fuelledbypassion
Complete Legend
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Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is a long read, and if you aren't a fan of reading in depth, then look away now. (Although this is the story section after all - think of this as an actual book). I'd appreciate the odd comment or two, or a 'like' so that I can guage the following. Thanks for taking the time to read.
It all starts in the penultimate game of last season: 5th May 2010.
From Borussia With Love
* * *
I - The Temple Of The Yellow Wall
'Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I can assure you, it's much more serious than that. If you are first you are first. If you are second you are nothing.'
The silenced room errupted with a roar of encouragement, the noise resonating throughout the corridor outside. There was a surge of excitement, heightened by adrenaline, as the players prepared to head out into the tunnel. They jostled for position behind their formidable captain, his purposeful stare a signal of focus and intent. He was not only their leader, but to many their idol, confirming his place amongst the club's elite. He said nothing. The exuberant manager had just quoted the late, great Bill Shankly, much to his player's ignorance. None had been alive during his legendary tenure at Liverpool, neither did they recognise his emotive words. Still, they understood the importance of today's match, and that of the following fixture. These two games would shape the future of this illustrious football club.
Led out by their experienced skipper, the squad approached the awaiting away side confidently. The passageway was dark and narrow, sunlight guiding them towards the only exit. The home crowd were in full voice, chanting relentlessly as was their tradition. Unbeknown to the hosts, this was one of the most intimidating venues in world football, with their fans amongst the most vocal in the division. The two captains stood beside one another, neither breaking focus to acknowledge his foe. There was a tense atmosphere, more so than in any other game this season, but the presence of their powerful leader seemed to comfort the younger players. He had missed the entire season through injury, but had returned at the most crucial of times. The stadium speakers exploded suddenly with vociferous song, continuing as the teams were announced and beckoned onto the field by an enthusiastic steward. This was it, time to stand up and be counted. Emerging from the tunnel, the captain glanced skyward towards the impressive mural depicted above, closing his eyes and kissing his ring finger as was his ritual.
'Ballspielverein Borussia Dortmund, Welcome to the Opera House of German Football,' read the daunting sign.
* * *
The crowd responded with a deafening drone of rapturous applause, saluting the return of their inspirational captain, Sebastian Kehl. He was astonished by their unwavering support, looking up at the expansive yellow wall encircling him and clapping in appreciation as he walked onto the pitch. The surface was immaculate, like a velvet, green carpet with its watery skin glistening under the early afternoon sun. The players quickly filtered into position as Kehl eyed up his counterpart, Wolfsburg hitman Zlatan Muslimovic, who had taken over the armband from the suspended Josue. Missing their influential midfielder and struggling to produce any kind of form, the visitors were expecting a tough contest. Dortmund were favourites to win, and comfortably. Wolfsburg however were a dangerous team, boasting the league's top goalscorer Edin Dzeko despite languishing in the lower reaches of the table after a cataclysmic season as title holders. Their championship defence had been interrupted by a european conquest that saw them fall at the quarter final hurdle against a plucky Fulham side, and as a consequence, their thread bare squad had dropped too many points in a grueling domestic campaign.
A yellow sea of over eighty thousand supporters packed into the Westfalenstadion, now officially going by the less enthralling corporate moniker of Signal Iduna Park after a much publicised, lucrative sponsorship deal. The effervescent atmosphere was incredible. Giant, golden flags littered the skies, so large in fact that two hands were needed to wield them. The ground trembled below the boisterous standing spectators in the South Stand as they errupted into life. The 'südtribüne', as they were affectionately known, numbered twenty-five thousand, and occupied the single largest free-standing grandstand of its kind in the whole of Europe. The mountainous block of yellow Dortmund shirts was broken by just one, a mysterious man dressed in black. The suited stranger was new to these parts and stood alone, unrecognisable to any that bordered him. Perhaps he was someone of importance? A club executive or footballing authority? Whoever he was, the majority of supporters chose to ignore him.
Amidst the cacophony, the lonely whistle of the referee was barely audible, and the Dortmund strike pairing of Nelson Valdez and Lucas Barrios had kicked off this enthralling contest. The hosts probably needed a victory if they were to harbor dreams of Champions League football next season. They were currently fifth in the table, just a point below both Werder Bremen and Bayer Leverkusen, and they signalled their intent with a vibrant early display. Sebastien Kehl controlled the midfield, dictating the tempo and dominating possession with his central partner Nuri Sahin. The home side's flair and speed were creating problems down both flanks, with Sahin at the heart of every attacking move, but goalscoring opportunities were few and far between. In form wide man, Kevin Grosskreutz, conjured up the first, a teasing cross from the right that just eluded the despairing Paraguayan Lucas Barrios. From the resulting corner, Hajnal tried his luck with a rasping long-range effort, but was denied by an outstretched Benaglio palm.
Wolfsburg showed glimpses of their counter attacking abilities, a welcome respite to their industrious defence, but failed to find the target as Weidenfeller watched on, untested. Sahin seemed in confident mood, moving the ball around on the slick surface with aplomb. He'd been the standout performer in the reverse encounter this season and was really developing into a fantastic footballer, emerging as the heartbeat of this young Borussia Dormund side. It was his silky footwork and delightful pass that finally broke the visitor's resistance, Grosskreutz receiving the ball before a reckless Pekaric challenge took his legs from beneath him. The referee's whistle was greeted with adulation by the elated Borussians, a penalty kick and rightly so. Tempers flaired as the furious Wolsburg players surrounded the official like a pack of wolves hunting it's prey, each taking turns to snap tauntingly at their target. But Felix Brych stayed strong, threatening his tormentors with disciplinary action.
With the situation appeased, an unnerving tension filled the ground. There was a deathly silence as Nuri Sahin prepared himself for the spot kick, burdened by the expectations of over seventy thousand spectators. With a sharp intake of breath, the twenty two year old stepped up confidently...
* * *
'He strikes it hard and low to Benaglio's right...oh what a save!!!' screamed the exaggerating sports commentator. 'An unbelievable reach by the Wolfsburg 'keeper to tip it round the post!' he continued.
There were murmurings of disapproval amongst the Dortmund support, only broken by a spatter of jeers from the away faithful. It was an average penalty at best, the first Sahin had missed this season, and at such an important juncture for the club. Their manager, Jurgen Klopp, turned away in disgust, his hands covering his face in an animated gesture. He prayed that this setback wouldn't curtail his team's momentum.
It appeared to have no such effect, as the hosts played their best football throughout the last ten minutes of the half. Valdez saw a header go close after phenominal perseverance from right back Patrick Owomoyela, while Hajnal saw his tantalising cross hooked off the line by Andrea Barzagli just minutes later. Valdez was again denied by the magnificent Benaglio as the home side continued to press and create openings, his beautiful, dipping effort expertly tipped over the crossbar. Wolfsburg were like a stunned boxer holding a foe at arms length, evasive and defensive with their backs to the wall. Roared on by their demanding supporters, Dortmund pushed forward mercilessly looking for the breakthrough as the visitors faced a barrage of attacks. Wave after wave of yellow shirts flooded into the opposition half, like an unforgiving tide crashing against a rocky cliff, but the resilient Wolsburg defence stood firm during a goalless first half.
The Borussians left the field to a generous applause. They had played some of their best attacking football to date and, but for the enigmatic form of Benaglio between the sticks, would ordinarily hold an unassailable lead.
'Sit down lads, grab yourself a drink,' Klopp instructed as the Dortmund players returned to their luxurious changing facilities.
'Settle down, grab a drink...sit down,' his assistant reiterated.
Kehl edged towards the treatment table immediately. He was obviously feeling some discomfort, trying his utmost to hide it from his distracted manager. He was unsuccessful.
'What's wrong Sebastien? Is everything okay?'
'Yes, I'll be fine,' he confirmed. 'I just need some light treatment. I'm not coming off.'
The groin strain that had kept him out for the best part of a month was beginning to burn, but the club captain was a stubborn man, refusing to show any sign of weakness, refusing to let his teammates down.
'Now, we're playing really well, but we've got to be more clinical. They've got a solid defence and a good 'keeper, he's kept them in the game, but just keep doing what you're doing and the goal will come,' Klopp instructed. 'Let's try to get the ball out wide earlier, Tamas and Kevin are destroying them down the wings. Anyone want to add anything?'
Sahin stood to apologise. 'I'm sorry lads, that penalty was awful, I don't kn...'
'Sit down Nuri,' Kehl interrupted, climbing from his perch on the physio table. 'It's not your fault.' He continued to stride down to the end of the changing room. 'They're going to come out hard in the second half, we've got to match them. We have to get a win today, no excuses!'
'Come on boys!' added Subotic as the eager players headed out for the second half, the noises of encouragement growing louder and louder.
'This is our last game at the Westfalenstadion, let's give the fans something to be proud of!'
* * *
The halftime scores were still filtering through as the Dortmund players stepped onto the pitch, announced via the unrelenting sound system in the stadium. Two were significant.
'Bayer Leverkusen nil, Hertha Berlin, one.'
There was a thunderous roar. Leverkusen were unexpectedly losing at home, and Dortmund would leapfrog them if results remained unchanged. Everyone switched off for a moment, ignoring the other irrevelant scores before the important game in Gelsenkirchen was broadcast.
'Schalke nil, Werder Bremen, nil.'
For some, supporting their bitter rivals was difficult, however necessary. A win for Schalke and a positive result here would see Borussia Dortmund steal third spot, with just one game left. The black and yellows would still need to find a goal in this decisive second period, but a Champions League birth was still within their grasp. A goal couldn't come soon enough for the home fans.
The sunshine restored it's beam as the contest commenced, with Dortmund now attacking their renowned South Stand. The hosts continued their dominance, but were lacking the creative edge that Sahin had previously provided. Dwelling on his first half penalty miss, he was a shadow of his former self, unable to break down the irrepressible Wolfsburg defence. The visitors had been limited to sporadic counter attacks in the early stages, but grew more confident as the game developed with Grafite their primary threat. On the hour, the Brazilian forward forced both Subotic, then Weidenfeller into defensive action following a superb solo run. Minutes later, he saw a great chance fly past the post as Wolfsburg started to gain momentum.
With the away side now in ascendancy and time rapidly subsiding, Dortmund's Champions League vision was beginning to diminish. It was surely only a matter of time before substitutions were made, with the likes of Dimitar Rangelov, Jacub Blaszczykowski and youngster Marco Stiepermann warming up on the sidelines. The captain looked over in dismay. He was a clear candidate for replacement, lacking fitness and struggling with the pace of the game. Momentarily distracted, Grafite skipped past the tiring Kehl, releasing Makoto Hasebe on the right with a precise pass. The Japanese international produced an early cross, driven low into space for the onrushing Edin Dzeko. The ball drifted through the legs of Subotic on the wet surface, entangling in the rangy striker's spindly legs just six yards from goal. He was facing the wrong direction, seemingly losing control but managed an inventive prod with his heel. Weidenfeller looked on dispairingly as the ball trickled into the net, unable to react with his feet planted to the ground. Wolfsburg had taken the lead thanks to an imaginative Dzeko goal and a rare error from Serbian stalwart Subotic, and the Dortmund fans were finally silenced. The goal had been coming.
Before long, the thriving crowd were in full voice once again, pulsating with energy and appealing for improvement from their team. Klopp made two changes. Jacub 'Kuba' Blaszczykowski replaced Grosskreutz, before Sebastien Kehl's number was up. His disappointment was clear for all to see, but he left the field graciously, applauding the fantastic support as he headed straight down the tunnel for treatment. Marco Stiepermann came on in his place, making his home debut after just one previous first team appearance. His introduction had forced a change of formation. With three orthadox forwards now on the pitch, Dortmund began to show more ambition. Barrios remained the focal target man, while Valdez and Stiepermann flanked him either side. The youngster showed his enthusiasm immediately, hassling the opposition and demanding the ball. Within six minutes, his endeavor was rewarded. Nelson Valdez received Hajnal's piercing through ball before cutting the ball back to the area's edge.
'Go on son!' screamed Dortmund's animated manager. 'Hit it!...hit it!'
Stiepermann took the pass in his stride, calmly stroking a precise left foot finish past the helpless Wolfsburg 'keeper and into the bottom corner. The nineteen year old had levelled for BVB, sending the home fans into raptures.
* * *
With their equaliser came renewed vigour, and the Dortmund crowd stirred up a cauldron of noise once more. Their heroes pressed for a winner in the intensifying heat as the inspired supporters urged them forward. Stiepermann was a constant threat, almost sending the Football Temple into a state of frenzy when he picked Barrios out with an incisive pass, but the Paraguayan poacher saw his swerving strike well parried by Benaglio. The final minutes of the game saw end-to-end action as both sides opted to attack, and Dortmund hearts were in mouths when the Wolfsburg captain raced through on goal following a swift counter. Misimovic smashed the ball into the roof of the net and there was a murmer of celebration from the visiting faithful, only overshadowed by the home fan's cheer as the assistant slowly raised his flag. With time ebbing away, the hosts mounted an all-out attack and, in the final minute of the match, had one last chance to score the winner. Nelson Valdez received a neat Sahin pass, turning in an instant and firing a snap shot towards goal, only to be denied by the impenetrable Wolfsburg stopper. Benaglio was simply brilliant.
Hummels hoisted a long ball forward in desperation, and the final whistle inevitably blew. A disappointing draw, but would that be enough? The players performed a lap of honour, saluting their loyal fans and gesturing in approval, like a jester appealing to an unimpressed king. They stood nervously awaiting the Bundesliga final scores...
'And the results from elsewhere are as follows,' the rumbling sound emerged throughout the Westfalenstadion.
There was an agonising pause between each one as the growing tension became insufferable. The stadium announcer's monotonous drone gathered pace as he cycled through the outcomes, searching for the most significant. The horde of supporters waited, impatient as the wind, yet as silent as the sheeted dead. All the fruits of their labour could soon be undone.
'Bayer Leverkusen one,' everyone's ears suddenly pricked in interest, hound-like as if awoken by the slightest sound. 'Hertha BSC, one,' continued the voice.
Relief flooded the stadium. They hadn't lost any ground thus far, with the game in Gelsenkirchen still playing. The crowds were restless, agitated through both excitement and nervousness. The wait seemed like a lifetime, before news spread like wildfire that the contest was over.
'Schalke nil...Werder Bremen, two,' the speakers revealed in disappointment.
And that was it, the end of a Champions League dream with one crushing blow. Qualification would now be impossible, but for a Dortmund win, a Bremen loss and a mammouth seventeen goal swing in the final round of matches this season. The Westfalenstadion suddenly felt flat, it's atmosphere drained from within, and the Temple of the Yellow Wall would remain dormant for another summer.
* * *
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