“Is it allowed, to ask you a question, Mister Mahler!“

“You’re welcome. Please go ahead, my dear Duke of Lippstadt-Budnikowski!”

“So, are you nervous?”

“No. Not a bit!“

„Have you been practicing penaltys lately?“

“Stupid question. You boring me!”

“I guess, you slept quite well!”

“Surely, I did. But I have to confess, I had a monstrous dream!”

“Would you like to share your dreams with us!”

“I dreamt about the finale!”

“Oh, quite interesting. Who were the participants?”

“Don’t laugh, please, but the game was North Corea versus South Corea.”

“So, who became the world champion in your soccer-dreamland?”

“Nobody! Even during the extra-time none of the teams succeeded to score. So they started the penalty-shootout. And it’s still going on. When I decided to wake up, the score was 59 to 59.“

“I sounds like you suffering from a serious case of fever pitch.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Will you bet on an english victory?”

“I have to!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t play quite well up to now, their coach is a horrible italian, the only title, they ever won, came to pass by an invalid goal and Mister Beckham is a gas! So what! But, I have to admit, it’s kind of a  juvenile dream. Hard working, smoking and drinking dirty white man kick and rush away all soccer-science, high-tech fitness-programms and intellectual idle talk about that primitive and a little bit stupid game called football.”

“The sleazy man should beat the sniffy boy, you say?”

“That’s what I hope!”

“But, aren’t you a German Bear!”

“Not at all. I’m from Kamschatka near Wyoming. Let me ask you, what’s your favorite team?”

“El Tri.”

“Pardon me?”

“Mehicho!”

“Why?”

“That’s a whole different story. Switch off the floodlight and all the goals wide open. Tomorrow there will be an other game!”