Ballhaus Ost | Woltemade's loss of identity

No sooner has the great Georg Buschner turned in his grave than we football addicts are overcome by a bout of summer depression. We have to wait two more unbearably long weeks until the ball rolls again in the equally beloved and hated Regionalliga Nordost . But then we'll be wearing shorts and unsexy clothes, dreaming of promotion in the summer rain, and competing with the starlings and swallows when we turn up at SV Babelsberg on July 27th. The Karl Liebknecht Stadium is charming, the fan crowd is soothing, and our opponents, Jena, are a good match for our early form.

In mid-June, I spent a few days in Slovakia to pay my respects to the U21 European Championship for young men. On various car trips to the east, I passed Bratislava without enjoying its Austro-Hungarian flair for a minute. Thanks to Woltemade, the hot early summer afforded me days of leisure dedicated entirely to exploration. I can highly recommend the Slovak capital to you; its residents are tormented by the same longings and desires as we are. Is it any wonder? No. All Bratislavistas love Slovan Bratislava, so let's keep our fingers crossed for them on July 22nd; they'll face Zrinjski Mostar from Bosnia in the second round of Champions League qualifying—what a treat! Get on the road, let's get down there, the wild football of the East awaits!

Yes, young Mr. Woltemade , he captivated me so much on television during the first match of the U21 European Championship that I immediately flew to Slovakia with a group tour. In the second group match against the Czech Republic, he shone again in smart Dunajská Streda, a small town on the Danube near Hungary.

But alas, when the shabby little fellow managed to score a goal in the sparsely filled Mol Stadium (named after the Hungarian oil company), he was magically drawn not to us, his fans (mostly very East German, favorite hit: U21 schalalalalala...), but to the specially positioned photographer. High above the corner flag, he captured Woltemade's cheers for Instagram, TikTok, and whatever else they're called in a matter of tenths of a second. Admittedly, the German fans were beyond "Alla Bonheur," as the ham-fisted Germans say. Nevertheless, the image of the professional grinning into the camera irritated the black, red, and gold fan delegation to their true German souls. Their tears of joy were rarely more bitter.

Still young in years, the soon-to-be Bayern player (who, if not the Munich team, will arrest him from the gift table? "Made," as the fans defiantly called him from then on) has mastered the basics of self-promotion – or has had it drilled into him by knowledgeable image consultants (and possibly skipped ethics class). I call it Woltemade-esque identity loss, how an exciting player becomes just another project.

PS: As we all know, it is always possible to make a 180-degree turn and get back into the hearts of the fans; after all, that's what well-paid professionals are for.