Moonlighting für Füßball

With Füßball Fieber about to grip the nation, I was asked to contribute regular rantings on the upcoming Weltmeisterschaft on another blog. Fear not dear readers! I shan't be abandoning you like a floozy to run away at the first sign of attention from better-looking readers, but will continue bringing you a perturbing look into my perturbulant life on a peturbular basis.
In the run up to the World Cup however - and during it too if they haven't politely asked me to stop in the meantime - I will be offering profound gibberish and insightful nonsense on all matters Füßball-related for Young Germany, a joint project of the German Federal Foreign Office and a pub(lishers) in Frankfurt which offers all sorts of information on this oft-misunderstood country.

Writing about Schweini and company on a regular basis was all the invitation I needed. Schweini... I love that name. Literally Piggie for you non-German speakers. Germans are mad about pigs, considered a magical animal, and any reference to a pig is seen as a compliment. Some of the Theresas Mütters affectionately call me a Kampfschwein (fighting pig) because of my efforts on the field. Like most pigs around here though, they usually come to Wurst.

Back to the moonlighting and I'm sure the frighteningly-large picture used to introduce me to readers will scare them off reading the witty and insightful biography. It's scarily accurate however, and may one day find its way to my own profile here. It would save me the effort of coming up with another.

The first post appeared online today. Here's a sneak preview for you:
My bags were packed, boots polished, jerseys neatly folded. One by one the national team managers announced their squads for the World Cup last week. One by one they reeled off the names, the stars, the personalities; most of whom will be travelling to South Africa for the great party which kicks off in 22 days’ time.
I couldn’t wait to join them. Like an excited puppy on Puppies’ Day, I waited for my name to be called out. I’d been waiting four years for this moment. Since watching the great Zidane walk, head-bowed, past the trophy down the tunnel of Olympiastadion during that fateful final in Berlin, I couldn’t wait to appear on the same stage. “Oh Zizou! I wanna be like Zou too!”

The rest of this literary marvel can be read by clicking this link.
Please enjoy, leave complimentary comments, and share with the world! And don't forget to check for updates as Füßball Fieber really takes hold...


  1. schwein - pig (n)
    steigen - to mount/rise/go up/ascend/climb

    Schweinsteiger - Pigmounter. If he was born in an English speaking country with the English equivalent of his name he'd have been called "Bastian Pigshagger" before he'd made his confirmation, and for the rest of his life. Germans don't see it. I tried to point it out to a few German football fans during the last world cup and they weren't having any of it.


  2. I love it! No wonder he's happy just to be called "Schweini". I'm sure Basti Pigshagger isn't the only one either. This demands further investigation.

    Oink oink


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