DFB-Pokal Final Recap: Dortmund v Bayern 5-2

What could have been, eh? Saturday began with talismanic Bayern frauen captain Kathrin Langert hoisting the elegant, swanny frauen pokal and ended with an ignominious exit from the other pokal at the hands of the most low, vile, disgusting, self-righteous, revolting, arrogant, and reprehensible team in Germany; Borussia Dortmund. But that’s football, just like it is every time.

Will it ever be any different?  

The Bayern frauen opened the day with a storming 2-0 victory over Roy Hodgson’s Liverpool FFC Frankfurt, the Bayern of the Frauen Bundesliga, themselves in the women’s equivalent of the Champions League final. A Puyolesque header from Sarah Hagen and a late tap-in for IVANA!!! Rudelic sealed the victory for our girls in red. It was lovely.

The match in Berlin, however, was quite the opposite. As always, Mario Gomez kicked the ball into touch from the circle at the Olympiastadion, leisurely stroking the spinning white orb backwards to Bastian Schweinsteiger. From the right-off, the bumblebees delved into our midfield like the greasiest, slimiest snail, confronted by driving rainfall pushes itself into a pristine shell to shelter from the storm, only to be repulsed by our bold red knights. Indeed, it was Heynckes’ men who had the first chance, a shrewd temptress of an effort that came in the second minute as Mario Gomez was passed into the area only to be repulsed by Neven “wonderful personality” Subotic. For the first three minutes, Bayern were in the driving seat and half way down the road to winning the Pokal. You never plan on that ten-ton tractor creeping up from behind and smashing your poor citroen into bits, do you?

One of the finest heroes of our age once said “nothing good lasts for longer than three minutes,” and such was the case in Berlin on that fateful saturday evening. Approaching the fourth minute, Jakub “sub-editor’s nightmare” Blaczyzkykccczkyzkczkczzkcyzykzowsi skipped down the right like a rhinoceros through a field of daisies, flanked by Shinji Kagawa to the left in the centre of the penalty area and Robert Lewandowski so far left Francis Urquhart would’ve bumped him off. The Polish winger tore through Holger Badstuber, creating more devastation in the heart of the young centreback than Manuel Neuer in tight shorts, before evading the rushing challenge of that sperm whale in defence, pirouetting a pass to Kagawa like he was juggling a pancake. It was no great ordeal for the Japanese playmaker to accurately slot the ball into the checkered cavern of the goal, giving the yellow-clad kittenslaughterers a 1-0 lead.

It wasn’t over yet. It’s sad that I feel the need to say that after only four minutes, I suppose. In the fifth minute, Arjen Robben received a freekick after a yellow shirted defender took a meat cleaver to the Dutchman’s head, but anything goes. Robben’s fine ensuing setpiece bounced like Mats Hummels’ cheques, knocked away by the thick head of Neven Subotic. Two minutes later, Mario Gomez flew into the area with the ball, his valiant efforts blocked by Roman “Steve” Weidenfeller, who performed a somewhat overzealous tackle on the Schwabian with his groin. I dearly wish that was the fabrication of tarnished and dusty mind. Weidenfeller, stunned by his contact with such a magnificent specimen of the same sex, lay on the pitch, his face puckered in ugly tears for five consecutive minutes, all of which I sat through while ripping my eyes out, before finally picking himself up and continuing to act like the loathsome vendor of diseased camels that he is.

Bayern threw away chances like they were confetti. In the 18th minute, Arjen “useless” Robben passed Mario Gomez a through ball quainter than a little cottage by the seaside. The ball was too strong, and the raven haired striker could only reach it on the far right wing. The match entered a stalemate for the next few minutes, with Lahm and Gomez tap-tap-tapping the ball to and fro, before the protector of freedom and democracy drilled an awkward pass to Bastian Schweinsteiger, who artfully dodged the onrush of a stingerless bumblebee before drifting a pass to David “finest leftback in the world” Alaba, who hacked through the leftwing and ballooned his shot so high over the bar it created a rift in the timespace continuum and travelled backwards to the Köln of an hour ago, where it was mistaken for a huge, purple balloon horse.

Eventually, all our efforts bore fruit. In the 24th minute, Roman Weidenfeller weidenfelled Mario Gomez in the penalty area, conceding a spot kick, which Arjen “greedy penalty-misser” Robben converted, sending the equal rights campaigner between the sticks the wrong way. Neven Subotic was mysteriously silent, but I’m guffawing like a fire-breathing hyena.

What could have been...
The 29th minute was like the 12″ single of the match so far, as Robben made a fool of Neven Subotic before passing Mario Gomez into the area. Like David Alaba and so many before him, the Schwabian rifled the ball over from an angle so acute, you’d expect it to fall into a basket and start purring. Four minutes later, Franck Ribery sliced down the left wing like a tired simile through hot butter, dragging a backwards pass to Phillip Lahm, who Mats Hummels sportsmanly shoved to the ground, valiantly protecting his side from danger, bravely conceding a corner. At this break in play, Roman Weidenfeller, still reeling from his earlier sexual awakening, exited the pitch for Mitch “Kangaroo jokes are both witty and original” Langerak.

In the 40th minute, Kevin Großkreutz tumbled to the ground after a mysterious, purple horse fell from the heavens, amorously embracing what she thought to be one of her own equestrian brethren a somewhat reckless challenge from Jerome “awful, awful” Boateng, which Großkreutz nevertheless milked as he milks Mario Götze. Mats Scummels twirled the spot kick beyond the reach of the white whale of Bavaria to once again hand the Schwartzgelben the advantage. Within a matter of minutes, deep in the vast, extraterrestrial plane of extra time brought upon us by Roman Weidenfeller’s teary meltdown, Robert Lewandowski somehow trotted past the defence a scrapped another goal to double the score for Borussia Dortmund. Halftime.

The second half was no better than the first. In the 49th minute, Mitch Langerak bounced out of his box like the good little wallaby he is and tripped over his feet like Holger Badstuber when he looks at Manuel Neuer. Arjen Robben assumed control of the ball, opting not to take his chances on an open net from such distance but rather to vault a fine aerial ball to Mario Gomez, who hadn’t a snowman’s chance in Gelsenkirchen of getting a touch.

Somehow, our position became worse. In the 51st minute, Holger Badstuber received a yellow card for reasons referee Averill Dalton Peter Gagelmann doesn’t know either. Further woe was piled on the Bavarians in the 58th minute as Shinji Kagawa swept up a counterattack and skimmed a pass to the unmarked Robert Lewandowski, who tapped his shot beyond the reach of poor Manuel Neuer to extend Dortmund’s lead. Can I wake up now?

My brain seems to have erased the memory of everything that happened from between the 59th minute of play and the 75th, but I hold vaguely recollections of a dominant Dortmund downing a drab, defeated Bayern, lusciously splitting our midfield and collapsing on the final straight. In that storied three-quarter-century, Franck Ribery somehow weaselled his way through the sea of yellow shirts and slotted the ball into the net. One BVB wondergoal (Lewandowski again) later and the match was over. Someone remove this insect from my eye, it seems to be creating quite a reaction.

Some notes:

  • Katrin Mueller-Hohenstein has an orgasm every time she says “Hummels”.
  • Interesting that the one time Magdalena Neuner is in the stadium, Manuel Neuer seems to disappear.
  • Lena Neuner, for that matter, is disqualified from being Bavarian after she displayed notable affection towards The Great Yellow Satan. Lena Lotzen will take her place as Bavaria’s foremost Lena.
  • I don’t like to say it, but Holger Badstuber was woeful. A rare shocker from the Bavarian defender.
  • I didn’t realize Thomas Mueller played in this game until a few minutes ago. For his sins, I’m neither highlighting his name in bold, nor shall I use an umlaut.
  • Considerable portions of analysis of this game focused on the invented rivalry between Mario Gomez and Robert Lewandowski. This is utter nonsense. Both Gomez and his Dortmund counterpart are uncannily similar players, indeed; was the Schwabian up front for Dortmund, he would more likely than not have converted a similar hattrick. Lewandowski’s triple came through little effort on his own part, most balls finding him well-placed to place a simple drive into the net. Gomez has proved time and time again his ability to convert tap-ins, and Lewandowski did nothing more on saturday night.
  • These notes sections are really bland without Kai Dittmann, aren’t they?
  • Joachim Löw, Angela Merkel, Roberto Di Matteo, Alex Ferguson, Lena *spit* Neuner, it would be simpler to compile a list of people who weren’t in Berlin tonight. Though I don’t think I saw Edmund Stoiber.
  • Phillip Lahm said afterwards that we did not deserve to lose this match. I could spend an age analyzing this and eventually reach the perfectly logical conclusion that he was indeed correct, but it’s considerably more easy and fun just to knock him for being a pompous sod with no leadership, at least until he starts playing well for the national team. I’m a real blogger now!

Goals:

  • 1-0 Kagawa (3′)
  • 1-1 Robben (25′)
  • 2-1 Hummels (41′)
  • 3-1 Lewandowski (45′)
  • 4-1 Lewandowski (58′)
  • 4-2 Ribery (75′)
  • 5-2 Lewandowski (81′)

Subs:

  • Borussia Dortmund:
    • Mitchell Langerak (Weidenfeller, 34′)
    • Sven Bender (Kagawa, 81′)
    • Ivan Perisic (Blaszczykowski, 84′)
  • FC Bayern:
    • Thomas Müller (Gustavo, 46′)
    • Diego Contento (Alaba, 69′)

Next match: Saturday v Chelsea (Champions League), 8.45 pm

 

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2 Responses to DFB-Pokal Final Recap: Dortmund v Bayern 5-2

  1. Anonymous says:

    Because it’s the Cup.

    !

    ?

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