It turned out that Paul the Octopus was right. Photo (cc) flickr user craig Quimby

So the Deutschland dream is over. Buried in a wave of tiki-taka. Yeah, Spain was much superior to Germany and totally deserved their win, but how boring is it to watch them play? Pass, pass, pass. Then pass, pass, pass again. And again, for 73 minutes until they broke German hearts with a goal ‘made in Barcelona.’

It got ugly here in Berlin once the final whistle blew. Schland der Tränen. Everyone annoyed and crestfallen. Frustration at not getting hold of the ball, being unable to do anything worthwhile with it when they did, and the dawning of reality; things too good to be true usually are.

I was as disappointed as the rest, I have to admit. This Spanish team is an anaconda squeezing the life out of opponents. The most anti-social team of all. “It’s my ball!” Pretty passes but little excitement, 1-0 now a favorite score line. Underwhelming to the point of irritation. With the score still at 0-0, Germany actually created the better chances despite being completely dominated.

But it got ugly here, as I mentioned before. Everyone on the streets at the same time, disappointed, shouting, quarrelling. The noise of smashing glass coming from across the street. Someone throwing bottles. Crash, smash! Kreuzberg jammed with people, bicycles, and cars, pedestrians arguing with cyclists, cyclists arguing with motorists, a thud and banging to be heard anytime the two species met.

The ugliest for me was the sight of workers from the restaurant beside the Spätkauf where we watched the game celebrating Germany’s exit. They weren’t Spanish or German but immigrants. Like me. One of them pretended to kiss the TV. “Why would you live in a country you hate?” I wondered. Some other non-natives then passed, celebrating too, laughing at disappointed supporters, drunk on Schadenfreude. Others beeped their car-horns.

The next morning however, one could sense the disappointment receding. The newspapers spoke of pride that Jogi Löw’s young mavericks managed to get so far, with particular pleasure being taken from the four-goal hidings handed out to England and Argentina. “The dream is over – but we’re still proud of our boys!” screamed Bild. “Keep the heads high. We’ll collect the World Cup in four years.”

I have to say, after the initial shock, supporters have been very gracious in defeat, all agreeing the better team won, and looking forward to a bright future for the Nationalelf.

Paul the Oracle Octopus is taking the brunt of the anger now. I don’t see the point in shooting the messenger, but he’s been receiving death threats and has also been featured in quite a few recipes, paella, seafood salads, and the like. Apparently they were even singing anti octopus songs on Berlin’s fan mile. I didn’t even know such a thing existed – didn’t know octopi had so many enemies. The songs were no doubt composed by seals, whales, and sharks.

Paul has become a hero in Spain however. “Viva Pablo el Pulpito!” my mother texted me after the game. The place has gone bananas. They were dancing in the fountain on Madrid’s famous Puerto del Sol after defeating Germany, and one fan running naked through the middle of it. The famous bull-running festival of San Fermin also kicked off this week, as they needed another reason for a fiesta.

Ah yes, I know where I’d like to be right now. It will be a crazy party if Spain does manage to claim the World Cup on Sunday. Paul has predicted they will. For his sake, and despite my misgivings, I hope they do too.