The end of the Stinkstiefel-AG
In 200 minutes, German soccer players do what they haven't done for a long time.
They win soccer matches and even play well.
The reasons for this are obvious and are still barely noticed.
We can learn from this, says Kai Blasberg
By Kai Blasberg
They win soccer matches and even play well.
The reasons for this are obvious and are still barely noticed.
We can learn from this, says Kai Blasberg
By Kai Blasberg
Germany becomes European champion in its own country. So far, so normal.
The new daddy of the nation, Toni Kroos, casually tells a press conference that Germany was once admired for its success.
And anyone listening knew that our country's long-time most underrated world star wasn't just talking about his sport.
The universally postulated decline of the nation can therefore be halted and reversed in no time at all. Let no one say it can't be done.
You just have to do it, like Julian.
He, Nagelsmann is his name, did the same with the biggest gathering of headline-grabbers, the stinky-booted FC Bayern.
Better: he tried. And was replaced.
And this is how it happened: the modern young man from the provinces, not a great footballer himself, was signed because the club on the Isar likes to be German and takes what stands out here in the country with a lot of money from the market and makes it work for them.
Julian, very young for a manager, thought he could now do what he had discussed with the Stistis, as we'll call them for the sake of brevity.
The calculation was made without them.
So we have to name them too: Oli Kahn, the prototype of a Stisti, wandered around the boardroom, Hassan, never quite successful as an apprentice in stinky boots, scurried around him. Julian, the young heroic tenor, set about first identifying the stinky boots in the team and then isolating them. First and foremost Manuel, a peculiar stinker because he is basically nice, but also suspiciously quiet.
A cheerful stinker is Müller Thomas, who is credited with being Bavarian as his top quality feature.
In the meta-realm of the grandmaster of all stinky boots, who resides on Lake Tegernsee, this is sufficient to measure his value.
What all stinkboots have in common is that they have already passed their peak, but want to avoid the resulting reduction in their sinecure.
They've all got their Machiavelli down pat: there always has to be someone between me and responsibility. In soccer, this is usually the coach.
The Kimmichs, Sanés and Hummels of this world are also suspected of being interested in such a dubious status. However, they usually lack importance or their time has not yet fully expired.
The man from Tegernsee has always referred to his club as a players' club in order to intellectually endow this art form of denial of reality described above.
Which usually had and still has the consequence that all the gates to the lake are wide open to the intrigue against the coach. The Stisties make a pilgrimage there, cry themselves out and the fate of the respective manager is sealed. Recently, a future stinker, coach Tuchel, was told by his first-name cousin Müller during his time in office that wanting to develop a club like FC Bayern was a bit of a joke at best.
If you want to be a coach here, that means you have to bow to the players, i.e. to me.
It was the same with all of Tuchel's predecessors after Ancelotti.
It's just stupid when the stinkers, because they are no longer in full possession of their footballing powers, always go hand in hand with dwindling success. This often takes the meaning out of sport and quickly raises the question of the same thing. You can't swap that many coaches.
One coach of all people, the stubborn Julian Nagelsmann, now seems to have succeeded in turning the farce back into a serious narrative.
After all, he has declared war on all the bad boots by sorting them out.
Because they are by no means only to be found at FC Bayern, with a hearty salute to Dortmund. Since Nagelsmann has the DFB's board of directors at his side, selected newcomers of retirement age who have always wanted to show the man at the Tegernsee what he's made of, this can also succeed. Because lo and behold:
Without the rotten apples, the national team shines from every crack.
Germany is looking forward to the European Championships.
What does that mean for us, even for those who don't like soccer?
Well: imagine it for yourself:
The CDU without the stinky boots.
Markus Söder steps down.
The expert panels on all the talk shows will be cleared of this factor.
Young, fresh, nameless forces are looking positively to the future.
They try. It doesn't work. They try again.
The colleague suddenly believes in success again.
You watch a news program and don't get the impression that the world has ended for the hundred millionth time this Thursday.
A world without stinky boots is a world of smiles, of kindness, of shared joy and help.
A world of women, because they are pleasingly rare among the Stisties. Do I hear Weidel?
Failure does not spread panic, but is an incentive for the next attempt.
We don't give a damn about the gross national product and the citizen's income can be called whatever it wants as long as the cause behind it is fair and humane.
The terror of the smelly boots is over.
We have put up with it for too long.
We should dispose of the slightly moronic stepsister of the stinky boots, the asswipe, at the same time. Of course, nobody needs them either, but they are lurking around every corner.
Don't know any?
Have a look around.
P.S. Stinky ass can be cured. By withdrawing.
Do I hear Blasberg?
28.03.24
*Kai Blasberg worked in the private media in Germany for 40 years
The new daddy of the nation, Toni Kroos, casually tells a press conference that Germany was once admired for its success.
And anyone listening knew that our country's long-time most underrated world star wasn't just talking about his sport.
The universally postulated decline of the nation can therefore be halted and reversed in no time at all. Let no one say it can't be done.
You just have to do it, like Julian.
He, Nagelsmann is his name, did the same with the biggest gathering of headline-grabbers, the stinky-booted FC Bayern.
Better: he tried. And was replaced.
And this is how it happened: the modern young man from the provinces, not a great footballer himself, was signed because the club on the Isar likes to be German and takes what stands out here in the country with a lot of money from the market and makes it work for them.
Julian, very young for a manager, thought he could now do what he had discussed with the Stistis, as we'll call them for the sake of brevity.
The calculation was made without them.
So we have to name them too: Oli Kahn, the prototype of a Stisti, wandered around the boardroom, Hassan, never quite successful as an apprentice in stinky boots, scurried around him. Julian, the young heroic tenor, set about first identifying the stinky boots in the team and then isolating them. First and foremost Manuel, a peculiar stinker because he is basically nice, but also suspiciously quiet.
A cheerful stinker is Müller Thomas, who is credited with being Bavarian as his top quality feature.
In the meta-realm of the grandmaster of all stinky boots, who resides on Lake Tegernsee, this is sufficient to measure his value.
What all stinkboots have in common is that they have already passed their peak, but want to avoid the resulting reduction in their sinecure.
They've all got their Machiavelli down pat: there always has to be someone between me and responsibility. In soccer, this is usually the coach.
The Kimmichs, Sanés and Hummels of this world are also suspected of being interested in such a dubious status. However, they usually lack importance or their time has not yet fully expired.
The man from Tegernsee has always referred to his club as a players' club in order to intellectually endow this art form of denial of reality described above.
Which usually had and still has the consequence that all the gates to the lake are wide open to the intrigue against the coach. The Stisties make a pilgrimage there, cry themselves out and the fate of the respective manager is sealed. Recently, a future stinker, coach Tuchel, was told by his first-name cousin Müller during his time in office that wanting to develop a club like FC Bayern was a bit of a joke at best.
If you want to be a coach here, that means you have to bow to the players, i.e. to me.
It was the same with all of Tuchel's predecessors after Ancelotti.
It's just stupid when the stinkers, because they are no longer in full possession of their footballing powers, always go hand in hand with dwindling success. This often takes the meaning out of sport and quickly raises the question of the same thing. You can't swap that many coaches.
One coach of all people, the stubborn Julian Nagelsmann, now seems to have succeeded in turning the farce back into a serious narrative.
After all, he has declared war on all the bad boots by sorting them out.
Because they are by no means only to be found at FC Bayern, with a hearty salute to Dortmund. Since Nagelsmann has the DFB's board of directors at his side, selected newcomers of retirement age who have always wanted to show the man at the Tegernsee what he's made of, this can also succeed. Because lo and behold:
Without the rotten apples, the national team shines from every crack.
Germany is looking forward to the European Championships.
What does that mean for us, even for those who don't like soccer?
Well: imagine it for yourself:
The CDU without the stinky boots.
Markus Söder steps down.
The expert panels on all the talk shows will be cleared of this factor.
Young, fresh, nameless forces are looking positively to the future.
They try. It doesn't work. They try again.
The colleague suddenly believes in success again.
You watch a news program and don't get the impression that the world has ended for the hundred millionth time this Thursday.
A world without stinky boots is a world of smiles, of kindness, of shared joy and help.
A world of women, because they are pleasingly rare among the Stisties. Do I hear Weidel?
Failure does not spread panic, but is an incentive for the next attempt.
We don't give a damn about the gross national product and the citizen's income can be called whatever it wants as long as the cause behind it is fair and humane.
The terror of the smelly boots is over.
We have put up with it for too long.
We should dispose of the slightly moronic stepsister of the stinky boots, the asswipe, at the same time. Of course, nobody needs them either, but they are lurking around every corner.
Don't know any?
Have a look around.
P.S. Stinky ass can be cured. By withdrawing.
Do I hear Blasberg?
28.03.24
*Kai Blasberg worked in the private media in Germany for 40 years
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