By: Blake Metiva
May 27, 2017. I had been a fan of my soccer club Hamburger SV for just under a season, but I knew the significance of what I was watching. My club had never been relegated but were staring the drop down to the second division in the face. We were playing relegation rival VFL Wolfsburg. They were 2 points ahead of us, and anything less than a win saw a two-match playoff against the third placed team in the second league.
The clock in the corner was ticking, counting the amount of time “The Dino” had been in the Bundesliga. The clock for the match had been counting up as well; it was the 88th minute. Tensions were high, and fingernails were being chewed. A cross came in from the left corner. It floated over a Wolfsburg defender and met the head of Luca Waldschmidt, and the ball ended up in the back of the Wolfsburg net. 2-1. My club stayed up that season. I was ecstatic and in love with that club. It was the best moment I’d have with the club.
We weren’t so lucky the next season. We would be relegated for the first time in our history. We spent 55 years in the top flight, but it was no more. The clock stopped ticking, and an unprecedented future had arrived.
The future looked brighter in the second division. We had one of the best squads in the division, and we were favorites for the title. The season was cruising along; we entered March fighting with our title rivals FC Köln.” We were sitting a point behind them entering the 25th match of the season. On match day 25, Hamburg had a date with their cross-town rivals FC St. Pauli. The match ended 4-0 to Hamburg. We likely only needed a couple more points from the nine remaining matches. How could this season get any better? The title? Promotion was all but assured, I thought. But, I thought wrong. Our record from that match to match day 33 was: 0 wins, 3 draws, and 5 losses. My team earned 3 points from a possible 24. I’m not a mathematician, but that seemed to be not a positive situation.
On the final match day, we needed to win to even make the playoff matches, and we needed a FC Union Berlin loss. We did our part with a 3-0 win over MSV Duisburg, but Union Berlin drew their match. We finished fourth in a two horse title race and missed out on promotion.
The following season was more of the same. We entered the 34th match a point off the promotion playoff. All we needed was a draw and we’d be in on goal difference. They lost to SV Sandhausen, a mid table side that had nothing to play for, by a score of 5-1. I’d had my hopes crushed for a second year.
Year three was another where we finished fourth. Entering the final match we couldn’t even get to the playoff place, and the season was a wash. For the third season straight, my club had let me down.
Year four would be the toughest season yet. Three clubs were relegated from the Bundesliga. Entering the final four match days it seemed like we’d be nowhere near the playoffs.
“They’re going to blow another season.” I said.
They didn’t. In those final four contests, they won each and every match. We would gain the third spot with 60 points, and a better goal difference than SV Darmstadt. We made the playoffs and would be playing a very beatable team in Hertha Berlin. I was hyped, and even more so after a 57th-minute goal by attacking midfielder Ludovit Reis that gave us the 1-0 lead heading back home to the Volksparkstadion. There’s no way it could go wrong right? As I watched on my phone at work I watched Hertha’s Dedryck Boyata head in a goal in the third minute.
“They’ve overcome the odds all season. They can come back,” was the message I sent to some friends watching around the world. Marvin Plattenhardt would put a dagger in the heart of the sold out Volkspark, and in myself. In a goal that was eerily similar to Reis’ in the first leg, Plattenhardt gave Hertha the lead 2-1 on aggregate score, and they would never relinquish it. For me it was another year, another disappointment.
By the start of year five I was indifferent. Whatever happened would happen. The club would have their best season in the 2nd league, and their point goal would have gained us automatic promotion in every season except this one. Entering the final match day, we needed a win against SV Sandhausen and a FC Heidenheim draw or loss against SSV Jahn Regensburg. In the third minute of our match, Jean-Luc Dompe thundered home a volleyed shot. We were ahead in the match, and in the promotion race. In Regensburg, they were leading into added time. This was it. There’s no way it could slip again. Sandhausen’s announcer made it official.
“Congratulations HSV Fans! You have been promoted!”
I was elated. I was so excited, jumping for joy in my room. This was a high I hadn’t felt in years… and then it all went wrong. Sandhausen’s announcer had made a mistake – we were not going up. In added time, Heidenheim scored a penalty in the 93rd minute. But, that wasn’t enough for them to be promoted. In the 99th minute of the match, the ball was pinballing around in the Regensburg box. It bounced outside the box and was passed out to be crossed back in.
Tick. Tick. Tick. The cross came in, trickled across the goal mouth, and found the one unmarked Heidenheim player in the box.
“… They can’t keep the ball away. Heidenheim come again.. the cross is there, the ball is loose… AND TIM KLEINDEINST HAS JUST SCORED. IT’S INCREDIBLE! UNBELIEVABLE SCENES HERE! HEIDENHEIM HAVE GONE AND DONE IT,” the commentator’s voice boomed through my speakers. We weren’t out of promotion, but it was certain the dagger had gone through the hearts of the fans and players alike.
We went into the playoff against VFB Stuttgart and were destroyed. The score was 6-1 on aggregate. I had tuned out after their first leg with all hope lost, doomed to spend yet another season in the second tier.
To the club I love, you cause me nothing but pain. You give me maybe one good moment a season, give me nothing but fits, and make me question why I even follow you. You have choke jobs beyond comprehension, you come in fourth in a two horse race, you have playoff failures and a first-ever relegation. You have had 10 different managers in the seven seasons I’ve been a fan, the longest of whom stayed less than three years. There have been countless players who would be, “the one to get us back up.” I question who even would want to live this nightmare every season.
But I know myself; whatever happens, I’ll see you next weekend. And the one after that, and the one after. When you love a team, you never give it up.
