Hansa Rostock (A)
Reflections on a trip to the Ostseestadion
A week or so ago, I told a friend from my rugby club I was planning on travelling to Rostock to watch a football match.
“At Hansa?” he asked. “Where are you sitting?”
When I told him I had a standing ticket, he suggested I move to another area of the stadium, as they might not take kindly to an Englishman among the ultras.
This isn’t to say I wasn’t aware of the reputation of the fanbase. When Hansa were relegated from the 2. Bundesliga at the end of last season, their final game had to be abandoned after their fans shot firecrackers onto the field. At least six people were injured in the incident, and their main shirt sponsor, the energy drink brand 28 Black, attempted to terminate their sponsorship deal due to the incident. The club has repeatedly maintained the agreement is still valid.
Earlier in the season, a group of ultras apparently glorified the 1992 Rostock-Lichtenhagen riots. During the unrest, a group of local neo-nazis attempted to burn down a tower block housing Vietnamese refugees. A tifo with the image of the Sonnenblumenhaus (the building had a large sunflower mural adorning its side) was unveiled alongside pyrotechnics emitting large amounts of black smoke, apparently mimicking the attack. Last season’s fixtures against SC Paderborn and Schalke 04 also saw violent skirmishes between Hansa and rival fanbases.
Inevitably, I felt some trepidation as I took the train from Berlin to Rostock on Saturday morning. Luckily enough, my insatiable need for sleep overtook any anxiety, and I dozed comfortably for the entirety of the two and a half hour journey.
Arriving in Rostock, you immediately feel the devotion to the club within the town. Every other graffiti is extolling the virtues of FC Hansa, the others a mix of in-actionable political statements (Communism Now!) and the omnipresent assertion that ‘All Cops Are Bastards’. Working towards the city centre from the central train station, you immediately come across relics of Rostock’s proud history.
Founded in the 11th Century by Polabian Slavs, the town takes its name from the ancient Slavic for a ‘fork in the river’. Sitting on the Warnow, the town became a crucial hub of trade and industry in the Hanseatic League, a network of market guilds and merchant towns in Central and Northern Europe established in the 1200s. The town enjoyed remarkable prosperity over the coming centuries. In 1419, the University of Rostock was founded; it’s the third oldest university in Germany.
A strategic landmark for invading forces from both the West and Scandinavia, building protection was key to the city’s survival. Its walls were originally built in 1265, and a number of its gates still stand today. To the south is Steintor, a renaissance style building that was built in 1566.
Along the line of the original city walls is the Rosengarten, a garden which houses a memorial to the victims of National Socialism in the city. Further into the garden is a statue of Paul Pogge, a colonialist who led two exhibitions to Central Africa. Originally lionised as a ‘naturalist’ he is now considered to be integral in establishing European rule in the Congo Basin. A plinth contextualising his life now sits next to his bust.
The old town is now home to the expected mix of cafes, restaurants, bars and shops. At one end of the main shopping promenade, Kröpeliner Straße, is another gate, the towering Kröpeliner Tor. Nestled amongst the warren of mediaeval streets are a number of churches including the Marienkirche, a 13th century structure with a huge pipe organ and an ornately painted wooden altar.
Sipping a cappuccino in the town square, my attention turns toward the coast. The fishing village of Warnemünde was officially acquired by the city of Rostock in the 1300s, allowing the town access to the Baltic Sea at the mouth of the Warnow river. Now, it’s a tourist hotspot for Germans and Scandinavians alike.
As I walk towards the nearest S-Bahn station, I already note a steady tint of Blue in the apparel of the locals. With four hours until kickoff, it seems a Hansa game is an allday affair for the diehards.
The train winds towards the coast, rattling through the metropolitan Rostock area, which clings to the banks of the river Warnow. Looking out the window, I clock a large tower block, decorated with a massive painting of sunflowers.
Upon arrival in Warnemünde, you’re immediately confronted with the quaintness of it all. Most of the dwellings in the old town are fishermen’s cottages from the late 19th century. Nestled among the houses are the souvenir shops, cafes and restaurants servicing tourists and the 8,400 inhabitants that live in the village.
Warnemünde’s beach is truly beautiful. In a country lacking in coastline, it’s a real novelty to feel the stiff sea breeze, which on an autumnal day, is almost too brisk for comfort. I soldier on to take some photos of the lighthouses in the bay.
Walking back into the centre of the village, I pass the house where Edvard Munch spent a year in 1907. The Danish painter came to Warnemünde shortly after an acute psychotic episode. That checks out, as the place does have the vibe of a resort where flighty debutantes from regency novels would sojourn to recover from their ‘melancholia’. Yes, this is still a football blog.
So let’s go and watch some football then. I get back on the train, and make the journey back towards Rostock itself. The Ostseestadion is roughly twenty minutes walk out of the city centre in an unassuming neighbourhood that’s clearly geared towards matchday. With a lack of bars, fans meet in the car park of supermarkets for a few pilsners, or congregate in the garden of a local sushi restaurant.
Closer to the ground I spot a few lads with questionable tattoos, and a few shirts with 44 on the back (I’ve looked into it, as fas I can tell no Rostock player currently wears this number, nor does it have any significance in the club’s history). Now with a ticket in the more family friendly east stand (€37), I enter the stadium an hour before kick off. Like any good ground hopper, I buy a pint of a local beer (Lübzer, €4.50, a decent pilsner), and consider my food options. Fishbrochten, a staple dish in Northern Germany doesn’t really tickle my fancy, so I part with another fiver for some pommes.
I try to strike up some conversation with my neighbours. There’s a friendly elderly gentleman named Fritz who finds my presence at the ground highly amusing. His garbled English amounts to little more than ‘You, English? Why are you here?” My fragmented German fails to capture the nuance and detail of this project.
Hansa are hosting Alemannia Aachen, another club with links to the far right. As this DW article outlines, violent skirmishes between ideologically opposed ultra groups resulted in the organised anti-fascist fans no longer attending games. Local politicians now believe Alemannia’s Tivoli Stadium has become a recruitment ground for neonazi affiliated groups.
There’s little indication of any unsavoury behaviour or chanting at today’s game, however. Both fanbases are seemingly content to channel their aggression towards the action on the pitch.
Alemannia start well, bossing possession and making the game’s first few clear cut chances. Hansa began building a pattern of play after ten minutes, repeatedly finding joy down the left flank. The furthest left of a back three, Damian Roßback bombs forward, linking well with wingback Felix Ruschke.
Hansa quickly undo all that hard work conceding a sloppy goal in the sixteenth minute. After winning the ball back deep in their opponent’s half with ease, Aachen shift the ball out to the right flank. A well flighted cross finds its way to the back post where wingback Saša Strujic duly converts on the half volley.
The hosts would continue to control the game, only allowing Aachen sniffs at goal due to their own profligacy in midfield. A long range effort from Alemannia cannoned back off Rostock’s upright. Despite the periodical warnings, Hansa would eventually make their pressure pay. A switch across the visitors box freed midfielder Nico Neidhart to pick out target man Sigurd Hauso Haugen with a floated cross to the back stick. Haugen dutifully converted the chance with a controlled side foot volley.
After the break, Hansa continued to find joy down the visitors’ flanks. Roßback in particular played with a frenetic abandon you don’t often see from a centre half, his marauding runs out of defence the highlight in the second stanza. Donning a pseudo-scrum cap, presumably worn as a precaution against concussions, he has all the components of a lower league cult hero.
For all their pressure, Hansa can’t convert. When an innocuous Aachen attack is deflected behind for a corner, a grim sense of inevitability falls on the Ostseestadion. When things aren’t going your way — Hansa currently sit in 15th in the 3.Liga — 87th minute defensive set pieces are your worst nightmare. An inswinger finds a flick-on at the near post, and Stašic is again in the right place to instinctively convert from a couple yards out. The game ends 2-1 to the visitors, and the once raucous Hansa support departs in silence.
With a few hours to kill, I try to cram more culture into my day before returning to Berlin by visiting the Cultural History Museum of Rostock. Free to attend, the permanent exhibition unpacks the town’s history over the past 800 years, and hosts paintings of both the city and surrounding coastline as well as a collection by Dutch masters such as Van Dyk and Rembrandt.
Walking back through the city centre, I head to the banks of the river Warnow. I cave to my internal dialogue and tuck into a Fishbröchten. There is slightly something underwhelming about a fillet of fish and some onion in a white roll. My mind can only wander to the delights of a seaside fish and chips, and the many arguments I’ve had with my rugby teammates about the merits of British scran versus German food. This one’s a clear victory for old Blighty.
I ended the trip with a couple of beers in a gay friendly pub nestled in Rostock’s old town. I sample a Rostocker, a pilsner that is as reliable as any of the locally brewed beers you’ll find around the rest of the country. The barman, a student from Westphalia, tells me more about the town, and says it’s a decent enough place to live. A few moments later he points to some fire damage in the bar’s back room, a remnant of an attempted arson attack in September.
Wörterbuch-Ecke — German football phrases you need to know
Sprichwort: Fußballgot!
Direct translation: Football God!
Spiritual translation: ‘A maestro/legend/your superlative of choice’ OR ‘The football gods’
The term ‘fußballgot!’ first entered the broader German lexicon following the 1954 World Cup Final. Commentating on West Germany’s victory over the imperious Hungarians in the game that would become known as the ‘Miracle of Bern’, commentator Herbert Zimmerman bestowed the moniker on keeper Toni Turek. After conceding a poor goal in the first half, Turek would become the hero, making several key saves. Zimmerman’s commentary loosely translates as:
“The Hungarian defenders have to move up now. They lift the ball into the German box. Shot! Saved by Turek!.... Turek, you’re a football god!”
Zimmerman, under the direction of his bosses would apologise for his blasphemous words. Little did he know it would become an enduring part of German football’s lexicon, an enduring description of a player that reaches astounding levels of performance on the pitch. At Union Berlin, the fans don’t follow the usual formula of chanting a player’s surname during pre-game announcements or substitutions, instead replying to Christian Arbeit’s cries with a resounding ‘Fußballgot!’
Where a player can be ordained with deific qualities, there’s also the matter of an even higher presence. A god who controls all football itself.
At the climax of the 2000/01 Bundesliga season, Bayern pipped Schalke to the title when they netted a 95th minute equaliser against Hamburg. Schalke had already started celebrating on the pitch in Gelsenkirchen, unaware the Bavarian giants had once again crept over the finishing line. With devastated fans strewn across the pitch, manager Rudi Assauer dusted himself off to give his final interview of the season. He said: “from this day on, I no longer believe in the football god.”
Sehr gut. Schöner Artikel.
Really interesting article. I visited Rostock and Warnemünde Last autumn. Though not on a match day so probably more peaceful