Ich könnte selbst was dazu schreiben, aber der 11-Freunde-Liveticker hat schon alles gesagt:
Ein Angriff von Werder wie ein Skalpell, Pizarro schießt! An den Pfosten! Dann Almeida! Steht, nein: liegt frei vorm Tor wie eine gebärende Kuh, wo ist sein Kalb bzw. der Ball? Wo ist der Tierarzt? Zu spät. Ball weg. Kalb auch. Muh. Ja, nehmen Sie mich bitte mit.
Arnautovic spielt wie Cristiano Ronaldo auf der Konsole, wenn der Controller kaputt ist.
»Ich habe in einen Abgrund geschaut.« Den Abgrund allen Fan-Seins. 1000 Chancen, die vergeben wurden und also keine waren. Frings als Innenverteidiger, Merte als Spielmacher, jetzt ein Liebeskreis mit Wolfgang Rolff in der Mitte. Stunde Null in Bremen. Stunde Null in mir. Stunde 0:2. Wünschte, ich könnte die Uhr noch mal zurückstellen. Dann wäre es wenigstens fünf vor zwölf. Auf Nimmerwiedersehen.

Death is an alternative.

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