Brown-White Wicca Cult

Brown-White Wicca Cult

One follows the other: After his famous first column “Please don’t hit me now with Rhein II– OKF and blessed be God” Thees Uhlmann steadily delivers his second column today which is absolute to schedule. Have fun!!

„Es geht los…! (It starts…!) Es geht los…! (It starts….!) Heute Nacht!“ (Tonight!”) 
Sometimes, I only listen to this part of the  Feine Sahne Fischfilet – song. Again and again. 
There have never been any more Dead Kennedys on the whole planet ever since … well … the  Dead Kennedys.

Cool, if I would have a youth hive in Hemmoor and the unsuccessful FSF would have a gig there, I would write on these folding Coca-Cola advertisement boards (which I would have stolen from some pub, of course): 
“Tonight: ‘Feine Sahne Fischfilet’ – Dead Kennedys from HRO!”

Well, I definitely will have to write about HRO (Rostock) at some stage of this campaign. Genius! 
I am looking forward to that. Of course, it will turn out in favour of the East. Unless, I would be a Rostock supporter from Dobendan, or how all these villages around there are called because in this case, it would turn out pro-St. Pauli. But we’ll get back to that.

I wish an awesome year of football for all of us. One does not have to write about the why and all that because this would make one even more religious than one actually is and just  THAT isn’t actually blessed by the lord. One has to be careful that one doesn’t get mad completely.

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For example, recently, I didn’t smoke in an awful pub for smokers for 2×45 minutes so that St. Pauli will win. 
And it worked out!!! 
Just because of me! 
Just imagine that my existence and my simple behaviours are tightly knit to the fate of the club.
I wouldn’t have thought so but it has to be true. 
Does anybody else feel the same?

Maybe we should found a fan club:
Brown-white  Wicca-Cult 
or
Hysteric – Esoterics – Bramfeld
or
„Luchd-adhraidh cloiche“ – St. Pauli  (having our Scottish sisters and brothers in mind.)
But to be honest this actually just translates to stone worshipper – St. Pauli“!

Man, I am getting off the path here…
I am subliming so that Freud would get angry with me.

Have a beautiful year of football everyone and rhytmo dela noche idiota Policia

But really coming back to the football: 
As stated earlier, I wish a great year of football for all of us.
For me personally, it’s the first season in which I sometimes simply forget to check the 1 Bundesliga -results on Saturday. It fell out of my interest. I forget about it just as I forget buying pasteurised milk in the supermarket. 

I hardly ever make it to watch my beloved Sportstudio because it doesn’t touch me anymore. Just as some names that suddenly pop up in your phone display and because you doesn’t feel anything any longer you consciously miss the call. I have to think about it more decently to figure out whether and how to change it if I actually aim to change it. 
Unless the 1. Bundesliga will be the coolest thing around since years next year. Because then, I will tape every Sportstudio on VHS and will have it digitalised later, just because I can. 

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But let’s get to the topic of St. Pauli in Berlin! 
I often complained that St. Pauli merchandise is actually only worn by those kids in Berlin whose West-visitors from Hamburg couldn’t imagine anything smarter to bring than Pauli stuff. 
4-year olds who run around the playgrounds of the  Prenzlauerer with a T-shirt of a politically correct football club. And the friend of the mother who is also at the playground says: “I would also like to go to the stadium at one stage!”

Is there anything more beautiful than that? 
Maybe to cut your cornea with a sheet of A4 for example. 
Man, man, man!
By the way, I almost forgot! If  I gift St Pauli-T-Shirts to four-year-olds, of course, all mobbing has to be reverted and then everything is very, very cool.

And then there are these Erasmus-students with a huge affinity to the music genre of “Ska-Punk“. They also love the St. Pauli shirt. Recently, I came across one in an illustriously laughing group with a Bluetooth box in their rucksack out of which came roaring party punk of Brasilian language.

„Humpahumpahumpa-dadada“  was the sound of the band and the singer always sang „Sa qua se quilla loco – de Luna este blanco – rhytmo dela noche idiota Policia – schlalalalala!“

Genius. So I pointed to his shirt and said: “St. Pauli!“
And he was like: “He?“ 
And I was thinking something like: “Oh if I would better have shut up!” 
But my mouth was like “SANKT PAULI!“ 
And he was like: “He?“ 
Then I was pointing at my t-shirt and his t-shirt and said: „SA -NK -T – P-AUL -I!“ 
And he was like: „Ah, si! St. Pauli!“ 
And then he was twitching his shoulders, laughed with his gang and I sadly buggered off. So that is the reality with St. Pauli-shirts here. 

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But recently, I really thought I had lost my wallet while I was roaming to “Bramibals“. 
So I walked the whole way back and just at the corner where Steffen used to live at one stage, at the corner of Gräfe / Dieffenbach, is a small corner shop and then someone came out of this shop, unlocked his bicycle and was wearing one of those  “Fanladen-Black-Flag-Logo-hats coloured in brown-white-red and I was thinking something like: “Ey,  he isn’t wearing that by accident. This cannot be. So I decided to dive into it now. Even if failure remains a possibility! I don’t give a fuck!“

And I was like:: „Derbysieg!“ (derby win) 
So he grasped for breath under what was formerly known as a Merkel-burka – and what is now known as a Scholz muzzle – and says: „…Hehehe!“ 
And then I got an adrenalin kick just as Verstappen in his last lap. Because normal is rather like Hamilton in his last lap. 
And someone will receive a knighthood because he at least tried. 
LOSER! 
That was beautiful that this guy returned a “hehehe!“ 

Away in Aue

Man, there’s momentum in the WhatsApp group. 
I just wondered: “Did I ever tell the story about Away in Aue with the police and things like that?“ 
And everyone was like “Nope!“ 
And I was like: “Cool. I can put it in the column though!” 
Then the first one replied: „Aue always really bizarre. Always snow. Even in summer. I don’t give a fuck!“ 
Then the next one: „Rüdiger broke his arm there once! And nobody knows how!?!” 
Then Keule One: “My gut feeling indicates that Bukarest is closer!“  
Then Keule Two replied: In the pen someone behind us:  ‘AUER FAGGOTS!’ And we were all like: ‘Dude!’ And he was like:  ‘I know them, I come from here. They are all gay here!’” 
That is a Parable of the ring a la bonheur from the very dumbest kind.

When I made Aue away, it was like: 
Someone hired a coach to leave for Aue from Berlin by 7 am. This happened when my daughter was already big enough to tell her: 
“I’ll leave for footy tomorrow morning but you’ll sleep in. I prepare everything, and when you’re done, you just leave it like that, and if you’re getting bored, you visit your friend, and if something happens, you give me a call.“ 
She was that old back then. That was really beautiful and I was really proud.

And then I already put crisps and choco pops and Fanta and stuff like that in front of the telly for the next morning. 
That was one of the best feelings I ever had in Berlin. To sit in the tube by 6 am to drive to a St- Pauli match with others while the daughter is still allowed to sleep because she’s kickin’ ass and already that grown-up.We met at the Alex and because we’re all punks, everyone arrived on the dot and we departed. Happily, the coach embarked towards the  South-East. As always, I sat in the front close to the driver and even the club’s chair was joining us because he did have a job meeting in Berlin and while we left the borders of Berlin, shouts from the back of the coach emerged: „Ah, the Hautevolee reserved the best seats again! It’s such an honour to travel with you, gentlemen.“
And everyone was chuckling and for the first time, I felt like a teacher on a field trip next to Oke. It wasn’t the worst feeling. 
Brilliant travel mate, always. 

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The Hautevolee from the premium seats. The chair is still busy doing things. I look after him.

There was beer from the tap in the coach! And at half eleven, everyone started getting nervous and wondered when the keg will be tapped while the coach drove at 92 km/h. 
There was a deposit system that was so ingenious that I could have never imagined it. 
And Germany starts getting beautiful at some stage and we pulled to the right and left the BAB (highway), the coach was parked in the forest and one had to hike down that little hill. It was the 7th of April in 2018 and the match was on the first warm day of the year(Tocotronic) and everyone left their jumpers at the coach and wearing light jackets of English descent only, we walked towards the stadium.

The production of serotonin was done with the sledgehammer. 
Into the stadium and we lost 2:1. Serotonin-level back to minus 4 but we had some nice two hours. 
Then everyone had to return and the supporter groups mixed up. They weren’t the most dangerous Aue’ bulls (derived from aurochs, clear as fuck, isn’t it?) with whom we had to climb back to the top of the mountain.

Ohhhh ohoh – Block Opa. Ohhhhohoh Block Opa! In front of the picture: two vegans in good mood. 

So a violet-white, brown-white mob was moving uphill and despite a colour grading like a painting of Monet (a pun I discovered with regards to his early phase when his paintings were still cheap: “Monet for nothing!“) 
out of a sudden: POLICE CORDON…! STOP EVERYONE!!!

Outrage, lack of understanding, twitching shoulders against the trend… everyone waits and nobody knows exactly how and why and you can say much about the people from Aue and also from Wismut. What they do and don’t have. But a dialect they have for sure. And I love that.

And I was standing next to a family father about whom I still think that he’s older than me while I am meanwhile probably older than him. And then he raises himself and straightens his body and focuses the 20-year old, nice-looking head of the police cordon, not aggressively, but decisively.

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And then he says out loud…  
He: “Dooooooooooh! (You!) Du Polizist, dooooooh. (You bobby, you!) Noh, nü lass döma die Sonkt Pölianer hie dursch. (Well, please let the people from St. Pauli proceed) Hier bossiert doh nüschte! (Nothing’s about to happen here!) Dü Polizist, dohhhh (You bobby, you!) Die müsse noh den ganzen weiten Wesch bis Ambursch zurückfoahn! (They still have to travel all the way back to Hamburg.) Ün die ham verlörn!(And they lost!) Lass die mal nach Haus fahren jetzte(Please, let them embark on their travels). Du Polizist, doooooh! (You bobby, you!) Noh, nü mach mal (Come on!).“And then everyone was forced to smile a little and the policeman was surprisingly checking for his radio device and approached his supervisor for a solution and she agreed to open the police cordon for us. 
The wall was gone. 
I still have to think about that. With so much joy!

“after 16 hours of beer drinking” – pixel on stupidity
That’s me with my friend Oliver Polak.  
And I was like: “And he was like: “You bobby, yoooooouh!’”
And Oliver was like “eh heh heh!“

And then we drove back. Oh boy, what a trip. That’s why I still have to play in Frankfurt / Oder. I should start making plans about that. It was also Simon’s birthday and when the trip was over, I realised that I had drunk beer for 18 hours. Genius!!

Next  time with:

  • Berlin Marathon
  • Interview with Marcus Wiebusch. But this time for sure!
  • A psychological review of Aue and the cup match!

I am keen.
Come on, St. Pauli.
// Thees Uhlmann (translated by Arne)

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