Soccer

Postcard from Frankfurt: Can anybody else smell dead rubber?

Beware the proliferation of men, women and children on e-scooters, zooming around Frankfurt
Beware the proliferation of men, women and children on e-scooters, zooming around Frankfurt Beware the proliferation of men, women and children on e-scooters, zooming around Frankfurt

WHAT’S the German for dead rubber? On a leisurely stroll through the meandering strasses of Frankfurt yesterday, you’d hardly have known this place was preparing to welcome Die Nationalmannschaft.

Workers are busy assembling faux wooden chalets for the start of the Christmas market as busy commuters traverse the foot bridges that provide safe passage across the River Main into the heart of the city.

Safe, that is, so long as you can steer clear of the rise of the machines whirring up a stench of dead rubber around every corner. I always knew the Germans loved Scooter – The Logical Song, How much is the Fish? (roll up, roll up, get your stereotypes here) – but wasn’t aware that extended to creating some kind of Marty McFly-esque hellscape where the humble bicycle has been binned.

Having escaped the set of The Running Man and made it to the main pedestrianised precinct, there is still little sign of life. Granted, it’s only half nein, but even later in the day a couple of guys far too old to be standing outside a shop playing Fifa is as much of a nod to any footballing activity as you’ll get.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, tonight’s game doesn’t really seem to have captured the imagination of Frankfurt just yet. After all, the Germans’ automatic qualification for Euro 2020 was secured at the weekend, while visiting Northern Ireland are already guaranteed a place in a play-off semi-final.

For the Germans, this is little more than a chance to wish a grand auf wiedersehen, pet to Jogi Low’s men ahead of next summer’s championships.

Home comforts are one thing, but away days remain a prized commodity for football fans the world over - win, lose, draw, or dead rubber (it’s toter gummi by the way, in case you were wondering), and there were plenty of travelling fans flying out to Frankfurt on Sunday afternoon.

Never mind city strolling, plane journeys are the ultimate opportunity to sit and study human behaviour, or rubber-necking as it’s otherwise known.

In the row directly across was a middle-aged American guy who did not come up for air the entire flight, jibbering away like George Costanza on acid to the poor unfortunate soul on his left.

In that time, my neb gleaned that he had spent time in South America. Asia. Papua New Guinea. Probably Papua Old Guinea too. That he spoke five languages, one of which he was using to melt this girl’s head with.

A few rows in front a couple of shaven-headed Belfast boys perched themselves on the two inside seats. The German man at the aisle stood up to let them in and was offered an incredible out, only for it to be cruelly snatched away.

“Do you mind if I sit in there beside them and you can have my seat?” asked a friend of the pair politely, only for his pal to sell him right down the Ruhr.

“No no, you sit up there,” he said, the German man still on his feet, blood rapidly draining from his face, “I’m going to talk to my new German friend.”

A friendly, but firm, pat to the arse was swiftly delivered, cementing this new accord. It was quite beautiful to watch. The German man slumped to his seat as Right Said Fred settled excitedly into theirs.

To be fair, they were nothing but polite for the duration, offering him a beer every time they were ordering - he declined, every time - and even taking an interest in what the week held in store, in between quarter-hourly bog breaks.

“Are you in work in the morning?”

“Yes, yes, 8.30am,” he replied with a nervous smile.

“Half eight?! F**k 'at!”

Handshakes and pats on the back - just the back this time - were exchanged once rubber touched runway, before he took off like Marita Koch towards the arrivals hall.

With an equally eventful Group C journey coming to a close for Germany and Northern Ireland tonight, everybody will be able to walk away happy enough again - regardless of the result.