Newly promoted Kaiserslautern stunned football a quarter of a century ago when they won the 1997-98 Bundesliga title. Otto Rehhagel, some nasal strips and the mother of all managerial meltdowns were vital, but it all began with Bayern Munich sowing the seeds of their own downfall…
Words Uli Hesse
The story of the greatest upset in Bundesliga history is also one of the sweetest revenge stories you’re ever likely to hear. The fairytale started long before Kaiserslautern began to hint that they might become the first newly promoted team in history to win Germany’s top flight. Instead, it kicked off in Bayern Munich’s clubhouse on the evening of April 27, 1996. A few hours earlier, FC Hollywood had lost at home to sixth-placed Hansa Rostock to slip three points behind Borussia Dortmund at the table’s summit. The title wasn’t yet out of Bayern’s grasp, and they’d also just booked a place in the UEFA Cup final with a legendary performance against Barcelona at the Camp Nou, so there was no reason for Die Roten to panic. But panic, they did.
Bayern’s distinguished and formidable triumvirate – president Franz Beckenbauer, vice-president Karl-Heinz Rummenigge and business manager Uli Hoeness – talked to several key players about the situation and their coach, 57-year-old Otto Rehhagel. As early as September, striker Jurgen Klinsmann had approached Hoeness to say Rehhagel should leave, and even the team’s European heroics hadn’t changed his mind. The other senior players were equally critical of the headstrong Rehhagel, whose management style was invariably dubbed “ottocratic”. Beckenbauer, Rummenigge and Hoeness eventually sent the players home and called their coach into headquarters.
As Rehhagel arrived, the three men could immediately tell he didn’t have the slightest idea what was coming. After some uneasy moments, Beckenbauer began to speak. “We are not happy with the team’s development,” explained the Kaiser. “So, we have come to the decision to relieve you of your duties.”
Silence then descended upon the room. Decades on, Hoeness would recall that the four men, each one a living legend of the German game, simply stared at each other for a full five minutes. At long last, Rehhagel said, “Does this mean I can go now?” After another, briefer silence, Beckenbauer replied, “Yes.” Rehhagel rose and departed the room. He didn’t return to pick up his belongings, nor to discuss the dissolution of his contract. His wife saw to that instead.
“Rehhagel never talked about this, never mentioned it, but of course we all knew,” says Axel Roos a
