The Stunning, Strange, Beautiful Game of Manuel Neuer

The German goalkeeper plays the position like no one else in the world - mostly because no one else has the Nervenstärke.

- Andrew Corsello

MUNICH, MID-MAY, a third straight day of drizzle. A disarray has descended upon the headquarters of FC Bayern Munich. It’s a palpable unwellness, a kind of chilly poison mist that’s settled onto the buildings, the manicured greens, the players, the personnel. I’m not imagining or dramatizing here. Grown men, plural, are bumbling about the administrative offices, holding their heads with both hands and exclaiming, to no one and everyone, “You don’t understand. There is pressure, very too much pressure!”

Upon my arrival, I was escorted to an office and instructed in no uncertain terms to stay there and speak to no one. Now, three hours later, a figure darkens the doorway Paul Breitner, a midfielder on the German national team that won the 1974 World Cup.

“You are not Martin,” he says. His tone is polite, if distracted. “There is so much craziness here, ja?”

“Craziness?”

“And pressure!”

And then he’s gone. I’d like to sound Breitner out about the pressure, though its source is hardly a mystery.

Pep. It’s all about Pep. That is, Pep Guardiola—Bayern’s fiery, itinerant head coach of three years, who recently accepted the top job at Manchester City and the cognitive dissonance engendered by his upcoming departure. The city of Munich is of one mind: Pep’s vision and execution have been unfailingly bold and brilliant. And the city of Munich is of one mind: Pep’s legacy at FCB is one of tragically unfulfilled potential.