Kai• ros | Julian Brandt

12.

"Brandt is the prototype of the problem at BVB." I stared dumbfounded at the piece of newspaper lying on the counter in front of me. The headline on the opening page almost took my breath away.

"Good morning, what can I offer to you?"

Confused, I looked up at the voice that spoke to me. Those meaningless few words, printed in black ink on white glossy paper, captivated and shocked me so much that for a short moment I forgot about the general events around me.

"Are you all right, miss?" the staff at the establishment continued to speak to me. Her voice gradually acquired its face, and I slowly began to realize where I was and why I came here in the first place.

I was at my favorite bakery. The one on the corner of the street, just a short distance from my apartment, where I picked up the same order every morning. Two black coffees to go and two butter croissants filled with chocolate. A breakfast combination that was able to make Diana and I's early work mornings more pleasant. Today was not to be an exception.

"I," I was out of sorts, completely unable to form even a single coherent sentence. I reached for a fresh issue of an unnamed sports paper that was more of a tabloid than a relevant source of information and placed it on the cash register along with some change I had on hand that I hoped would cover its full price. I waited for the cashier to check the money and without another word I disappeared out into the cold street.

Not even the unfavorable December weather, which swept through the corners of Dortmund, prevented me from looking at the newspapers I had bought while waiting for Diana's mini coupe. An entire double page was devoted to the headline that caught my attention at first. A few superficially written columns of text, which described not only Julian's performances in recent weeks, but also the performances of our club as a whole, were complemented by photos from this season's matches.

I have read countless articles like this one in my life. It was all god-awful nonsense and egotistical self-haughtiness from the pen of people who called themselves self-proclaimed football experts. Simply articles miles away from the constructive criticism they originally tried to be. Mostly I just smiled at such texts and took them in stride. Everyone could express their opinion, whether I liked it or not. After all, we lived in an era that was proud of being democratic. The fact that most of these opinions were utter nonsense was another matter.

But this time it was different. For some reason, this article touched me more than it could or should have. Not because it was just another attack on my club, of which there have been more than enough from the general public recently. It was a direct attack on Julian. It portrayed him as the fundamental problem. The one to blame for the dark period in which Borussia Dortmund found themselves. As if football is not a collective sport, but a sport in which the individual wins instead of the team.

"Where's coffee and our breakfast? Are they closed today?" asked Diana after I sat down next to her in the heated car. "Shall we go somewhere else or have breakfast in our cafeteria?"

I didn't answer her. Instead of my answer, the aforementioned sports newspaper landed right under her nose, opened directly to an article discussing Dortmund and its players. Especially about that one, who has recently become a significant part of my life.

"Read!" was all I said to her.

I waited for her reaction with my arms crossed on my chest.

Diana's eyes suddenly began to slide over the newspaper pages. The initial interest reflected in them was quickly replaced by resistance and disgust. Her face mirrored the same emotion that was toying with mine. Pure anger.

„That's news to me!" she exclaimed "I didn't know that our football team consisted of only one single player." she pointed out in the margin of the whole "A brand new day, but still the same shit from the mouths of the experts." she wrapped up the last word with strong quotation marks.