They're the third most successful country in international football, yet the Germans don't get much in the way of credit for their World Cup wins. In some respects, this is no wonder. For example, West Germany were the best side at Italia 90 by a long chalk, but then that tournament was pretty much the worst in World Cup history: you only have to look at who bumbled through to the semi-final stage, while the final was such a thundering non-event that in his Complete Book Of The World Cup, the peerless Cris Freddi couldn't even be bothered to describe the match. ("Because it's a World Cup Final, we're expected to give it due respect with a full report, blow-by-blow. But the heart's not in it." Which is still 25 more words than the game deserved.)
Then there was the Miracle of Berne in 1954. West Germany have never been forgiven for ending the 36-match unbeaten run of Ferenc Puskas's imperious Hungary on the biggest stage of all. The last few years have seen some attempts at balancing out the long-held view that a vastly superior side were robbed by a gaggle of chancers: it's argued that Sepp Herberger's Germans were a tight-knit team armed with a tactical plan; Hungary, not that they knew it at the time, were already in decline, a collection of carefree individuals over-reliant on Puskas; the freewheeling Helmut Rahn was the equal of Nandor Hidegkuti, maybe even harder to mark.
Nice try, but nobody's really buying it. Hungary played a poor final, for sure, yet still scored twice, hit the woodwork three times, and had a goal disallowed for a ludicrous offside decision by a Welsh linesman with pieces of cheese on toast for retinas. Puskas was hopping around on one leg, his ankle having been reduced by Germany's Werner Liebrich in that 8-3 group debacle. And the entire Hungarian team were utterly spent: while the Germans sauntered to the final thanks to an easy draw pitting them against Yugoslavia and Austria, Hungary had to beat the 1950 runners-up Brazil, engage in a 10-minute fist-and-bottle fight in the changing rooms afterwards, then contest extra-time in the semi-final against reigning world champions Uruguay, who had never previously lost a World Cup match. They were also kept up until 5am the night before the final by the sweet soul sounds of a Swiss band parping away outside their hotel, the theme tune to Hancock's Half Hour on continuous loop. Whatever could go wrong for one of the greatest collection of players the world has ever seen, went wrong: no wonder the romantics are still apopleptic about it.
And then there's 1974.
Possibly because that World Cup was recorded in glorious Technicolor, rather than the grainy film of 20 years earlier, the Dutch team of 1974 is considered by many to be the greatest team to never win football's biggest prize. That year's West German vintage, meanwhile, are saddled with the reputation of party poopers, the roundheads who routed the cavaliers. It's a terrible distortion.
In a first-round group game against Sweden, Johan Cruyff turned a man on the left wing by sweeping the ball behind his own standing leg and racing off in the other direction. The move would define the entire tournament as Holland began to take the plaudits for their Total Football. They trounced Bulgaria 4-1, then went on to play some extravagant football in the semi-final group stage, routing Argentina 4-0 then seeing off thuggish world champions Brazil 2-0 in an iconic battle, playing both South American giants off the park yet not being afraid to put the boot in when necessary: the team really could defend as well as they could attack. And they looked good; long-haired, decadent hipsters swanning around Germany for a month, love-beads a-clacking as they romped with waitresses in hotel pools. (Which slightly ruined the tournament's austere aesthetic. It's always raining, somehow a bit monochrome even though it's in glorious colour, yet a bit steamy too. You get the feeling there were a lot of really good sex and drug parties going on somewhere. Although there's also an argument that Paul Breitner, Franz Beckenbauer and Gerd Muller were effortlessly cool in a way the Dutch were not, but I'm going way off piste here.)
West Germany, meanwhile, struggled. They lost to East Germany in the only competitive fixture ever played between the two German states, a defeat which sent Helmut Schoen into such a hot funk that someone had to cut his dinner into tiny pieces and spoon-feed him like a child; Beckenbauer spent the rest of the tournament holding his hand. After stumbling through the first group stage in second place, the side only really got going in the semi-final group, and even then their performances were staunch rather than stunning: a hard-fought 2-0 win over Yugoslavia, a four-goal second-half blast against the nondescript Swedes, and a gritty one-goal win over a very good Poland side.
But in truth you can take what you want from the early games. Holland, for example, should never even have been at the finals. They only scraped through after a 0-0 draw at home to Belgium; had Leon Semmeling's goal not been dubiously given offside, the Dutch would have been out. Meanwhile Cruyff's amazing turn against the Swedes was all good and well, but much good it did them: the game was drawn 0-0. And Breitner's goal against Chile in West Germany's opening match was as total as anything the Dutch produced, the full-back seemingly patrolling both flanks at once, then pelting in a ridiculous effort from 35 yards.
It is, ultimately, Holland's performance in the final that has sealed their legend, and West Germany's reputation as second-rate champions. The received wisdom goes like this. Holland go one up through a Johan Neeskens penalty before their opponents have even touched the ball. They dick around for 20 minutes or so, toying with the Germans, making Jim Baxter's antics at Wembley in 1967 appear more direct than Diego Maradona's second goal against England in 1986. The Germans draw level through a dodgy Breitner penalty after Bernd Hölzenbein dives over Wim Jansen's leg, then scramble a second before half-time through Muller. The second half is a slapstick farce, Sepp Maier being forced to make save after save as Holland lay siege to the German goal. And somehow it's not enough. Robbery.
All of this does indeed happen. Well, sort of. Jansen does bring Hölzenbein down, sticking his leg out with all the elegance of Noddy Holder circa The Grimleys. Muller's strike, meanwhile, was a masterclass in poaching, one of the most under-rated goals of all time (just look at that balance) and arguably the best to win any World Cup. And there is much more to consider.
For a start, it's not Germany's fault Holland started to bugger about in an attempt to "humiliate" the Germans for the crimes of world war two. The Nazis had indeed visited misery and death on the Netherlands, but this was 30 years down the line and only Wim van Hanegem, whose entire family were tragically killed, harboured any real bitterness. The English rightly get pelters for continually banging on about the war, so it's amazing this Dutch side still get away with a rank lack of professionalism; they didn't do their job in the biggest game of all.
So when the West Germans equalised, it was hardly the bolt from the blue of popular perception. Holland did subsequently press, Johnny Rep missing a gilt-edged chance, and after Muller had made it 2-1, they give the German goal a good going over in the second half. But it wasn't one-way traffic. Berti Vogts broke through to force a splendid save from Jan Jongbloed – more total football from the Germans, there, seeing as his job on paper was simply to stop Cruyff – while Beckenbauer thrashed a superlative long-range free kick just over the bar.
Fifteen minutes into the second half, Muller brought down a looping right-wing cross, stepped clear of the Dutch defence, and hammered the ball home. It was disallowed, preposterously and incorrectly, for offside. Then Hölzenbein was again brought down by Noddy Holder, who again needlessly hung a leg out. No penalty was awarded, an utterly ridiculous decision which should at least stop the whelping about Germany's first goal.
So West Germany deservedly won the World Cup, though Holland grabbed arguably the more precious prize, the title of People's Champions. But while it's a shame that Cruyff and Neeskens didn't get their hands on the World Cup – nobody's saying they weren't a great team – the alternative would have been far worse: no World Cup winner's medals to show for the careers of Beckenbauer (seen here not so much evading challenges as ignoring them), the ridiculously good Muller, Brietner, Vogts or Maier.
It's also often forgotten that West Germany were the reigning European champions at the time, a 3-1 Gunther Netzer-inspired rout of England at Wembley their signature performance. They also went on to make the Euro 76 final, only to be undone by that Panenka penalty. Holland meanwhile petulantly refused to take a kick-off after conceding a goal at those 1976 Euro finals, then lost to Scotland in the 1978 World Cup.
