The Day Duisburg Found Us

Words and images by Euan McKechnie

What began as a hungover pilgrimage to Dortmund’s famous Westfalenstadion turned into something far more unexpected — a spontaneous detour into the heart of lower-league German football. From Düsseldorf rain to Duisburg’s delirium, this is a story about how the beautiful game has a funny way of finding you.

A Rough Morning in Düsseldorf

The head is nipping, and the grogginess is real. Any hopes of our jaunt abroad offering better weather than we’re used to in the west of Scotland are dashed as rain drums steadily against the tiny balcony of our “city view apartment”.

We’re in Düsseldorf, just east of the Rhine, and it’s the city’s traditional altbiers — those dark, malty lagers that flow endlessly through its brauhauses — that have left us feeling somewhat fragile.

If you’re into your football, especially the German kind, this is a dream of a location. Every time you pinch to zoom out on the map, another familiar football city pops up. Düsseldorf is football-mad, Köln is just a stone’s throw away, and to get there you have to pass through Leverkusen. But our destination lies further east: Dortmund.

We’re finally making the pilgrimage to the Westfalenstadion to soak in the atmosphere — and a few cold German biers while we’re at it. Though, as it turned out, our route there grew arms and legs.

“It felt like a divine German footballing force was guiding us through Nordrhein-Westfalen.”

The Recovery Mission

Once we’ve rallied — a few paracetamol, some Gaviscon, and the hydrating goodness of Dioralyte consumed — we head for the train. It’s immediately clear we’re not firing on all cylinders. By the time we round the corner from the hotel, we realise we’re likely to arrive in Dortmund six hours before kick-off.

Not the worst problem if you want to make the most of matchday, so we press on. We grab pizza from a station bakery and a few Wegbiers for the journey. Shortly after, the beers are cracked, spirits are lifted, and we’re en route to Dortmund.

The Mystery of Duisburg

As the stops on our journey scroll across the screen, one name jumps out — Duisburg. Roughly halfway between Düsseldorf and Dortmund, it’s not a place I’d heard of until about four years ago.

Back then, the man sitting beside me texted to ask if the postie had been yet. A day later, a parcel arrived — one of those mystery football shirt boxes. Inside was a blue and white hooped shirt by a manufacturer I’d never heard of, with a crest I didn’t recognise.

It turned out to be the 2021/22 home shirt of MSV Duisburg. A quick dive into Wikipedia revealed that Die Zebras, as they’re affectionately known for their striped kits, were one of the founding members of the Bundesliga — now languishing in Germany’s fourth tier.

“Off the train at Duisburg, it felt like a football fever dream.”

A Footballing Coincidence

We’re so early that we start wondering about hopping off for a look around. A quick check of the fixtures reveals something extraordinary — Duisburg are playing today, at home, with an early kick-off.

Moments before the train stops, we make a snap decision: we’re doing it. We’ve got hours to kill, and it’s far too perfect a coincidence to ignore.

Off the train at Duisburg, it feels surreal. We’re suddenly surrounded by fans in the same shirt that once arrived unannounced through my letterbox. The city is buzzing. It turns out Die Zebras have just wrapped up the Regionalliga West title, and this is their final home game before a return to 3. Liga. The streets are alive with celebration.

From Dortmund Dreams to Duisburg Reality

Today was supposed to be about Dortmund and the Westfalenstadion, but fate had other ideas. We’re now striding through a city most people back home haven’t heard of, buzzing for a match we didn’t even know was happening an hour ago.

I queue at the club shop to grab a pin badge — a must, obviously — while my cousin heads off to see if we can get tickets. Ten minutes later, he reappears with two in hand. Sorted.

A couple of plastic cups of lager from a kiosk later, and we’re on our way to the Ost Tribune of the Schauinsland-Reisen-Arena. As we’re about to head inside, a chorus of chanting rises behind us. A group of away fans are being escorted by police. Oddly, we think kick-off is in fifteen minutes — it’s actually in one hour and fifteen.

Those Düsseldorf altbiers clearly hadn’t finished with us.

The Matchday Magic

We’d planned to stay for half the match before catching the train to Dortmund, but even the first fifteen minutes feels like a bonus. The atmosphere is too good to miss.

A few laps of the ground and a few more crisp lagers later, kick-off is upon us. As the teams walk out, a giant tifo unfurls across the Nordkurve:

“We are the fans of MSV. We give everything for our club.”

It’s an incredible sight — flags waving, smoke drifting, and an energy that feels far bigger than fourth-tier football.

We watch a fairly uneventful quarter-hour of football before slipping out to catch our train, the buzz of the day completely unspoiled.

A Divine Detour

Hours later, outside the Westfalenstadion, I check the score — Duisburg have won 3–0. Instagram is filled with scenes of wild celebration at the Rathaus, tens of thousands of fans watching their heroes lift the trophy.

Football is a mad thing. Somewhere, a random person in a warehouse once threw a large Duisburg shirt into a mystery box, unknowingly setting off one of the strangest football adventures I’ll ever have.

From following Die Zebras on FlashScore to loosely tracking their progress, I’d always thought it might be a fun trip to make one day. But the logistics, the effort — they always got in the way.

That day, though, it felt as if some unseen German footballing force was guiding us through Nordrhein-Westfalen. Now, I’ve been there, done that — and owned the T-shirt for quite a while.