Don't get me wrong I love my old club, 1. FC Köln, but I love something more. I didn't transfer to Bayern for more money, money wasn't even a question. I didn't transfer to Bayern because it simply is a better club. I have an extreme loyalty to Köln and would someday like to go back. To me it's like extreme nationalism, where every club is it's own country. Each club has it's rivals, each has it's followers. Every time two clubs meet on the pitch, it is like a battle is taking place and the cup they are fighting for is the war. My country ended up like Poland in World War II, another follower of the greater nations. I was content at Köln even though we were (and they still are) fighting for democracy in Vietnam.
I was the Fuhrer at Köln, there I was amongst my friends, my allies. I joined the Bayern army for one thing only, a fellow soldier. This soldier, though young, was already successful for his country. He won many medals in the first troop. I've heard from the higher-ups that my soldier boy is much happier and performing better with me here. His aim is on target, his stamina is stronger, and he works harder. Bastian Schweinsteiger has a reason to fight; me, I don't care what or why or for whom I am fighting for as long as I am with him. I long to fight in front of him, make his awards mine. I will do anything for Schweini even if I am considered Benedict Arnold to my old club.
One day we were on the front. The rest of the squad had left for the day and only Schweini and I were there. We sat on the grass and idly passed the ball between us.
“I'm happy you came here Poldi,” Bastian sighed,
“You doubted this would happen?” I asked.
He chuckled because he knew the answer, he won the war.
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