How fans saved the day in Dortmund on a night European football was plunged into fear

In the Gutenbergstraße 36, a nondescript apartment block in Dortmund’s inner city, lives Benjamin Kriz, an information technology specialist, with his bulldog Henk. The street is close to the town hall and just south of the city centre, a low-rise skyline with greyish office buildings. Kriz likes to play around with his dog after a walk.

In the spacious apartment, a small SchwarzGelbe crest with the letters “BVB” reveals that Kriz has Echte Liebe (True Love) for his football club, as the motto of Borussia Dortmund goes. He is not a season ticket holder, but tends to go to selected matches. Against AS Monaco in the first leg of the Champions League quarter-final, he gave it a miss.

He settled to watch it on television, but as he returned from a toilet break, news of an explosion filtered through and soon did the subsequent announcement that the Champions League quarter-final had been postponed over security concerns following consultation between UEFA, the two clubs and the local authorities.

Amid the news of explosives, shattered window screens, a shocked Dortmund squad and confusion in and around Dortmund’s giant Westfalenstadion, Kriz decided to show his solidarity with stranded French fans and offered his flat as emergency accommodation via social media using the hashtag #bedsforawayfans.

It was a heartening gesture from Dortmund fans, amid the worrying negative of a football game under siege. Yet the day had begun with so much promise, with a crackle in the air, with the zing, excitement and anticipation that only grand European football nights have. The atmosphere was building nicely. This was to be a night of avant-garde sports between Thomas Tuchel and Leonardo Jardim, and two teams of unrivalled, boyish potency, against the backdrop of a legendary European venue.

Football interrupted

Fans mingled in the city’s historical centre. They visited the German football museum, devoted to Die Mannschaft with life-size portraits of the 1954 West German team and plenty of football paraphernalia. They flocked, palpably excited, to the bars around the market and the Reinoldi Church. There was a sense of occasion, with two clubs on the cusp of greatness. The fans had a bravado about them.

Royalty also graced the occasion. In walking distance from the stadium, Prince Albert II of Monaco greeted AS Monaco’s delegation at their team hotel. He briefly shook some hands and before the fans, sipping beer at the bar and gorging on fries with sausages, had noticed, he was gone again in his mini-motorcade.

Further east, fans were slowly walking up and down the ramps to the stadium. French supporters, who had driven all the way from the principality, were searching for car parks. Queues were forming at food vans, selling local grilled meat, rich in juicy fatness, ready to be washed down at “Strobels”, a kitschy, low-end bar in the shadow of the stadium with disco music and colourful lighting.

Media representatives were arriving. The UEFA office was bustling with activity and the prawn and sandwich club took their seats in the corporate hospitality boxes. In short, all the actors of a Champions League evening were playing their part.

Initial confusion and then deflation

Then broke the news – first as a confusing rumour, then as a Bild-report, and finally as a fact. On the team bus Roman Bürki, Dortmund’s Swiss goalkeeper, was sitting next to Marc Bartra, who got injured in the explosion and will require surgery. He later recounted what had happened.

“The bus turned on the main road when there was suddenly a huge bang, a proper explosion,” said Bürki. “The police were quickly on the spot and handled the situation. We were all in shock … After the bang, we all ducked and those who could lie on the floor did so. We didn’t know what was going to happen next.”

Inside the stadium, Norbert Dickel, Dortmund’s PA, addressed the fans, assuring supporters that there was no threat in and around ground. They reacted calmly and composedly, leaving their seats serenely.

It was a feeling of deflation and utter disappointment that a projected night of top football would not materialise – but there was also an understanding of the circumstances involved. Soon the stadium became a fort, with a drone and a helicopter hovering low to monitor the surroundings. Police and security personnel were deployed and noisy sirens rang through the night.

But not before the visiting fans, in a corner of the stadium, reacted with chants of “Dortmund, Dortmund”, a gallant gesture of support. In turn the inhabitants and fans of Dortmund opened their homes and bedrooms. It was one positive on an otherwise glum and mirthless night.