Wuppertal Vs. Essen

Stepping out of the sponsor supplied Ford station wagon I am immediately aware of all the activity surrounding the small square gymnasium that squatted down before us. After everyone arrives and parks, a long line of players, coaches, team doctors and extra people like me make our way towards the gym, morphing into single file in order to make it through the one open door. Sidestepping a man carrying a large speaker I nod at the people setting up tables around the entrance and step inside the gym.

We are about an hour and a half early for the 19:30 match start, but there are several people already sitting in the stands. Essen, the opposing team, is spread out over the court, one player repeatedly throwing the ball up, tight to the net, and hitting it as hard as he can. Set to self, hit, run after ball, repeat. Most are stretching and laughing at each other’s jokes while others sit quietly in the chairs lined up for their team bench. The players who I have arrived with disappeared into one of the white tiled tunnels that run between the bleacher seats, leaving me to find my place in the stands.

They are expecting a full arena that night with talk of 1500 spectators. Looking around the small interior of the gym it occurs to me that there is no way 1500 people can fit in the tiny space. There is only one large tribune that faces the court, with additional chairs and benches that run all the way around the court. I guess there are enough places for about 500, but as more and more people show up and the game is still an hour away I start to realize that the club is unconcerned about the limited seating. People will find places to sit.

This is a real local rivalry. The two teams are only separated by 40 minutes of highway. While Wuppertal has been in the Bundesliga for years, Essen has just been promoted and it is fairly clear that they would like nothing more than to give Wuppertal their first loss of the season.

About 45 minutes until match start, seats are filling up, teams are starting to run in circles and stretch and the Wuppertal fan club has just arrived. A large man with dark facial hair and a half-open button down shirt walks in carrying a drum. His family is with him and as he sets down the drum his two children disappear from view, eclipsed by its massive size. Little do I know it at the time, but this will be the last twenty minutes I spend without the deep bass of the instrument echoing in my ears and chest.

The players are hitting warm-ups now and the gym is really starting to come alive. I look around and see that there are no seats left in the bleachers. There is a row of spectators standing in the back just above the last row of seats, likewise the other three walls are filling up fast. People are bringing in extra seats, standing behind the benches, kids are sitting two to a seat. I notice that the gym is full of all kinds of different people. Kids are running around in excitement, older gray haired gentlemen sit quietly with crossed arms, and stylish teens sit with their friends. Everyone can feel the pounding of the drummers, Wuppertal’s who have taken a spot in one of the corners, and Essen’s who sit just behind the referee stand. There is music coming from the speakers but it is almost impossible to hear.

The match begins and it is clear to see the players have a little bit of nervous energy to work out of their systems. The play is frantic at first. Each point brings chants of, “Bayer” (Wuppertal) or “Humann” (Essen). But eventually things settle down and there is some good volleyball. The crowd seems satisfied. Many people clap no matter who wins a point, as long as the point is well played.

Essen wins the first set and the house goes crazy. There is extra energy in the crowd now and as the teams switch sides it seems like the drumming gets even louder. People in the crowd are congratulating each other on a well played first set. The gray haired gentlemen have uncrossed their arms and are shaking hands with their friends on either side of them.

Wuppertal makes a substitution to start the second set and it is just what I want to see: Peter Lyck in to play opposite. He joins Mads Ditlevsen who started in and now there are two Danes on the court, my old teammates, and they are both playing high level volleyball. Peter immediately contributes offensively and to my surprise defensively as well. It turns out to have an effect on the match as Wuppertal wins the next three sets and the match 3-1. They are still undefeated and it turns out that one day later they would be the only team left in the Bundesliga that has not lost a match.

The crowd seems satisfied. After the match is over, the kids take over the court and chaos ensues. Purple and yellow volleyballs are sent flying in all directions while the players mill about semi-aimlessly. A man with a microphone attempts to interview Jens Larsen but no one can hear anything that is said; too many balls bouncing and too many people talking excitedly to each other. The 850 spectators slowly file out, generally with smiles on their faces and for the first time in the last couple of hours the gym is not filled with drumming, chanting, clapping or screaming. It is hard to leave the game without feeling that it was an experience. I want to go again.

The Danes are doing really well down there. Just talking to them after the match it is obvious in their eyes and their expressions that they are enjoying themselves immensely. “It’s insane.” One of them says matter-of-factly and after the match, I’m inclined to agree.