It wasn’t a big ask. It’s not like the game was a 7 a.m Wednesday start. Germany was set to kick off with Sweden at 1 p.m. on Saturday, so you’d have thought a place like Essen Haus would be packed for a World Cup match with this much on the line for the German side. What better time to tip back a boot or two?
And yet, when my friend Michael and I strolled up a little after noon, there was nothing. I mean, it’s always a little dark in there but I don’t think all the lights were even on yet. We’d been looking forward to rooting for Germany in the midst of a crowd of like-minded fans. I was disappointed. Ich war enttäuscht, as they say.
We’d spent the morning watching the first two matches of the day: Belgium versus Tunisia over coffee and spicy cheese bread, and South Korea versus Mexico with Ale Asylum 12 Ounce Curls and Shiner Bocks. My friend and I are rooting for Germany at this point in the Cup, with both of us picking them to make it to the final match. Belgium and Mexico had already won, as we’d hoped, and our spirits were high.
So we headed for The Coopers Tavern. Coopers is widely known as a great spot for soccer fans in Madison to watch a game, after all. And because it is widely known, we kind of expected a zoo. And in a narrow space like The Coopers, a zoo feels super zoo-ey.
And when a guy wearing the kit of the same German player as my buddy clapped him on the shoulder, hollered enthusiastically, and trotted ahead of us to turn into The Coopers, we feared our suspicions were correct. Imagine our surprise, then, when the bar seats were half full at most, and we could claim three in a row in case my wife joined us, which she did at the half.
The first 45 minutes were stressful, requiring many nervous slugs from our quite tall mugs of Krombacher Pils. Though The Coopers Tavern is more or less Irish — the owner is from Ireland, after all — there were plenty of German brews on tap for superstitious drinking. Weihenstephaner Vitus, Ayinger Maibock, even New Glarus Imperial Weizen were all on offer and likely would have done the trick.
A second pint of Krombacher sounded right for the summery weather, though, with a light, sweet body and a clean finish. I will also credit my wife’s very German heritage for turning the tide of the match at the halfway point. Marco Reus, the name on the back of my guy Michael’s German jersey, put one into the net shortly after the start of the second half to equalize. From there until stoppage time, it was more nervous slugs of Krombacher for luck, and what felt like a parade of missed opportunities for Die Mannschaft.
In the 94th minute, deep into added time, our luck finally turned as Toni Kroos sent home a perfectly set free kick to take the lead. We screamed, we pounded the bar, we breathed deep breaths, and we went home. I took a restorative nap.
Normally, I’d be cheering for the American side in this tournament, but as has been made abundantly clear by sports commentators and Volkswagen advertisements, we did not make the cut. If we had, I’d probably have spent more time in this column talking about the weird-ass American beers I cleared out of my fridge on Sunday: Brewing Projekt’s Berry Smoothie Milkshake IPA (a hoppy Naked Juice, basically), Pipeworks’ $ellray $our (a celery gose, very odd but admirably done), and Fair State’s LÄCTOBÄC (puckery tart, with ginger, lemongrass, and not one but two umlauts to keep the Germanic thing going).
Instead I spent the evening on the posh rooftop terrace of the Lyric building, watching the Shake the Lake fireworks with New Glarus Two Women and a pour of champagne in a gold Solo cup. It was no boot of pilsner, but it felt good to go full bougie hipster and cheer on some explosions to reestablish my sense of American-ness.
