by Paolo Valentino
Franz Beckenbauer embodied everything Germany would like the world to say about her. On the pitch he dominated with talent and charisma, it was said that he didn’t even sweat: once he dribbled for 40 ” without any opponent daring to challenge him
Once, meeting him in a lounge at Salzburg airport, I asked Franz Beckenbauer (who died two days ago in Salzburg) what the real reason was why the Germans loved him: Maybe because we have the same dreams, he replied in his Bavarian accent . He was absolutely right. For over half a century, no one has embodied everything Germany would like to be said and thought about her in the world more than Beckenbauer. Chancellors, political seasons, fashions and musical genres have passed.
German history has taken one of those harte Wendungen, the abrupt turns depicted by Paul Klee, peacefully for once, and the placid Republic of Bonn has been transfigured into the Berliner Republik. But he, Kaiser Franz, has always remained the authentic talisman of the nation, the gefhlte President, the President of the heart as the Sddeutsche Zeitung defined him.
Beckenbauer was the most fitting metaphor of the German post-war period: the son of the postal worker, born in a working-class neighborhood of Munich in the desolation of zero hour in 1945, graduated from the Berufschule, the professional school which in Germany brands those who do not belong to the establishment, which instead reaches the top of the world in football as in life. When he almost single-handedly won the bid to win the 2006 World Cup, the Bild Zeitung, infallible sensor of the deep country, dedicated its entire front page to him, portraying him as a monument with the dedication underneath: To Franz Beckenbauer, emperor of German football, the Germany to eternal thanks.
Beckenbauer was the definitive German winning icon. Captain of Bayern at 20, five Bundesliga titles, three European Cups, twice best player in Europe, driving force of the Mannschaft that won the 1974 World Cup against the Netherlands of total football, technical commissioner of world champion Germany in July 1990. That evening, after the awards ceremony, Beckenbauer began walking alone on the lawn of the Olimpico: I don’t know why I did it, but it was as if I was waking up from a dream, he told me in the interview at the airport. His way of playing football was not only elegant, it was almost arrogant, in that way of dancing with the ball with his head held high that intimidated his opponents: during a Cup final between Bayern and Schalke 04, to silence the Rhineland fans who they whistled, he collected his goalkeeper’s throw and went under their stand and dribbled from a standing start for 40 seconds before making a pass. No Schalke player dared approach.
In reality, what made the difference was not only his extraordinary talent, but his charisma, the incredible ability to organize the world around himself. He was in the team but was always the leader. Some even exaggeratedly said that Franz doesn’t sweat. And in fact when he finished the matches, his shirt was often immaculate, it seemed that the opponents could not dirty him, so clean were his dribbling and elusive his percussions. In truth, there were always others ready to sweat for him, whether they were called Schwarzenbeck or Schnellinger.
He also showed his charisma off the pitch. Conservative at heart, he probably voted for the Bavarian CSU, he seduced the Christian Democratic chancellors (Kohl and Merkel) as well as the Social Democratic ones (Brandt, Schmidt and Schrder) and above all he had an unparalleled network of connections: friends, collaborators, advisors, all ready to work in the shadows for his success. A club with lifetime membership – Die Zeit defined it – with a sweet godfather at the center who personally chooses its members. Yet, when I asked him what was the happiest period of his life, he gave me a surprising answer: The four years from 1977 to 1981 in which I played for the Cosmos in New York with Pel, Carlos Alberto, Francisco Marinho and Chinaglia, all of whom became great friends. It was an extraordinary experience, I learned English, it opened up new horizons for me. It was in those years that Andy Warhol made his portrait of him, as he had done for Marilyn Monroe, Che Guevara and Willy Brandt. The painting was purchased by the German publisher Hubert Burda, who gave it to Beckenbauer in 1982. Requiem for an icon.
Corriere della Sera also on Whatsapp. sufficient click here to subscribe to the channel and always be updated.
January 9, 2024 (modified January 9, 2024 | 07:33)
© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED