According to Uli, He knows whats Hamburg's problem
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One of the things Jürgen Klinsmann taught the football nation this summer was that a scientific approach to the game, long frowned upon by traditionalists, may not be such a bad idea after all.
Whenever you see a member of the coaching staff in the behind-the-scenes documentary that opened in our cinemas early this month, a laptop is nearby. And when the Californian fitness nerds Klinsmann brought in explain what they are doing, they tend to use an impressive amount of Latin terms.
But competitive sport is also the sanctuary of spiritualists. Players are, almost without exception, superstituous and dread any change to their tried and tested match routine.
The fans are probably worse. A friend of mine used to take a bath every Saturday afternoon because his team, Cologne, had once come from behind to win while he was lying in the bathtub, listening to the game on the radio. In 'Fever Pitch', Nick Hornby mentions that he asked a friend to put on a Buzzcocks LP whenever Arsenal were playing. (When the Gunners lost despite this precaution, Hornby didn't question the ritual but suspected his friend had forgotten about his orders.)
And if I should die of lung cancer, feel free to blame it on too many lucky fags, smoked to will Dortmund into scoring.
Of course this is all rubbish. Right? Hmm. Those of you who have seen Hamburg's Champions League tie with Porto on Tuesday may beg to differ. I mean, yes, the Portugese won deservedly and, yes, there was a lucky moment for Hamburg when Nigel de Jong went berserk in his own box only for the referee to book the maimed Porto player for play acting.
But by and large this night was a prime example for what kind of game football can be when you're jinxed. Last campaign Hamburg were the success story of the Bundesliga, this season they are still winless - not to mention that they, statistically, have a man sent off every second game.
And of course the sky blackened and a thunderstorm broke loose the moment they set foot on the pitch in Porto. During the first quarter of an hour, things were so bad that only a black screen appeared whenever German television attempted to make contact with Hamburg's game. How fitting.
Then Collin Benjamin nicely set up the opponent's first goal with an inexplicable backpass. This was followed by the referee robbing Danijel Ljuboja of a perfectly legal equaliser.
Finally, in the waning moments of the first half, Ljuboja went up for a harmless cross in Hamburg's penalty area and suddenly got it into his head it would be a nice idea to simply knock the ball away with his hand. As soon as his feet touched the ground again, he covered his head with his hands, realising what he had done - withouth having the faintest notion why. Oh, and the Porto goal that finally sealed matters for good, Helder Postiga's 3-0, should have been called offside but of course wasn't.
Whenever I see such games, or more precisely: such teams, I have to think back to the 1990-91 season. When the Bundesliga went into the winter break, Dortmund were in a very decent sixth place and everything was just dandy. We had won the derby with Bochum, we had beaten title-holders Bayern Munich at their own ground and the last game before the nine-week lay-off had resulted in an away win at St Pauli. Christmas was very nice, as you can imagine.
And then it all collapsed. In the first eleven minutes of the first game after the winter break, Dortmund conceded three goals in Stuttgart. The final result was 7-0. From that day on, we just couldn't win. Even two-goal leads against last-place Hertha and Bochum weren't enough.
This went on for more than three months, and while the club officials did all the usual things - saying 'We just have to work harder', assuring everybody that things would turn out well, shuffling the line-up, coming up with psychological tricks to bring back self-belief - the fans realised quickly what was going on: Dortmund were jinxed.
Now, it's become my conviction, after thirty years of watching and covering football, that such jinxes do exist and that there is nothing, absolutely nothing you can do about them. You may train until the sun goes down - or you may tell the players to stay at home and get their minds off football; it makes no difference.
You can call up youngsters from the reserve team or give your established starters a vote of confidence by sticking with them; it makes no difference. Sign the World Footballer of the Year or go back to wearing last year's kit; it makes no difference.
Your only hope is that there will come a day when you play a team that is also jinxed. Which is why, back in 1991, I started brooding over the schedule as early as mid-April, when it had become abundantly clear we were indeed cursed. The only chance, as far as I could see, was the May 31 encounter with Uerdingen, who were mired in the drop zone. Until then, we could only grin and bear it.
Guess what? That's exactly what happened. We went into that game winless since December, while Uerdingen were four points off the pace in their fight against relegation. It was a predictably awful match. Seconds before the break, Uerdingen were awarded a penalty, but their jinx was so strong that our goalkeeper managed to save the shot.
And five minutes from time, we somehow found the net - and that was enough to win 1-0. Needless to say, we then won the very next match as well, away at Leverkusen, and also the final game of the season.
I admit this will be little solace for Hamburg's supporters. But maybe it helps to take away a bit of the despair they must feel, because once you resign yourself to the fact you are in the hands of a higher force, breathing becomes a bit easier.
And a cursory glance at the Bundesliga schedule has me presume November 11 could be the day of the turnaround. That's when Hamburg host Gladbach. Whose fans readily admit their team is cursed whenever it plays away from home.
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