Oldspeak Ministry

Note: This post was actually written on July 23, 2008, based on notes from the timestamped date. Also, although the narrator below and I share many similarities, do NOT read this as strictly, or even mostly, factual; things have been altered as necessary to suit the story. Thirdly, the below is not something I’d ever consider publishing anywhere reputable; it’s just a fun way of relating an amazing experience.

It started innocently enough. I mean, the Germans, especially the youth, tend to favor black anyways, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch when red and gold were thrown into the mix. At first it looked like any old commercial marketing ploy; gummi bears, clothing, and everything in between seemed to take on that particular coloring scheme. God alone knows what marketing agencies won’t exploit to sell their products. Little did I know what was to come.

My first hint that something significant was in the works happened on the 8th of June, a Sunday evening. Due to over-procrastination on math homework every week, I don’t usually go out much Sundays, so I mostly just ignored the occasional screams and the car honking that ensued. Surely just another one of those silly parties going on at the Vaubar next door thought I. Not exactly the most conducive atmosphere for studying the Gaussian curvature of manifolds, but I’d worked through worse before. I really should’ve paid more attention.

For the next couple of days, it was absolutely astonishing to see the storefronts hawking black, red, and gold flags, dresses, banners, etc. Before they’d been available, but now it seemed like they were the only things on sale. It was a very odd occurrence; the Germans had a rather dreadful encounter with misplaced nationalism just over three score years ago, and they usually don’t display patriotism so publicly. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more fevered, Thursday arrived. All of a sudden, every second person on the streets had either dyed hair, an inked flag on the cheek (oft both cheeks), or a full length cape, not to mention the banners draped from balconies or windows. It so happened, though, that I left for London that evening, and when I got back, everything seemed to have disappeared. Only later did I find out why.

The next week, everything above repeated itself. On a closer examination, on some days the colors would be different, such as green and red on Wednesday, but it never seemed to be quite the same people either. I finally gave in to curiosity that next Thursday. I’ll never know how my experiences in Germany might have been different had I never made that fateful decision, but as they say, enthusiasm is contagious, and though, due to the providence of my insufficient wardrobe, I managed to avoid the prevailing headwinds of fashion, I too joined in the screams and cheers that following Wednesday against the Turkish. Let me just share that I’ve never quite seen a street party to rival the one that happened in the town center afterwards. Drums, loudspeakers, disco music, and lots and lots of people were only the start. The German streetcar system, of such fabled punctuality, didn’t even bother trying to run.

It was under these conditions that Emily W. came to visit me. We did our share of exploring Freiburg (I finally made it to the top of the Münster!) and the Schwarzwald, but when Sunday rolled around, there we were in front of a big screen TV with literally hundreds of other people in the MensaBar, shouting, screaming, and sitting at the edge of our seats. All was for naught, though we came so close. When the timer hit 90 minutes, it was all over, and only the Spaniards among us cheering. But who knows? Maybe in four years time, Germany’ll win the European Football Tournament.