Day 6: Heidelberg

The sun is shining again (those in chilly Sydney are sick of hearing that, so I'll continue to write it), and it’s a day to play tourist. When the matches are on at 3pm, 6pm and 9pm, you have to run around between games or become a bar stool potato.

At the train station, a Turkish guy serves me coffee, and chats in German. When it’s obvious I don’t understand, he turns to the language we all speak, football. “Guus Hiddink,” he says, pointing to my Australian shirt. “Fenerbache,” he says, tapping on his chest. Did our Guus coach Turkey’s top side? We nod and smile in a sort of ‘Guus is the man’ way and he gives me a free doughnut. I can’t refuse it, and I undo the good work from the laps of the pool.

I catch a train into Heidelberg, location of the famous Schloss Castle, built on a hill overlooking the Old Town. Many of the buildings were constructed before 1500, but most around 1700. It is full of tourists, including many recovering Australians, and is a fascinating place to walk around.

I watch France v Switzerland in an Irish pub, where a sign over the bar promotes Carlton Cold for E4 a bottle, or about A$7. France is lucky to draw: Thierry Henry looks half the player for France than he does for Arsenal. A guy wearing an Australian shirt asks me who I want to win the World Cup. It’s a strange question – I’m wearing the same shirt as him, plus an Aussie cap. Perhaps it’s a game. “I’ve got a French mistress, and I like her to be happy, so I want France to win,” I tell him. His eyes light up. “Does she have a brazilian?” he laughs, in what is quickly becoming the tiredest joke in Germany.

Many of the German urinals have little plastic goals with a ball suspended from the crossbar, and you can piss the ball into the net. Great fun. There’s a genius somewhere who does his best thinking when he relieves himself. Or maybe it was a her, and there’s an equivalent in the ladies loo. Bound to be more difficult, though a penalty shoot-out would be interesting.

In the evening, Australia’s next opponents, Brazil and Croatia, play. We need Brazil to win, to ensure Croatia does not collect points, and then Australia can make the second round with a good showing against Croatia on 22 June. Brazil wins 1-0, but their central defence is unconvincing. A disgruntled Brazilian fan on television says, “Ronaldo is too fat. It’s a disaster.” Within minutes, outside my hotel room, hundreds of Brazilian fans hit the streets, horns blaring, bongoes banging and scantily-clad women dancing. The police divert the traffic. It’s a mystery why so many fans are here in Mannheim, when the game was across the country in Berlin. Perhaps they are everywhere, and they come out whenever Brazil wins. They come out a lot.