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Der Fuchsbau war es zwar nicht, aber Sean Churchill fühlte sich in Potsdam inmitten der Klatschpappen trotzdem gut aufgehoben.

© Sean Churchill

Handball: The American Experience

Blinking reflexively against the pounding sound of nearly 2,000 fans clapping their ‘Klatschpappen’ in unison, I was eagerly awaiting the opening whistle for a sport even more foreign to me than the unknown European food I’ve eaten at the flea market in Mauerpark.

As an American, I pride myself in not being your stereotypical sports fan. Sure, American football is certainly still above all else in terms of personal interest, and I have attended dozens of live baseball and basketball games in my home state of Michigan. However, I also consider myself a diehard ‘soccer’ fan, watching European and international matches as often as possible. I played soccer year-round from age five to eighteen, and I have an appreciation and passion for the game that I believe is still quite rare in the United States. I also regularly play and watch less popular sports such as golf and tennis and am an avid viewer of any event from table tennis to gymnastics during the Olympics. Overall, I would say that I am a very well-rounded and open-minded sports fanatic. However, within days of starting my 5-week internship here at Der Tagesspiegel, I realized that there was a sport that the Germans hold near and dear to their hearts that was completely missing from my wealth of sports knowledge: Handball.

My only experiences with the sport have been seeing it for short spurts of time during the Olympics every four years, but only if I am lucky enough to find it on one of the channels that it is delegated to in favor of other events. Even when there is chance to watch a few minutes of Handball action, I have quickly lost interest, mostly due to a complete lack of knowing what is happening on the screen. One major problem as to why Handball remains completely misunderstood and foreign to me (and pretty much all of America for that matter) is that the sport is relatively nonexistent in the US; there are no widespread youth teams or recreational leagues and no professional league.

Other important factors include the national team being historically uncompetitive (men’s team is 4-1-23 all time in Olympic competitions) and that there is simply little to no knowledge of the sport in the United States in general. There is even confusion as to what the term ‘Handball’ even refers to in the States. The United States Handball Association (USHA), the National Governing Body for the sport of ‘Handball’, has dedicated itself to promoting and governing the sport since its founding in 1951. The only problem is that the USHA is actually promoting and governing ‘Wall Handball’, or an American variation of Squash that is played with your hands, not Handball. The European version of the sport is called ‘Team Handball’ in the United States, which creates an enormous semantic issue that furthers the ignorance and confusion of the sport for Americans.

After finding out how big Handball was in Germany, and generally in much of Western Europe, I was determined to experience this exotic sport that has long perplexed and intrigued me. Plans of attending a Handball match in Berlin finally came to fruition when a co-worker invited me to accompany him to a preseason match in Potsdam between 1. VfL Potsdam and Füchse Berlin.

In a country thousands of miles from Michigan I suddenly felt at home

As I rode on the tram through the quaint and picturesque streets of Postdam, I tempered my expectations slightly for the coming match, knowing that it was the first preseason scrimmage between teams from the first and third leagues, both of whom would certainly not yet be in top form. Nevertheless, the moment I walked through the glass doors of the media entrance into MBA Arena and heard the chanting crowd and blaring music, I could feel my adrenaline spike ever so slightly. It was as if my first few steps into the arena had triggered an automatic bodily response that had been built up through years of training as a fan at sports complexes like Joe Louis Arena and Crisler Center in Michigan. As I walked by the locker rooms and onto the court, the bright lights from above shined down on me and the euphoric atmosphere of the fans washed over me. In a country thousands of miles from Michigan, with a public address announcer yelling in German over the loudspeaker about sponsors, I felt at home.

From the first blow of the referee’s whistle, I knew I was going to enjoy the sport. Right after kick-off (or hand-off?), I watched as a tightly packed group of seven players gathered in between the offense and the tiny goal. I was immediately intrigued as to how the offense would go about dissecting this wall of defenders. Beforehand, I ignorantly expected the sport to greatly resemble soccer, with the players simply using their hands instead of their feet. What actually transpired reminded me much more of basketball than anything else. Like in basketball, the offense seemed to want to move the ball around the court, weaving players back and forth as if motioning in a highly active basketball offense, while at the same time louring defenders slightly out of position. Watching the defense operate was even more compelling, as the defenders nearer to the outside had to switch their match-ups on the fly at a fierce pace, also very reminiscent to basketball. At the same time, an intense battle for position right above the 6-meter semi-circular area in front of the goalkeeper was taking place, where three defenders would do anything to prevent the centrally positioned attacking player from gaining position or catching the ball. To me, it seemed that everything that the defenders did to these poor attacking players was deemed legal, outside of body-slamming them onto the court. There were several times where one defender would hold the attacker by his jersey while another shoved him forcefully from behind without even a glance from the referee.

Even in a scrimmage, the Füchse were clearly manhandling the Potsdam players, shoving them repeatedly out of position with ease – the larger players for Berlin were probably on average fifteen centimeters taller and ten kilograms heavier than the bigger players for Potsdam. I can hardly imagine the increased intensity that exists in a regular season or postseason match between two evenly matched teams, with speedy wingers flying back and forth in transition and powerful enforcers battling it out in the trenches.

An aspect of the sport that really stood out was that the life of a Handball goalkeeper seemed to be quite miserable – I learned that a save-percentage of around 30% for a goalie is considered average. So in order to be average, a goalie fails seven out of every ten times. The combination of extremely powerful throws, a relatively small ball, and the short shooting distance creates a less than desirable job for the goalkeepers. It seemed that every time a goalie did happen to make a save, it was met with much praise and recognition from the crowd. However, goalie is one of the more difficult and demanding positions in any sport, and in Handball it seems an even more unattractive destination for a player.

The idea of Klatschpappen in the US is disappointingly underutilized

Another facet of the game that intrigued me was the so called “Siebenmeter”, which is basically the same as a penalty kick in soccer, but instead of standing on the goal line, the goalie stands about four meters off of the line, waving their hands and feet wildly to attempt to keep the ball out of the net by any means possible. Opposite the goalie stands the shooter, who has three seconds to shoot and is allowed to deceive the goalie with pump fakes, but must keep one foot on the ground up until the throw. To an untrained onlooker such as myself, this back and forth between the two players looks like some sort of exotic and thought-provoking interpretive dance. The ‘Siebenmeter’ was also yet another representation of the difficult life of a Handball goalkeeper, with seemingly nine out of ten battles going in favor of the shooter.

The major part of the match that I will never forget and hope to be a part of in the future is the electric and infectious atmosphere in the stands. Naturally, the fans must have been partially more subdued than usual due to it being a preseason scrimmage, but they certainly impressed in relation to my American standards. The idea of Klatschpappen in the United States is disappointingly underutilized, with noisemakers and the like only being used sparingly as marketing gags in sports arenas, with children being the main user. With the drums leading the way, the Klatschpappen created a surprisingly intimidating and deafening symphony that could clearly affect the players on either side. Most notably at college basketball games in the United States, fans pride themselves on being as loud and passionate as possible in order to rally their home side, but more importantly, to intimidate and negatively affect the opponent. If Klatschpappen were integrated into college sports arenas around the United States, the atmosphere at these sporting events would take a drastic turn for the better. The unified sound that is created by smashing a folded up piece of cardboard against one’s hand could arguably change the landscape of American sports. Perhaps that is a bit of an exaggeration…but the awesome feeling that came over me when these Handball fans were chanting and clapping in unison throughout the duration of the match will be something that sticks with me for a long time.

If given the chance, I think that Handball could be resoundingly successful in the United States. It combines many elements from the sports that Americans are familiar with, and the fast-paced nature and fun atmosphere that are displayed at a match are aspects that can be enjoyed anywhere in the world. It would help to first have a public service announcement explaining to the ignorant Americans that there is indeed a difference between Handball and Squash.

After my experience, I certainly hope to return to Europe someday to watch another Handball match, indulging in the raucous atmosphere and banging away with my very own Klatschpappen.

Sean Churchill

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