Bundesletter Klassiker: Unsere Liebe

20th August 2022. It’s a hot sticky evening in Köpenick, and the Stadion An der Alten Försterei is unusually quiet.

This is the first article I posted on Bundesletter. Seeing as the readership has tripled since I sent this article, I thought I’d give it another push.

I’m pretending to a few days break over Easter, but really I’m working on an announcement that will be with you next week.

Enjoy!

20th August 2022. 

It’s a hot sticky evening in Köpenick, and the Stadion An der Alten Försterei is unusually quiet. 

RB Leipzig are in town. The boogeymen of German football, a confection of a club that rails against the ideals of the home team, 1.FC Union Berlin. 

The usual cries of “Eisern” are nowhere to be found, as the first 15 minutes of the game are marked by silent protest. It’s a protest against the commercialisation of the people’s game, against multi-club models, against the lunacy of calling a team Rasenballsport (directly translating as ‘lawn ball sport’) Leipzig to finagle some ham-fisted brand awareness. 

Once that silent quarter hour passes, a pattern emerges. The home fans find their voice, ripping through their extensive back catalogue as their team scythe through the Leipzig backline on the counter attack. 

New signing Jordan ‘Pefok’ Sibetchau and fan favourite Sheraldo Becker are in perfect tandem, one going short while the other darts in behind, pulling out flicks and tricks to beguile their adoring public. Both score within minutes of each other, Becker’s left-footed finish sending the once silent stadium into raptures. 

It’s 2-0 at halftime, and while the season is young, a collection of hardened Unioner in front of me can’t help but crowd around a cracked phone screen, laughing as their team sits atop the Bundesliga. 

With a lead to defend, the excursions into the lawn ball lads half are halted. Instead, Urs Fischer’s men put up an immense rearguard action. Yes, Leipzig end the game with 76% possession, and double the home team’s attempts on goal, but doubt doesn’t creep in until an 83rd minute header from Willi Orbán. Union see the game through 2-1, and the singing can finally start in earnest. As always, the team take a lap around the pitch to the chorus of: 

“FC Union, unsere Liebe, unsere Mannschaft, unser Stolz, unser Verein, Union Berlin, Union Berlin!”

That was only my third game watching Union. I’d moved to Berlin during the last knockings of the Covid-19 lockdowns in 2021. Berlin’s federal government was one of the last to allow full stadiums, making already scarce tickets impossible to acquire. 

I’d first become aware of the club after my Dad visited the Alte Fösterei on a weekend away about a decade earlier. He told me about the unassuming but welcoming stadium on the southeast edge of the city, about a team that played in red and white. 

A little bit of digging into the club’s history revealed the fans' resolute commitment to playing at their spiritual home despite political barriers and financial mismanagement, making it easy to draw parallels between Die Eisernen and Charlton, our team back home. 

Here’s where the similarities ended. He was happy to report he could enjoy a decent beer on the terraces for just a couple of quid, and that he’d been adopted by a group of bikers, who were bemused an Irishman living in London had stumbled on their humble and unfashionable club. 

A poorly taken panoramic photo of the Alte Fösterei c.20 minutes before kickoff on the 20th August 2022

Of course, Union are now very much in fashion. Success on the pitch, a fervent fan base and the novelty of a majority standing stadium have made them a hipster's favourite. Factor in the club’s anti-establishment origins during the socialist autocracy of the DDR, and it’s easy to paint an image of a club that does things differently. 

This idea is perhaps propped up by people’s idea of modern Berlin. Post reunification brought an abundance of space and cheap rents, the perfect formula for artists, musicians and counter-cultural movements to thrive. It’s an over quoted line, but as Berlin’s then mayor Klaus Wowereirt said in 2003, the city was “poor, but sexy”. 

As always, the truth is more complex. The city has changed profoundly in the last two decades driven in part by the commodification of its image and the rapid gentrification of its centre. 

In some ways Union have resisted these changes. The membership and club hierarchy is still resolutely committed to the club’s identity, and have maintained a feverish matchday atmosphere that is lacking at the established clubs in the West. Even so, the number of paid members now tops 40,000, double the capacity of the Alte Fösterei. As gentrification spreads to the city’s suburbs will increased exposure and demographic shifts erode the spirit of the place? 

It’s for this reason that I have often felt an interloper during the team’s successes. In my time as an Union fan, I’ve seen Die Eisernen achieve their highest finish in the Bundesliga (the club hadn’t played in Germany’s top division before 2019), progress from the group stage in the Europa League, and play against Real Madrid in the Champions League. On the pitch, it likely won’t ever get any better than this. In terms of the city’s liveability, are blow-ins like me pricing out the Köpenick and wider East Berlin natives that have made this club what it is today?

The only assurance I can give is I’m in it for the long haul. Going to the Alte Fösterei has given me a better understanding of actual Berliners, an appreciation of the constant work to protect the rights of the average German football fan, and some outstanding entertainment to boot. It’s given me new heroes and it’s made me loathe rival clubs with a passion. It’s given me a place to feel connected, to learn some garbled German, to escape for an afternoon. The only way I know to repay that in kind is to keep supporting the team, to learn more about the club and its fans, and to keep singing my heart out. 

So on that note, I’ll sign off with…

Eisern Union! Eisern Union! Eisern Union!