Fußball at the Späti

Cheap beers, international football and a precariously perched TV on the street. What else do you need in life?

Friday 5th July 2024, 17:30 CET. Neukölln.

It’s a balmy Friday night in the height of Berlin’s summer, and I’m on a solo mission.

After kidding myself about staying at the office to finish some work, I’ve clocked off to watch the football. In half an hour, Germany will take on Spain in the quarter finals of Euro 2024. The hosts have proven their doubters wrong and are playing some decent stuff. Toni Kroos is ticking things over, Jamal Musiala and Florian Wirtz are jinking past lunging tackles from hapless defenders and Niclas Füllkrug is coming off the bench to blast home last minute winners.

Obviously, Spain are no mugs. Rodri, Dani Olmo, Nico Williams and Lamine Yamal provide the quality; Dani Carvajal and Marc Cucurella the shithousing. A heady mix of flair and skullduggery, they’re playing a more direct but no less beautiful brand of football when compared to their world-beating team from 2008-2012.

Half an hour is not nearly enough notice to find a spot in a pub. Berlin will never be thought of as a ‘football city’ thanks to its other pursuits, but a home tournament brings out the fair weather fans. I have one option left. Head to Weserstraße, the bustling centre of Neukölln’s nightlife, and find a Späti with a screen.

Makeshift stands and cheap beers; a typical Späti screening

Spätkauf’s can be found all over Germany, but nobody does them quite like Berlin. These late night off-licences are an essential part of the city’s social fabric. Not only is your local bossman’s shop a needed convenience — pretty much all retailers in Germany, including supermarkets, are required to close on a Sunday — but is a meeting point for cash strapped drinkers. Walk through the centre of Friedrichshain on a Friday night, you’re just as likely to see people posted up on a späti bench then you are in an actual bar.

They cater to diverse tastes. Love a strained pun and questionable use of a tech giant’s IP? Spätify’s got you covered. In the mood for techno? Head to Oranienstraße and hop from shop to shop. My local is a truly staggering outfit. It boasts two massive chandeliers, an impressive array of American ultra-processed food that rivals any front on Oxford Street and inflation busting deals on nitrous oxide canisters.

One thing they have in common? Cheap beers, and lots of them. A bottle of local pilsner will set you back €1.50-€2, a significant saving compared to most bars in the city.

International tournaments present these bastions of local commerce a unique opportunity. The weather’s nice; people want cheap beer. The football’s on; people want cheap beer. Germans exist; they always want cheap beer. Only one thing for it then. Get the tele down on the pavement and shift some product.

Everywhere you went during Euro 2024 there was a screen playing football. Even when you’re ostensibly out for dinner or simply spending time with the other half, you could steal a glance at one of the TVs on the street. What’s going on in Serbia vs Denmark? You think to yourself, reticent to look at your phone for fear of seeming antisocial or distracted. Oh don’t worry, there are three different lads playing it on this street alone. 0-0 the screen reads. “One to miss then,” you say, with only a flicker of sincerity.

Of course, Germany vs Spain in the quarterfinals simply wasn’t one to miss. I find a relatively quiet shop, purchase a couple of beers, and perch myself on a window sill. As kickoff approaches the crowd grows. Ten minutes out, the pavement is heaving. When the whistle blows I reckon 200 people have gathered around the screen, perching on crates and barrels, leaning on cars, and sitting on the floor. Over the road, there’s an even bigger congregation. Five minutes in, the first chance of the game reveals their stream is a few seconds ahead of ours.

The bulk are obviously supporting Germany, but there are a couple of dissenting voices in the mix. Cries of ‘vamos’ pierce the air as Olmo bags an opener in the 51st minute. The buoyant mood is pricked and mostly deflated. Anxiety and discontent spread through the crowd as Germany routinely waste their dominance.

Just as heads really start to drop, expectant yelps from over the road signal a real chance. Moments later the spoiler is confirmed. Germany have equalised. Florian Wirtz, conspicuously left out of the starting lineup, turns a Füllkrug knockdown past Unai Simon sending the game into extra time.

I need another beer, I think to myself. Hardly a novel thought; a massive throng clogs up the door to the späti as nervous football fans talk tactics, hopes and dreams in the queue. I sidle back into my spot, ably held for me by a Dutch lad who’s secretly supporting Spain.

Extra time is tetchy, as always. Neither team can assert control, tired legs and fried minds seemingly happy for the game to reach the lottery of penalties. Suddenly, a darting run by Mikel Merino is spotted by Olmo, his in-curling cross finding the towering midfielders head. He glances the ball past Manuel Neuer. It’s a crushing blow. 119 minutes and at least four beers in, the German supporters are crushed. The few Spaniards are of course celebrating, which is halted briefly by the bigoted ramblings of a drunk idiot. He’s swiftly told to fuck off by other members of the crowd.

That brief moment of trouble gave me a thought. We absolutely couldn’t do this in England. Not only would it turn into a set-to among fans, our sense of community pertaining to anything, even football, has been so eroded that the coppers would probably shut it down within seconds. Where do you go? Croydon Box Park? £7 pints, dickhead security guards and 18-year-old kids on gear throwing beer? No thanks. I’ll have a local pilsner on this rickety bench any time.