Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Union Berlin and the Championship
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***
Oberliga.
In the current 2005/2006 season, this was the fourth-division league that Union Berlin belonged to.
One of its defining features was that the league was divided by states and regions to run the season.
In a way, that made perfect sense. Long-distance away games were a burden for fourth-division clubs.
This wasn’t unique to Germany—England’s lower leagues operated similarly.
The geographic scope of matches gradually consolidated, expanding across the entire country, and from the professional leagues onward, teams played nationwide.
Anyway.
Oberliga would be demoted to fifth division in 2008 with the creation of 3. Liga, the lowest nationwide league and bottom professional tier. But in 2006, it was still fourth division.
In Union Berlin’s NOFV-Oberliga, which covered Berlin and the former East Germany region, the season was split between a northern district and a southern district.
And only the champion of each district earned promotion to the third division.
[Park Chan-hyuk, Assistant Coach, clarifies provocation toward MSV Neuruppin…. “They’re people we won’t see anyway starting next season.”]
That was why I’d said we wouldn’t cross paths next season. Whether it was Union Berlin or Neuruppin, one of us would claim the title and move up to Regionalliga, meaning no more matchups between the two.
‘Yeah, that’s right, bro. Bro never says anything wrong.’
Anyway, sixteen teams in NOFV-Oberliga’s northern district played a thirty-match schedule.
[NOFV-Oberliga Round 23: Union Berlin vs. SV Babelsberg.]
The end of the season was fast approaching.
[Will Union Berlin clinch the title early?]
If MSV Neuruppin had stayed in form, they could have battled for the league title and promotion right up until the final whistle.
[MSV Neuruppin in losing streak after Union Berlin clash.]
[BFC Dynamo defeat all but ends MSV Neuruppin’s promotion hopes.]
Unfortunately, MSV Neuruppin plunged into a spiral of defeats right after our match and effectively blew their shot at promotion.
‘Was that reverse-sliding ceremony really that devastating?’
At the time, I’d thought my stadium ban was overly harsh, but judging purely by the results, it might have been just the right level of punishment.
Even a manager as experienced as Neuruppin’s would struggle to restore a team whose momentum had crumbled.
Perhaps the most vital virtue for surviving in the pros was to savor victories for as long as possible and forget losses as quickly as possible.
Obsessing over past games inevitably led to slumps.
Anyway.
The day before the match.
Thomas Tuchel sat for an interview.
“Coach Tuchel, any thoughts on your next destination?”
“Second-division clubs have shown interest—are you open to taking a managerial role?”
He was a rookie manager—his career essentially starting here in the fourth division—leading his team unbeaten, so a decent crowd of reporters had shown up at the club for interviews.
[Thomas Tuchel on future moves…. “Right now, it’s time to focus on the next game.”]
My takeaway from Thomas Tuchel’s bland interview was simple.
‘Ah. That’s not how you do an interview.’
It was lunchtime, and I itched to give him some pointers.
***
Match day: Union Berlin vs. SV Babelsberg.
Union Berlin’s home ground, Stadion An der Alten Försterei, was packed with fans hungry to see the title clinched.
Their expressions varied, but most entered the stadium with bright smiles.
Contrary to predictions of likely relegation to the fifth division, a return to the third division was now within reach after just one season.
The despair that had blanketed the club when Union Berlin dropped from third to fourth was gone.
Hope that the club could soar again now burned in the hearts of fans and staff alike.
Amid the financial crisis, Union Berlin’s supporters had banded together to overcome it, and the club’s unique sense of community had only strengthened.
“Wir sind Union! (We are Union!)”
Fans were starting to believe they could weather any crisis by pooling their strength.
[Fans who saved the club by selling their blood.]
And the club, in turn, repaid that devotion by achieving ‘normalization.’
‘This must be Ching Chang-seop’s grace at work too.’
Hm.
‘Ching Chang-seop’ has a bit of a racist ring to it.
Anyway, cheers erupted through the stadium as if announcing Union Berlin’s resurrection, louder than ever.
“FC Union, You Shall Shine Like the Brightest Halo.”
Fans in the stands belted out the supporter’s song alongside club president Dirk Zingler.
“And Everywhere It Will Echo, FC Union Our Club.”
The game hadn’t even kicked off yet, but SV Babelsberg’s players looked pale in the face of the fervent support.
***
Jonas Müller, a new Union Berlin fan, took in his first live match at the stadium with wide-eyed wonder.
Union Berlin’s home ground was so rundown that comparing it to a Bundesliga venue would be an insult.
‘But... it’s kinda great?’
To Jonas Müller, that rawness felt all the more special. He suffered from a severe case of hipster syndrome—the urge to be different from everyone else.
The reason he’d fallen for Union Berlin wasn’t ordinary, either.
Jonas and Müller—common German names through and through.
His life had been that of a perfectly average college student. But at some point, he’d started feeling this compulsion to stand out from the crowd.
So maybe that was why.
He’d gravitated toward Union Berlin, a club far from ordinary. He loved the rebellious spirit the team embodied.
Here, kids and seniors, East Asians and Westerners, workers and capitalists, leftists and rightists—all kinds mingled together.
Cheering for Union Berlin alongside them made Jonas Müller feel like someone special.
And when he’d donated blood at the stadium entrance before entering, a surge of pride hit him—he’d contributed to saving the club.
It felt all the more precious because this perennial underdog had never once reached the Bundesliga.
“FC Union, You Shall Shine Like the Brightest Halo.”
Before he knew it, Jonas Müller had developed real affection for Union Berlin.
***
From the bench, I checked on the players’ conditions.
As the season wore on and Union Berlin’s squad adapted more to Thomas Tuchel’s tactics, my role as a player had faded away.
The only time I saw the pitch now was as a substitute, to manage player stamina.
Sure, I’d notched a miraculous equalizer right at the death in the last game, but objectively speaking, my performances up to that point hadn’t been anything to write home about.
No matter how I sliced it, juggling player and coach duties looked unsustainable once we hit the third division.
Oh, and just to clarify—this wasn’t purely a matter of skill.
If Union Berlin earned promotion to third division, things would get even busier than they already were.
Sure, some bottom-table teams had their manager doubling as a player.
But their lowly rankings were proof that it wasn’t a smart move.
‘Even just managing takes all your time—when do you train as a player? And if the manager’s on the pitch, how can you evaluate the squad objectively?’
Of course, it was the financial realities of lower-league football that made it unavoidable.
Anyway.
The referee’s whistle blew, and the match kicked off.
The game flowed entirely one way—toward Union Berlin.
Which made sense, all things considered.
They had the most passionate and devoted fanbase in all of Germany cheering them on unilaterally.
“Today, we clinch the title right here and climb back up! Union!”
“Jaaaaaaa!”
Union Berlin’s players were desperate to seal the championship in this match and celebrate with the fans at home.
From kickoff, they pressed aggressively.
Tweet—!
“Ah, shit!”
Maybe because their bodies were tensed up.
“The ball’s got too much power on it! Stay calm!”
Prime chances kept slipping past without finding the net.
As neither side rattled the other’s goal, time ticked away rapidly.
Just before halftime.
A headed clearance fell to Marcus Matzeke.
He tried to play a pass, but a tussle with the defender threw off his balance, sending it slightly astray. Still, Daniel Teixeira never lost focus and managed to get his toe to it.
Clang.
But Daniel Teixeira’s shot struck the post.
SV Babelsberg’s keeper breathed a sigh of relief—until Yannick Feit pounced on the rebound.
Yannick Feit calmly nudged the ball into the empty net.
The stadium erupted in cheers as the bench cleared toward the corner flag.
I started running with them too—until a muscular giant, who helped out at my parents’ butcher shop, grabbed my arm.
Grab.
I turned to look. Our eyes met, and he gave an awkward grin.
“Haha, the Manager told me to hold you back in case the excited Assistant Coach charged onto the pitch.”
...
What the hell does Tuchel think I am?