Lutz Pfannenstiel - The Unstoppable Keeper

CONTENTS

Published by Vision Sports Publishing in 2014

Vision Sports Publishing

19-23 High Street

Kingston upon Thames

Surrey

KT1 1LL

www.visionsp.co.uk

Epub ISBN: 978-1-909534-31-5

Mobi ISBN: 978-1-909534-30-8

Book ISBN: 978-1-909534-28-5

Originally published in Germany as Unhaltbar Meine Abenteuer als Welttorhter 2009 Rowohlt Verlag GmbH, Reinbek bei Hamburg

English Language Translation: Matthew Rockey 2014

The moral right of the copyright holders has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Written by: Lutz Pfannenstiel with Christian Putsch

Translated by: Matthew Rockey

English edition editor: Jim Drewett

Copy editors: John Murray and Paul Baillie-Lane

Design: Doug Cheeseman

Front cover artwork: Stephen Gulbis (www.stephengulbis.com)

A CIP Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

For all the people across the world who love football as much as I do

There are so many people to thank for my incredible football adventure. But first and foremost I must give thanks to my parents, who have supported me and put up with the stress I have caused them throughout my career.

To my amazing wife, Amalia, who has always agreed to my crazy ideas and forgiven me when they didnt go to plan I wouldnt be where I am without you. To my ex-girlfriend, Anita, who stuck by me while I was in prison. You saved my life with your unbelievable dedication and support during those 101 days. To Trevor Storton, who sadly died in 2011, for allowing me to rebuild my life and love for football at Bradford Park Avenue. To Bruce Macdonald, Marc Chidley and all the players and staff at Dunedin Technical the peace and tranquility of New Zealand, and your warm, friendly attitude saved my career. To Ray Killick for saving my life three times after my heart stopped on the pitch Ill never forget that kiss.

Finally, a special thanks goes to all the coaches, players and people I met during my globetrotting football journey you made my career and I will never forget any of you.

A lmost everything is filled with blackness. Outside its bright, the sun is beaming, but there arent any windows on this bus, theres no way of looking out at the outside world, nor even at the driver. Only a dim lightbulb highlights the dark silhouettes of the other passengers, who hold on tight to the bars as we drive around corners or at least they try to, handcuffs permitting.

The stench on the prison bus is nauseating. We stand pressed against each other, barely able to move from the spot. Twelve prisoners, one cramped and stinking bus. The sticky air mixes with adrenaline and cold sweat. Some of these men have killed, some are rapists. I just played football. I wonder how long weve been on the road. It feels like an eternity, and with every passing minute I leave my old life behind me.

I feel the metal digging into my wrists. The court officer snapped the handcuffs shut so hard. At least Im not chained to any of the bars. Only four Chinese men are, standing silently and staring into the darkness. I memorise their faces they seem to be the ones with the most to answer for. Some of the prisoners are smoking, they must have somehow smuggled the tobacco on board. A young Asian man is standing next to me, his hair shorn to a few millimetres. He fiddles with his watch. It flips open like an old-fashioned pocket watch, revealing some white powder inside. An emergency coke ration. His last for years perhaps even his last ever. Calmly, he snorts it.

So here I am. On board a prison bus on my way to Singapores Queenstown Remand Prison. Five months in one of the worlds most notorious jails. Is my global journey as a professional football player really going to end here, on the afternoon of 7 January 2001? The sport has shown me half the world, and it has led me to wonderful places and to wonderful people. And now it is taking me to prison, into exile. The judges harsh words from an hour ago still ring loudly in my ears: She said it had been proven that I had played a part in a match-fixing scheme. An absurd accusation, but what does that matter now? Nothing. Will I ever be allowed to play professional football again? My lawyers couldnt promise me that.

The bus swerves sharply to the left. I have to steady myself by holding onto one of the bars. Outside there are people who, just a few months ago, still cheered me on and voted me Singapores goalie of the year. But recently they just pointed at me. Kelong! [Fraud!] That hurt, almost even more so than the prison sentence that awaits me. How could I ever betray something I love as much as football? How will my family survive all this time? And Anita will she really stand by me, as she promised me teary-eyed in the courtroom?

The bus comes to an abrupt halt. Two guards wrench open the door, the sunlight hurts my eyes. Were in the middle of the prison yard, where German Shepherds have been brought out ready for our arrival. If anyone has been able to smuggle drugs on board the prison bus, they will be found out now no matter where the drugs are hidden about their person. Undress, bellows one man like a military drill sergeant. I know whats coming; I already spent time here while I was awaiting trial. The German Shepherds run between and around us. Then a guard comes up to me. Open your mouth. Wearing rubber gloves, he pulls out my tongue. No drugs. Now bend down and open your asshole. It was worse the first time I came to the prison. This time I knew what to expect, but it was still the most degrading thing Ive ever been through in my life. Half an hour later, all I own are two brown pairs of shorts, two white T-shirts and see-through flip-flops. And what remains of a dream which has all but died. But first things first.

I never met Ratko Svilar, yet he was the inspiration for an unbelievable football journey that would take me to all four corners of the globe, not to mention landing me in a Singapore jail.

Ill never forget the moment I saw Ratko for the first time. I had turned the volume on the little colour TV in my bedroom down to a faint whisper, like I did most nights when Eurosport broadcast all the goals from the minor football leagues, my mother wrongly believing Id been asleep for hours. The players on the tiny screen rarely appeared larger than African flying ants. I got so close to the TV that the players became nothing more than a blur. My eyes began to hurt after a couple of minutes, but I couldnt miss a single move the goalkeepers made: How they would direct their teammates, curse loudly and dive after each ball.

and yet again Ratko Svilar punches the ball out of danger, whispered the reporter into my little bedroom. Without their goalkeeper, FC Antwerp would surely be five places further down the table. Ratko Svilar, what a name. I watched as the huge Serb, with his long, dirt-smeared hair and a scowl on his face, dived in slow motion to stop a shot. And at that moment I knew that one day I, too, would be a professional goalkeeper.

Im gonna be just like Ratko Svilar, I said as I greeted my mother at the breakfast table the next morning, as if shed known this Svilar for years. But she was already well aware of the fact that she wasnt raising just any 12-year-old boy. The goalkeeper? she asked, barely looking up. I was impressed that she knew who FC Antwerps keeper was. My mother smiled. Back then I used to harp on about famous goalkeepers on a daily basis and at some point shed noticed how I never praised outfield players. But that didnt occur to me. Yes, like Svilar, I carried on. If I dont make it in the Bundesliga, then Ill just go to a different country and become a professional there. After all, Svilars from Serbia and hes now playing in Belgium. My mother smiled again. Yes, Lutz. You just need to pop to school beforehand. Your first lesson starts in 15 minutes. She was great at rousing me from my daydreams. I got going exactly 12 minutes later, since I only lived a three-minute walk from school and didnt want to waste any more time than I had to.