by DS Sat May 24, 2008 7:13 am
Football's unluckiest number 13
French existentialist Jean Paul Sartre knew a thing or two about philosophy.
So when he immortalised himself in his play No Exit with the lines
"l'enfer, c'est les autres" (which translates itself into English as
‘hell is other people’), he probably knew what he was talking about.
It would hardly be a challenge to find people to agree with him, but
there is a certain person who might, taking his own personal
experiences into account, just about beg to differ.
That man is Michael Ballack.
Because, for the elegant midfielder, ‘hell has always been about finishing second.’
Ballack’s storied career begins in the streets of Gorlitz, in what was
formerly East Germany. A natural talent at an early age his impeccable
play and football brain set him apart from his peers. This boy would
grow up to be a winner was everyone’s judgement.
Yet it never really turned out that way for Michael.
Making his break with Kaiserlaurten, under the tutelage of Otto
Rehangel (with whom who did not always see eye to eye), Ballack’s
consummate ‘midfield stroller’ style won him some admirers but numerous
detractors.
His cocky head-up style of play and seemingly lazy demeanour hardly helped the image, but his talent was there for all to see.
A talent which finally came to bed in the infancy of the new millennium
as he twice led his team Bayer Leverkusen heartbreakingly close to
Bundesliga glory – only to see it snatched away at the end.
The second of those years saw the story of Leverkusen adapted into
football folklore. In the running for three titles come the end of the
season, they won none, losing out to Bayern Munich twice and a Zinedine
Zidane special in the final of the Champions League in Hampden.
2002 was all set to be Ballack’s year, but his hell had already arrived.
The cruel sobriquet of ‘Neverkusen’ tagged him into the World Cup in
Asia in the summer, but Ballack showed the resilience that has marked
his career.
Standing tall time and again, he and Oliver Kahn danced to their own
little tune as they propelled a thoroughly mediocre Germany into the
final of the World Cup against Brazil.
It was to be the biggest game of Ballack’s life - - only he never even
played in it. A necessary foul in the previous game against South Korea
had seen him booked. His infraction would cost him his place in the
final, Ballack knew, but there were no ‘tears of Gazza,’ no
remonstration, no regrets.
Instead he pulled himself up to score the winning goal not minutes
later to put his team into the biggest game in football. It didn’t
matter that he would not play in it.
Ballack’s subsequent move to Bayern Munich was seen as a chance to end
the drought of trophies. And he was satisfied, albeit briefly.
Bundesliga crowns and DFB Cup’s followed but Ballack was eyeing bigger
prizes – the Champions League still proved elusive, Germany crashed at
the Euro’s and the Confederation Cup proved a bridge too far despite
his probings.
Where it mattered, the man was still losing out and he was getting no younger.
Perhaps the World Cup would help. A tactical sacrifice saw him desert
his previous adventurous style to bring more stability to Germany. And
that it did with Ballack playing a captain’s role as he led his team
into the semifinals, only to be so cruelly denied at the end by
subsequent champions Italy.
This time the arrogant strut was gone. The tears flowed for Ballack. He knew his World Cup chapter may have been closed.
Chelsea was supposed to bring him the glory that he so desired. A
settling in period in the first season saw Ballack much maligned for
his low-key performances but FA and Carling Cup glory made up for
missing out the real trophies.
Ballack would not stand any of that in his second season. After his
return from a career-threatening injury he proved the driving force
behind Chelsea’s challenge, leading from the front in both the
Champions League and in the league.
Yet as fate would dictate yet again, Ballack was in for some more cruel blows.
United pipped the league on the last day, but Ballack’s eyes were firmly on Moscow and the Champions League.
He played his role, did everything asked of him but score, converted in
the shoot-out and waited to have the winner’s medal he so desired.
For one fleeting moment, he might have believed. But all too soon it
was gone. One fatal slip of John Terry’s boot was all it took and
Ballack’s dreams came crashing down once again, six years after the
nightmare of 2002.
Unlike at Hampden, this time the rain in Moscow could not hide the tears of the man.
The reasons are understandable.
At Hampden was a man with the world at his feet, here there was a man who felt his time was running out.
‘History remembers winners,’ is something Ballack himself parroted. ‘I
don’t want to be known as someone who came close a few times but was
never good enough.’
The truth might hurt Michael. Because, the fact that he is good enough is something everyone (himself included) knows.
Perhaps he is just not lucky enough. But he should fear not for his legacy.
For while history may not remember Michael Ballack as a winner, they
will almost certainly remember his as football’s greatest nearly man.
As they say, ‘c'est la vie.’
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