Ein Brief an die Engländer

Dear Englanders,

it does not come often before, that I grab the word. Because I am already in the quietstand. But this must out now: I look with envy on you. Your eleven is in the Quarterfinal. And our „Mannschaft“has set it into the sand.

We must to give: You Englanders are now the better Germans. You don’t always play shiny. But you win sure. And when not, than you hold your box clean. You are not so strawstupid as Hansis boys and cash in unneeded against-goals. I now even trust you to win against the French in a eleven-meter-shooting.

You Englanders are now quite out of the small house because of your victories. Your famous-notorious player-women let once again the pig out on the cross-travel-ship, where they reside during the world cup.

And we Germans? We look with the oventube into the mountains. We are searching like wild after the guilty. Because we Germans firmly believe: There always must someone be guilty. When the Gnabry, the Musiala, the Sané and all the others stand mothersoulsalone in the sixteener and they do not meet the goal, even when it stands wagonwide open – this cannot be bad luck or incompetence. No, no, football is not so simple. Not for us Germans. There must something stick behind it. And so Olli Bierhoff was the first sinbuck. Let us wait, whether they find more bottles, that were guilty.

There you Englanders have it good. Even if you should loose tonight, there goes the world not down for you. Sponge over and one more localround. You are already cool dogs, you Englanders. This must togive your old letterfriend

Frank Newhouses