German Football Is No Longer German

The Prussian Militaristic Spirit Is Dead—At Least on the Football Pitch

Germany is known for many things. They have cars that everyone desires; they have beer which everyone likes to drink; they have an economy which everyone wants to profit from; and they have a past that everyone wants to remember but the ordinary German wants to forget, even though he or she can’t.

It was in Paris, many years back, when I was having a conversation with a German girlfriend called Heidi that I asked Heidi what she thought about the Nazis. Like all modern Germans, she had an answer ready: "It happened before I was born."

Fair play. I asked no more and had a grand time getting drunk with her, talking about football.

Heidi was from my generation, and she had watched Germany reach the finals in 2002, and then win 3rd place in 2010, before winning the World Cup in 2014. Heidi sang praises of the German spirit and how it allowed them to perform as well as they did in these three World Cups. Having been a former amateur footballer in my teenage years, I agreed with her assertion that Germany was a machine and the German could achieve anything he or she puts his or her mind to.

In fact, the 2014 Brazil World Cup had just got over when I was having this conversation in Paris, and the memory of the 7-1 drubbing Germany subjected Brazil to was fresh. Heidi agreed Germany showed more strength of character than any other country, and hence won, including against Brazil and Holland in the final.

But when I asked her if the German multicultural team truly represented the German spirit, Heidi suddenly went silent. You see, Heidi was a blonde, blue-eyed German from Northern Germany, which at one point in time was Prussia, and it seemed to me she represented the Nazi definition of Aryan. But even though Heidi had not one racist bone in her body, knowing her as well as I did, she couldn’t make up her mind if a team comprising the Turkish Özil, the Tunisian Khedira, and the Ghanaian Boateng was German.

However, Germany had won, and she simply smiled and said, "That is modern Germany."

She was right. Modern Germany is multicultural, multiracial, and multi-faith. But then, when your nation changes so much from what it used to be, the national spirit changes too, and new generations are born who cannot be compared to their ancestors. And this new generation of German players—inclusive, accepting, unbiased—have, despite the largesse of spirit in accepting all, lost the Prussian militaristic spirit.

What Do I Mean by That?

In the 18th and 19th centuries, Prussia was the most powerful German kingdom, and their ambitions were grand. Under the Chancellor Bismarck and under King Wilhelm, whom he served, Prussia fought three wars—against Denmark, Austria, and France—to form what is today modern Germany from a conglomeration of smaller kingdoms and dukedoms, like the Kingdom of Bavaria and even Saxe-Coburg-Gotha (which would end up being the last name of the Kings of England before, upon the declaration of the First World War, the British royal family changed their name to Windsor).

After these wars, the German Empire was born, and German success made Germany truly believe that she would have "her place in the sun," as Kaiser Wilhelm II put it after the First World War defeat in one of his rare interviews. And to have her place in the sun, Germany would militarize, even though militarization was what Prussia was already known for.

Ever since Prussia was born, the knights and land-owning Junkers of Prussia believed war to be their holy purpose, and Prussia fought almost for two centuries leading up to the First World War. First it was the War of the Austrian Succession, then the Seven Years' War, then the Napoleonic and Revolutionary Wars, and then the wars of German unification. Prussia and Prussians never failed to show up to the fight. It was almost as if the Prussian was born to fight, and it was this spirit of war-making and fighting which the Nazis leveraged when they glorified Prussian kings such as Frederick II (aka Frederick the Great) and asked Germany to jump headlong into a war that would end all wars and make Germany masters of the universe.

However, they lost. Their war crimes, including the Holocaust of Jews, Roma, and Slavs, were exposed, and Germany’s spine was broken. But while Germany chose since then to become more pacifist, the Prussian—or by this time, the German—spirit showed up on the football field, where Germany usually won.

The Death of the Machine

But that spirit is dead. If I could have that conversation again with Heidi, I would tell her that today’s Germans don’t have the discipline and courage of their ancestors—qualities which made the German distinct, even hated, but which served Germany not only in war and violence but also when a destroyed Germany had to be rebuilt by Konrad Adenauer’s government after the Second World War. And I am sure Heidi would agree.

But why do I say so?

In the round of 32 in the recent 2026 World Cup, Germany faced a Paraguay side renowned for playing what we call in street parlance "haram ball." Paraguay defended… that’s it… they defended, and Germany couldn’t break them down. While it was acceptable that they couldn’t break Paraguay down and the match went into extra time and penalties, what is and will be unacceptable to many Germans is Germany’s performance in the penalty shootout—an exercise Germany were masters at, never losing one. But this time they lost, and if we investigate why, the answer is clear: they couldn’t hold their nerve.

Leon Goretzka, a Bayern Munich midfielder and a decent one at that, was asked twice by captain Joshua Kimmich to take a penalty, and he refused twice—possibly because he couldn’t handle the pressure, or maybe because he had lost his nerve. For those like me who have been following German football since Bierhoff and Klinsmann played, it was a surprise like no other.

Having read German history, I realized Prussianism, or Prussian militarism, was finally dead, and a new Germany had emerged where Germans actually felt fear. I grew up believing the Germans didn’t feel fear and were almost like machines who could achieve anything and win at anything they put their minds to. But Goretzka’s refusal to take a penalty told me this wasn’t the same Germany, and I recalled what Heidi had said when I had asked her if native Germans thought of Özil and Gündoğan as German. She said yes without hesitation, but added, "They don’t have German blood."

A Change for the Better?

Well, it is impossible to say if German genes determined their fighting spirit in the recent past and even during the Middle Ages, but what is clear is Germans no longer have the fighting spirit they once had. This, more than anything else, confirms that the Prussian militaristic spirit is dead, and maybe for good.

In fact, there is nothing noble about fighting wars and killing people. So, as the Germans become less machine-like, maybe we should accept that Germany has changed, and multiculturalism has changed Germany. Now, if this change is good or bad, I leave that to you, because Germany remains one of the most successful nations on earth.

But maybe Germany today is less Prussian and more Turk, Ghanaian, Arab, Polish… and maybe it is for the better, because no culture can survive without change, and change sometimes is good. Although this change has made the likes of Goretzka more human, more fragile, and more like us mere mortals, I am sure Germany will navigate this cultural change and be back for the next World Cup with their swords sharpened and their armor shining. Klopp may just be the right man for the job.

Most modern Germans agree that Germany cannot be what it was when Prussia dominated the German narrative and identity. They agree that nations change, and with the nation changing, sports will change too. And if Heidi is reading this, I would like to remind her: it is sometimes good to lose, because without failure, success cannot be born. No one is perfect, and hence Nazi Germany is dead, and modern Germany is alive—and it breathes, laughs, cries, and succeeds in most things the Germans do.