A Life Too Short: The Tragedy of Robert Enke (44 page)

‘I’ll have to answer that when we have some peace and quiet,’ said Teresa.

In the background Robert said he was going to book the flight for her.

The next afternoon, during après-ski in Austria, Teresa told Sabine that Robert suffered from depression.

‘He suffers from what?’ cried Sabine. She had worked for almost twenty years as a doctor’s receptionist in neurology and psychiatry. That long stint had left her with a picture of people who suffered from depression very different from that of the
balanced
goalkeeper she had come to know over the past few years.

He hadn’t had an attack in years, Teresa told her, but when he broke his scaphoid bone he had started slipping again, even though the illness hadn’t really broken out this time.

Robert had agreed with Teresa that she should tell their friends in Empede. It was wearing him out, always having to play the person everyone thought he was.

Gradually he forgot the screw in his wrist. Steadied by the unbroken rhythm of training and Bundesliga games his thoughts resumed their old pattern: don’t go down too early, talk to the defenders, move two paces forward, what’s my mark in
Kicker
, how did René Adler play.

He often made notes on pieces of paper now, in the office at home and in the hotel before Bundesliga games. He was busy writing Teresa a poem for her thirty-third birthday. She had just said in passing that he should give her a poem. She would be amazed if he really wrote one.

In the spring, seven months after Robert broke his scaphoid bone, Dr Stroscher told him that he thought the therapy was finished. Robert was looking at life with quiet optimism once again.

He thought about the advice Marco and Jörg had given him. Shouldn’t he stay in therapy, just as he did back exercises every day – by way of prevention? Stroscher had told him that simply meeting wouldn’t do any good, Robert told Teresa. Only if Robert had the feeling that he had to heal old, deeper-rooted mental wounds should he seek to work them out. But there was nothing there, Robert assured his wife. His hand had healed, and so had his head.

He was doing better than Hannover 96. The victory over Schalke was just an illusion. They were dragging themselves through the Bundesliga season, hovering at the bottom of the mid-table grouping, close to the relegation rankings. They were conceding goals with alarming frequency: three against Cottbus, Stuttgart and Mönchengladbach, five against Bayern Munich,
four
against Dortmund. At an away game in Wolfsburg the coach had raged once again at half-time, when they were 1–0 down. He expected them to show a more positive attitude. ‘Why don’t you look at yourself first,’ Balitsch hissed back, ‘is there anything positive in your pep talk?’ Most of the players felt that Balitsch had been talking for the team. Hecking substituted the midfielder and suspended him from training for a week.

‘Hecking was a really good coach, a competent trainer with clear ideas,’ says Balitsch, ‘but in the third year the relationship between him and the team was completely in shreds. We no longer enjoyed the training, or hearing his remarks – and he probably felt exactly the same about us.’ The players now called their coach the Cat because he seemed to have nine lives; he wasn’t fired even after the heaviest defeat. ‘Miaow, miaow,’ some of the footballers said in the changing-room, and Hecking’s assistant Dirk Bremser innocently joined in.

The press were counting the goals conceded – already more than fifty. Could Germany’s goalkeeper play for Hannover 96? they asked every week. Didn’t a national goalkeeper need the week-in-week-out experience of standing behind a confident defence? Didn’t a national goalkeeper need the hard competition of the Champions League? ‘He was repeatedly confronted with the same arguments,’ says Jörg. ‘Every day he was called into question as the national goalkeeper because his club team wasn’t playing well. So the question became unavoidable: perhaps I really should go?’

But one person was analysing those conceded goals instead of just counting them. National goalkeeping coach Andreas Köpke found Robert’s suffering at club level not unusual, but all too familiar. When he was his country’s keeper in the 1990s Köpke had twice been relegated, with 1 FC Nuremberg and Eintracht Frankfurt. ‘I recognised myself in him a bit and was able to empathise with him.’ Köpke combed through the goals; he watched closely as Cottbus’s striker Rangelov headed unopposed, as two Dortmunders appeared unguarded in front of Robert. He saw a goalkeeper who stopped what he could, and
Robert
was once again invited to the World Cup qualifiers, against Liechtenstein and Wales at the end of March.

The goalkeeper was not usually a focus of attention before a game against Liechtenstein, but yet again the sportswriters scented their quarry. Who was the number one? René Adler, who had performed so thrillingly against Russia, and later respectably against Norway, or Robert Enke, who had lost the job through injury? Again there was no definitive answer.

As it was, René couldn’t even train because of an injury to his elbow.

René and Robert were sitting at the hotel bar in Leipzig, where the team was staying. Robert knew how hurt the younger man must be to miss an international in Leipzig, his home town. Yet René had a cheerful, friendly conversation with him, showing no sadness or envy. For one brief moment Robert was ashamed of himself. How unfair his initial suspicion of the boy had been.

Sometimes he wondered what the game was doing to him. Why did professional football sometimes awaken in him a trait he hadn’t previously noticed in himself – resentment? Even now, seven years later, he didn’t want to hear that Victor Valdés had become an excellent goalkeeper. ‘I can’t be objective about Victor,’ he admitted. He was glad that René had come over to him. Perhaps their good relationship would help protect him against the bitterness that lurked within.

Germany beat Liechtenstein 4–0. In ninety minutes one shot came Robert’s way.

In Cardiff four days later he was the only one to throw his hands in the air after the final whistle against Wales. Outfield players like Michael Ballack and Mario Gómez registered the 2–0 victory coolly and casually; Robert, on the other hand, believed that he had proved something. With fine reflex saves he had twice abruptly silenced the singing of the Welsh fans. Surely everyone must see now that he was Germany’s number one?

Indeed the nagging question of whether the Hannover 96 goalkeeper could also be Germany’s had been growing quieter
for
a few weeks, perhaps because the sportswriters were exhausted by endless repetition, perhaps also because Robert had now dampened the critics’ ardour by performing well. But the question still echoed in his head. Only three days after his clean sheet in Cardiff, Hannover 96 suffered its annual embarrassing defeat at Werder Bremen. In his nine Bundesliga apperances for Hannover against Bremen Robert had conceded forty goals. ‘I’m not going to the next match against Bremen,’ he had once said after a 4–2 defeat. This time the score was 4–1. ‘Same procedure as every year, James!’ he wrote in his diary, using a line from a popular comedy film. But he quickly became aware that this defeat couldn’t just be ticked off as Bremen’s annual target practice.

The smouldering conflict between the coach and the team was escalating. With the score at 1–1 and with only sixteen minutes to go Hecking had brought on the defensive midfielder Altin Lala for striker Mikael Forssell. It was a tactical switch dozens of trainers would also have made in his position. But Hannover conceded three goals after the substitution. The players were fuming. How could the coach have brought on Altin at such a critical moment in the game? Altin had just come back after a long lay-off through injury!

The point had come where the players held the coach personally responsible for every setback. Club president Martin Kind could no longer ignore the fact that something was wrong. But he had just fired sporting director Christian Hochstätter for his unsuccessful signings, and he resisted the idea of firing the coach as well. Hecking had proved himself the previous season; the president had even been the one who suggested to him that he aspire for higher things.

Kind rang Robert.

‘The president has called me in,’ Robert told his closest colleagues. ‘He’s going to want to know what’s going on. What shall I tell him?’

The seven or eight players on the team who carried weight met in an Italian restaurant that they never normally went to for lunch. Even over the antipasti it was clear that there was
basically
only one thing to discuss: should Robert tell the president on behalf of the team that things just couldn’t carry on under Hecking?

27. Every year Robert and Hannover 96 suffered serious defeats at the hands of Werder Bremen. The Bremen players Miroslav Klose (left) and Hugo Almeida celebrate their latest coup
.

Robert listened attentively and said very little. By the time the main course was served there was no longer any doubt. Robert was to tell Kind that the team would approve a change of coach.

He went quiet. His features barely moved.

‘It was hard for him to go to the president with a message like that,’ says Hanno Balitsch. ‘Robs wasn’t the type to ditch a coach. He was aware that things couldn’t go on the way they were, but he also saw the coach’s side.’

He would do it, Robert said at last.

‘So?’ asked Hanno when Robert called him early that evening.

‘I didn’t go and see Kind.’

‘What, did your car break down?’

‘Break down’ was a pretty good description of what had happened.

On his way to Grossburgwedel Jörg Neblung had called him.

‘Where are you?’

‘On my way to see Kind.’

‘Then turn round.’

‘What?’

‘Turn round. I’ve just had a tip-off. The press have got wind of the meeting. A photographer’s waiting for you outside Kind’s company headquarters. If you go, you’ll be in the papers tomorrow as the man who wants to topple the coach.’

Robert took the next turn-off. He called the president and told him he was sorry, but the tabloids were in the know about their meeting, so he’d rather not show up as it would only lead to nasty speculation. The bigger portion of the truth – that the team wanted to get rid of the coach – he never passed on to the president. One of the eight conspirators must have betrayed him to the newspaper. The suspicion lay deep. During training the next day, Robert withdrew into himself.

Dieter Hecking stayed as coach.

The papers reported that Robert Enke was clearly moving to Bayern Munich at the end of the season. It was just a rumour that the sportswriters copied from each other until they believed it themselves. Robert knew that the Bayern bosses Uli Hoeness and Karl-Heinz Rummenigge weren’t really interested in him. But against his better judgement he became preoccupied with the idea that the German champions might sign him.

He didn’t want to leave Hanover for anything in the world and, he’d ruled out a switch to a foreign club – he didn’t need any more adventures. But if one of the leading Bundesliga clubs were to tempt him he would go at the end of the season, he had decided.

Tommy Westphal thought back to when Robert had asked him three years earlier, ‘What do you think, then, Tommy, should I go or stay?’ ‘You
must
stay!’ Tommy had said back then, with devotion and conviction. Now, in April 2009, he
thought
of all the reasons he had given to Robert: the team’s unique bonding, the feeling of being at home, the belief that the team could only go forward. And when he thought about what had happened to all those hopes he knew that Robert wouldn’t even ask him his advice this time.

On 28 April, a Tuesday, the woman from the youth welfare office paid a visit. She had something to tell the Enkes. They had become parents again.

The adoption official then told them everything that was known about their daughter and her biological mother.

‘When can we see her?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow!’

Robert felt exclamation marks pounding in his temples.

They visited their new daughter at her foster family’s home and stayed there for two days to give themselves and the girl a little time to get used to each other. He barely knew what to do with all those exclamation marks in his head and wrote a few lines in his diary: