Two.*
*You know you’ve done something pretty horrendous if you’ve allowed FIFA to acquire the rights to the moral high ground.
Of course the trouble with consistently high standards is that it becomes all the more noticeable when things do go a bit tits up. Germany’s humiliating first round exit from Russia 2018 arrived during what was an absolute horror year for the national team who, confidence suitably shredded, also went on to suffer relegation in their first ever UEFA Nations League campaign. Given the talent in the current squad, this demise is likely to be brief. However if the nation that gave us the concept of schadenfreude does fancy being rubbish for a little while longer, then I don’t anticipate the rest of the world having an issue with this.
Quite why we revel in German football misfortune to such an extent, especially here in the UK, isn’t entirely clear. Perhaps it’s the perceived coldness and arrogance of some of their past teams (look up the antics of the 1982 World Cup side for a masterclass in abject twatishness), their sheer ruthlessness (still kicking Brazil’s corpse well into the eulogies in 2014) or just the fact that even when they’re rubbish they still typically outdo England (rendering our famous 5-1 victory in Munich slightly academic by going on to reach the 2002 final). Or maybe it’s that we still see them as a bunch of jammy gits owing to their consistent crushing of our dreams via penalty shootouts or dodgy goal-line decisions, although apparently they also have a similar complaint regarding the 1966 final. Can’t imagine what they mean.
The Shirt
My first ever World Cup impressions of Germany stem from Italia 90, a tournament they not only won – breaking my fragile eight year old English heart en route in the semis – but where they also managed to look resplendent thanks to their now iconic flag splattered shirts, authentic replicas of which can still be found for sale online, just as long as you’re willing to part with an amount not unadjacent to the cost of a manned mission to Mars.
Seeing as I would never be able to justify such expense for one of world football’s most prominent, and thus easiest to collect nations, I’ve instead opted for this swish Euro 2008 version which encapsulates the essence of the 1990 vintage whilst also managing to feel distinctly contemporary.
A nice touch is the listing of Germany’s trophy winning years inside the neck, though I can’t help but feel they should be placed somewhere more prominent, not least because wearing the shirt renders this detail invisible. The design also makes use of what Adidas describe as ‘breathable fabric panels’ to quell excessive perspiration, a feature that was almost certainly wasted on Mesut Ozil. Overall, for the £10 (including postage) I paid, it’s hard to have anything truly negative to say about this shirt. It’s functional, technologically advanced, aesthetically solid, efficient and, well, very German.