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Nuremberg has an image problem. It’s in Germany for a start.
It’s also home to what I believe is Europe‘s only octagonal stadium. If you know differently, write in to the usual address. The Frankenstadion (or the Easy-Credit Stadion if you’re Mike Ashley), accommodates mid-table Bundesliga perennials 1FC Nuremberg. And I was in the area. So I’d thought I’d pop by.
Nuremberg lives in the shadow of Munich, its well-to-do, stylish and all together more successful alter-ego. A bit like me and my brother. But Nuremberg, while on the outside pretty grim and gritty and has taken a bit of a battering over the years, has a story to tell. A bit like me. Genuinely, it’s a fascinating city, very lively, dynamic, ace people and the ideal antidote to the saccharine ‘prim and properness’ of the state capital.
I stayed in the half-decent A&O Hostel near the Hauptbahnhof. Clean, lovely staff, nice place, and pretty safe. Safety in numbers outside when you’re having a fag as there are always prying eyes. And by prying eyes, I mean cops, pimps and prostitutes.
I spent a night at the Opera. Wagner’s ’The Flying Dutchman’. I personally though it was sh*te. All a bit warbly, with massive, massive over-acting and I didn’t like the way they stopped to solicit applause every fifteen minutes and came on for three bloody encores. Try that at The Stand and you’ll be picking up your teeth with a broken arm.
The next day I biked down to The Nuremberg Trials Museum. If you are as maladjusted and so desperately uncool as me, its fabulous. In the interests of full disclosure, I’m a proper history geek. Asides from the trite banalities of the some of the exhibits (international law = good, war crimes = bad), the minutiae of the subject matter was fascinating, illuminating and very sensitively handled. Well worth €3. I did spoil it all by getting a Nuremberg Trials accused mouse-mat though. An ideal stocking-filler.
Courtroom 600 is where the box-office Nuremberg Trials actually took place. The courtroom still plays host to the most serious criminal trials in Franconia (Northern Bavaria), hence no photography allowed. But, I’m no security risk, so I thought I’d take a crack with my mobile camera phone. Unfortunately, I forgot to turn the flash off. The result being one of the most frightening photos ever taken and me being escorted out of the courtroom. Something even Messrs Himmler and Goering didn’t manage.
Next stop on the magical Nazi tour was the Dokumentationzentrum, Germany‘s premier museum dealing the history of the Third Reich, with a particular focus on the history of the NSDAP in Nuremberg and the Rallies.
We have a conception that the Nuremberg Rallies were emblematic of the unholy trinity of German teutonic efficiency, base Armanen iconography and garish Nazi showmanship. It was nothing of the sort. It was disorganised brutish squalor, an acute embarrassment to the party leadership. Even the city council in Nuremberg, the vanguard of Nazism, pleaded with the Chancellory to hold the rallies elsewhere. There were eight-carriage trains full of prostitutes parked up at the Hauptbahnhof servicing the rabble, around a dozen murders at every rally, thousands of pissed-up boneheaded Nazis from across the Reich sleeping a thousand to a barn or on the streets and in stairwells, ‘delegates’ p*ssing and sh*tting in the street, vermin and stealing and asteamin’. It was like Oasis had come to town. Or a massive stag.
The City Council was bought off by the Chancellory planning to invest big-time on stuff like the biggest hall in the world, the biggest parade ground in the world, the biggest etc etc. And, even though they barely made a start of the Rally Grounds, the sense of the scale is still epic.
But that’s enough for my Nazi-athon. I had tickets for the hottest show in town. 1FC Nuremberg vs. Schalke in the Bundesliga. €23 for ticket in the North Tribune. Or only £2 more than it cost to the see the nowt-to-play-for end of season Grimsby Town vs. Southport gonzo-fest. I’m a sucker for a replica top, so after the obligatory pilgrimage to the club shop and picking up a natty little maroon number, I picked up my tickets (although in my mangled German I ended up telling the ticket-staff I had a reservation for ‘a chair in the sky’ – don’t ask) and followed the hoards to the North Tribune.
It was pissing down. But that didn’t stop thousands of Nuremberg and Schalke fans mingling outside before the game, enjoying copious amounts of Weissbier and Jagermeisters, just like normal people do when you treat them like adults. Take note Mr Salmond and the New Puritans. One thing which is peculiar to the continent is the concept of ’friend clubs’. Basically, it’s as if they’ve shared a couple of players, possess certainly similarities or enemies and the Ultras get on. Lets hope it doesn’t catch on. I like an edge.
For one of the biggest clubs in Europe, Schalke have a fairly low profile, certainly on our shitty little island. However, with around 60,000 season ticket holders, sponsored by Gazprom and third only behind Bayern and Borussia in the number of supporters they claim across Germany, they are a proper big beast, Take note.
But tonight Matthew, I’m a Nuremberg fan.
Lovely replica tops. And after a ropey start with the imperious Raul pulling the strings for Schalke, inexplicably Nuremberg found themselves 2-0, courtesy of the big defender Balitsch (it’s a cliché, but Euro 2012 is on and its all brushing off on me) and a penalty from Timmy Simons (he’s Belgian and not a forces love child by the way), with a bit of assistance from some Macau Premier League style defending. Class act Daniel Divadi scored a third just before half time from about 40 yards, which meant the beer garden was a good place to spend 15 minutes at half-time. The Nuremberg mob were a very friendly bunch.
One drawback of being exceptionally good-looking, sporting a shaven head and a Nuremberg replica-top is that I was frequently mistaken as a local by the locals. One guy tried to make polite conversation at the urinal trough. Obviously he spoke to me in German. I can’t multitask though. It was a toss-up between reply in English and keep my piss aim firmly in the trough or switch into German and risk turning around and pissing all over his shoes. I opted for the mid-way compromise and replied in a mixture of German and English (see German acapella comic quintet ‘The Wise Guys’ and their famous Denglish sketch) and managed a risky but acceptable 45 degree deviation in my piss, any splash black being restricted to my rancid Matalan jeans .
I thought I’d see a bit more of Klaas-Jan Huntelaar, but tonight he most definitely had a touch of BSE Bambi about him. I was more impressed with Slovak Robert Mak for 1FC. Mobile, excellent pass completion rate and cleverly draws space like a magnet, which is an exceptionally difficult skill to master at this level. Only 21 too. Watch out.
However, in a procession of a second half, only interrupted by the very impressive Lewis Holtby (an actual forces child who’s pledged allegiance to Germany) scoring a consolation for Schalke and Nuremberg going straight up the other end to score again (sorry, forgot who scored – bit pissed), everyone’s attention was actually focused at the scoreboard….Because in Dortmund, Borussia were playing Bayern in the Bundesliga decider. Bayern, not particular popular in Bavaria’s second city and Borussia being Ruhr rivals Schalke’s bete noir. So when Borussia scored with ten minutes to go and it flashed up on the big screen (after several false alarms after the scores from Hoffenheim and Augsburg were dutifully flashed up), Bayern’s bloody nose was greeted with as much enthusiasm as any of the Nuremberg goals. And as that was the full-time result, it was a shitty day at the office for Schalke.
Both sets of supporters mingled and drank, ate about 1,000 pigs and made this interloper fell most welcome. I ordered half a litre of sparkling mineral water because I confused the brand-name with a famous Bayreuth brew. To much merriment. As an aside, don’t you find you get treated so much better abroad when you tell people you’re English rather than Scottish?
Went for a Chinese back in town. I know it was packed to the rafters with Schalke and 1FC fans but it still took an eternity for us to get our food. Still, although I was a little pissed off, I wasn’t going to take it out on the poor harassed waiter guy. In fairness, he was only carrying out orders.
Booooooom.
Seriously, 1FC and indeed the city has a fan now.
Forza Der Ruhmreiche!
You can see Gordon Alexander performing in ‘The Worst Joke In The World: The Nuremberg Chinese Waiter ‘Only Carrying Out Orders’ Gag’ in his recesses of his diseased mind, every day until his last breath.
You can download/listen/subscribe to the Scottish Comedy FC podcast HERE
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About the Author
Raised by wolves on the wild Lincolnshire coast, Gordon has been Scotland’s 53rd best stand-up comedian for a record six years.
On the scene since 2007, he has been a staple of The Stand’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe programme, performs across the country with his own unique brand of sociopathic misanthropy and biting political comedy and has supported some of the biggest names in UK comedy.
After an unsuccessful football career, culminating in an extra-time defeat in the 1996 U16s Lincolnshire Cup Final, he has been trying unsuccessfully to get a Football Banning Orderfor three years now to stop him spunking any more of his limited disposable income on following his beloved Grimsby Town in the Vauxhall Conference for three years now. He also follows Queen of the South, crack Bundesliga 2 outfit Erzgebirge Aue, Crvena Zvezda and Portland Timbers.
Gordon is a ‘ground-hopper’ and bloody proud of it. His favourite stadia are the Stadio Nereo Rocco in Trieste and the Erzegibrgestadion in Saxony.
“…Character creation Father Alexander was hilarious, taking a satirical lump out of Salmond’s Scotland with a sermon for the Lockerbie bomber Abdelbaset Ali Al-Megrahi…” Brian Donaldson, The Scotsman
“Gordon Alexander eulogies were a highlight….clever, fun and deserving of a bigger audience” Barrie Morgan, The Skinny
“…Far more polished was Gordon Alexander…It’s a superbly written act and Alexander topped up it’s topicality and was rewarded for his efforts by getting by far the biggest laughs of the night…” Neil McEwan, Edinburgh Evening News
“…Man-of-the-match Gordon Alexander stole the show with his character pieces…” Bernard O’Leary, The Skinny
You can follow Gordon on Twitter: @GoAlexander
