Handball-EM: SPOX in Croatia: With the Boxershort in the elevator

The European Handball Championship in Croatia is in full swing. But how does such a sports event work from the reporter’s point of view? SPOX editor Felix Götz reports about his impressions on site.

The same procedure as every year: In front of the hotel’s door in Zagreb, the colleague from the FAZ smokes his cigarillo, while at the reception desk a scribbler from Leipzig complains about his room as the first official act.

The editor of the Rheinpfalz is working in the lobby on the first mails to the EHF, in order to adapt the once again chaotic organisation of the hosts on behalf of all colleagues, while outside on the parking lot just the company car of the Kieler Nachrichten turns around the corner. 15 hours of driving time including a text-writing break, as the man from the Fjord reports.

It’s a kind of fate of reporters who meet every year in January when handball is about to host a World Cup or European Championship. Whether Qatar, Poland, France or, like now Croatia, the tribe of German journalists who have travelled with us is always roughly the same.

Just like the first topic of conversation. And I “win” the first prize this time, because none of my colleagues was cheated by the taxi driver as much as I was on their way from the airport to the hotel this year. I was relieved by 320 kuna, 43 euros. The colleague of the Süddeutsche Zeitung (180 kuna, around 24 euros) is grinning with a first sense of achievement in his luggage.

The media hotel, the good old hovel: one thing first and foremost, so as not to give a false impression: the Croats are great hosts. Friendly, helpful, cordial, everything is wonderful. But…

Basically, it makes sense to stay in the official media hotel. This guarantees a connection to the shuttle to the hall and back – and that’s one of the hardest currencies at a sports event. As far as the quality of these accommodations is concerned, however, we have been in Poland since the European Championship, where the hotel was faultless. In free fall. After the failure in Rouen at the 2017 World Cup, all costs and efforts were apparently spared this year in order to bring down the pace once again.

The Eastern bloc bunker far beyond the centre of Zagreb must have looked exactly the same as it did when the city was still part of the former Yugoslavia. In the lobby, two heating elements ensure that temperatures do not reach the freezing point. Everything is dark and musty, a run-down hay cart as decoration gives the sadness the finishing touch.

But anyway, we’re not on vacation after all. In the elevator is a boxer’s shorts, which accompany the hotel guests on their journeys for one day. The room itself, at the end of a dark corridor, surprises with temperatures at sauna level.

The first glance into the bathroom: 50 percent of the toilet seat is hung to the left of the locomotive, while the toilet seat cover is placed at a similar distance on the right-hand side. Shower first. I’ve never been happier to wear glasses. Down the part, blurred everything looks half as wild, and into the – of course – cold water.

As long as the WLAN works, I guess. Only does it sporadically. It doesn’t matter, however, because the desk, which doesn’t deserve this name, causes back pain when you look at it. From now on, work is always done in the arena.

At least the hotel mechanic can at least turn down the heating with the help of a pair of pipe tongs and get the toilet in shape.”Everything’s fine?”, he asks me to say goodbye.”It’s legendary,”I answer.

Eye to eye with the Bad Boys: A football reporter would probably get tears in his eyes if he saw how uncomplicated handball is. On non-playing days there is a DHB media appointment at the team hotel. First a press conference with the national coach takes place, then all the players join the journalists in a kind of lobby for about 45 minutes.

In principle, you can appeal to anyone who wants to spend a few minutes with Uwe Gensheimer or Silvio Heinevetter in a quiet corner, just sitting on the stairs or loitering on the sofa and asking a few questions. The Bad Boys don’t know what to do.

You should only watch out with the handshake with Finn Lemke. To shake the 2.10-metre giant’s bear paws makes you feel a little bit stuck in a vice. Apart from that, everything is easy.

This is true even now, by the way, when things are not going so well in terms of sport and the team has to put up with harsh criticism from the media. Heinevetter and Andreas Wolff just returned to the Mixed Zone. And Bob Hanning is also not embarrassed by a spell. No one has been resentful, however.

Oh, how big is Varazdin: The DHB team competes in the main round in Varazdin, just under 100 kilometres north of Zagreb. The good news first and foremost: the hotel is fine, the glasses remain on.

But those distances! The media hotel is located 25 kilometres outside Varazdin. Ludbreg. A place of pilgrimage, according to a 2011 census with about 8,000 inhabitants. However, I would not be surprised if this census was carried out by the EHF. At the first game of the DHB-team in the Arena Zagreb it reached 8,000 spectators. With a lot of goodwill, it was 5,000. Rounded up.

The best known daughter of Ludbreg is Sara Kolak. Does it ring a bell? Doesn’t have it with me either. The research shows that the good one fired the spear at the Olympic Games in Rio at 66.18 metres and won gold. Since then, it has been paid homage to her with a strange monument of fairy lights on the market square, the only ray of hope in this desolate place.

Varazdin himself is solid. At the end of January, the 45,000 inhabitants of the city still opened the Christmas market. The mulled wine stand promptly became two Danish fans who ended up in the Croatian police van instead of the arena. I guess it was only partly funny.

Incidentally, the German team lives in a village about 50 kilometres from Ludbreg, which our bus drivers didn’t even know. They had to turn the car twice on the way, wrong fork caught. All in all, we were back after three and a half hours.

But all complaining aside: Croatia is top notwithstanding the small, annoying things. And anyway, everything, everything in this damn world is better than Qatar. On Thursday we return to Zagreb, the hotel of horror. I’ll give anything to defend the title.