Club World Cup | Bullshit bingo under the egg-file moon

Although I'm a distinguished Berliner with Thuringian roots, in the context of football, there's a truly terrible synonym for evil under the sun. It's the town of Vieselbach. Every profoundly decent person avoids it, and especially the glow-in-the-dark stadium located there, nicknamed the Erfurt Steigerwald Stadium by the wrinkled locals, which in upright circles is known as the glow-in-the-dark arena because everything a Vieselbacher touches breaks and crumbles to dust. Poor forest farmer's boy, blessed wanderer, stay away from this slum where the gnawed souls of FC Rot Weiß Vieselbach torture the beautiful game of football.

The sight of this degrading place not far from the filthy banks of the Vieselbach stream, which naturally carries with it all kinds of filth, such as toad skin pus, middle ear infections, or borage-mustard-infested web nests, makes innocent milk cows shake their heads, the flowers wilt, and all the cuddly rabbits commit seppuku. Welcome to the Argonauts of eternal damnation! In this nightmare region, whose inhabitants trample, babble to death, or naughtily mount every tender plant, only orcs and ogres feel at home.

Let's stick to the truth: Vieselbach is a fucking graveyard for serious cultured people from all over the world, and especially from glorious Jena, where our FC Carl Zeiss has defied the onslaught of Vieselbachian resentment for centuries. Vieselbach is a party place for cheap-flying booze tourists who don't give a shit about anything noble, helpful, or good. But Goethe, Schiller, and the great VEB Wolf Biermann roamed Jena. In Vieselbach, they worship Rumpelstiltskin in the 69th line and reciprocally beat their teeth and balls off in the clever-pig wallow every night.

Yes, things are pretty nasty in this cat-free neighborhood. What do you think happens to a fluffy furry friend, in all its innocence, when it falls into the gouty clutches of red-and-white potbellied dads and toothless, pinafore-wearing moms? But know this: their nerve-wracking screeching, their bizarre hypercacophony, betrays the presence of the Vieselbach Grindchor to us from a great distance.

When the people of Jena eat their fancy knackwurst, the whole of Vieselbach has been munching on moldy bread since 1312. While we cry over starving polar bears, the people of Vieselbach laugh over shredded chicks and suckle on oak processionary moth caterpillars.

Oh no, it's so terrible! Yes, it's so hopeless. Anyone who reads a book in Vieselbach is immediately tarred and feathered. Anyone who greets their neighbor with "Good morning" will have their tongue ripped out of their mouth with red-hot pliers. Get lost, you idiots, you Viesel, off you go to the Zonengabi desert!

Under the Thuringian summer sun, only we show off!