A Champions League Flow: Fan culture notes on Borussia Dortmund vs Real Madrid.

Words: Tom Reed

Images: Tom Reed & Sam Wainwright (where stated).

Football is about flow, whether in possession or in the stands.

The Champions League final at Wembley was a flood of folk, barely contained by security because when the surge was contained, another inlet formed.

There were supporters of Borussia Dortmund and Real Madrid in every nook and cranny, half the world’s nylon carried on hundreds of thousands of backs.

Many didn’t have tickets. It didn’t matter because it was about the people as much as the players.

There had been a Dortmund fan party at Hyde Park, more Reading Festival than a football event and you could seen the yellow glare of the BVB replica jerseys from space.

©Sam Wainwright/ Terrace Edition. Borussia Dortmund fans at Hyde Park.

The Unity of Dortmund decamped to the Torch pub, their presence shown by a bread-crumb trail of stickers on lampposts. Für immer Westfalen Stadion” read one but Wembley was clearly a draw that meant putting up with £8 pints.

And as quickly as a beer was downed, they were gone, quietly and efficiently into the road for an impromptu corteo with no phones and little chanting.

While Real Madrid fans brought the noise and a South American rhythm from their global fanbase, it’s all about the journey for Borussia, whose supporters never expected to make the final in the first place.

It’s barely 20 years since the Dortmund club were nigh-on bankrupt with Fanabteilung members pushing for a democratic input into the club as much as the mustard shirted players nudged for success on the pitch.

BVB fans can walk around proudly with “Yellow Wall” t-shirts, aware that the world knows exactly what that Südtribüne is.

©Tom Reed/ Terrace Edition. Real Madrid supporters at Wembley.

But the old-school “Desperados” will tell you that everything isn’t perfect, that sometimes songs take so long to each the back of the giant terrace that songs have ended at the front before they reach the rear.

Dortmund played the game at Wembley exactly how they should, not being overawed by Madrid’s metal polishers.

Yet they just couldn’t find a goal, always on that journey, swimming against the tide but never in danger of drowning.

Some people tried to force the Wembley gates, it was said, inevitable for this match that everyone wanted to say they were there.

What started as a torrent turned into a lazy river, which meandered on into the North London night.