When die Manschaft — that’s what the Germans call their national team — beat their opponents, they not just beat them; they pummel them.

“Pummel” is a German word, and that is what Joachim Loew’s boys did to the Brazilians in front of their home supporters the other day: They simply pummelled them in six minutes flat.

For a host nation that is fabled to play musical soccer, it would have been a bitter pill to swallow to be eliminated at the semi-final stage. But to be bundled out of the World Cup via a 7-1 hiding is more than our dictionaries have words for. Indeed, for the first time I found the usually voluble English commentators fumbling for words.

How does anyone begin to understand, let alone explain, this dramatic unravelling of a team that many people expected to go all the way to the lifting of the coveted trophy?

The margin — and it was not the worst possible on that night — was almost pornographic, as evidenced by the looks on the faces of those poor, crying Brazilian children who looked like they had just seen something their parents had warned them against watching.

After that blitzkrieg, Brazil’s World Cup campaign looked like Humpty Dumpty. Kaput. And die Manschaft looked like they were about to establish themselves as true global giants, following in the footsteps of their clubs who have been throwing their weight in Europe for some time.

What needs to be retained from this episode is the explanation that the Germans have been furnishing. I always said down the decades that the Germans usually treat us to a brand of football made in the factory, wherein every team member is a part player who does exactly what he is told to do, “and please don’t improvise.” The little flair you sometimes discern in the team looks quite unusual, and you may even suspect the stupid boy who conjured it up will be reprimanded.

This time round that drabness seemed to work magic by killing gods. To add insult to injury, Miroslav Klose broke the record set by one of Brazil’s favourite sons, Ronaldo de Lima, by scoring the most goals in the World Cup.

A tale of woes thus far, and, let me tell you, this tale will travel down the generations, with pundits and aficionados calling it Brazil’s day of infamy.

But they probably will not talk about how the Germans prepared for more than 10 years, researching and collecting footballing data and profiling players and officials, gauging moods and extrapolating on individuals and their reactions to stimuli, etc.

The University of Koln and other higher learning institutions in Germany have been at it for some time now, bent on taking all the fun out of soccer and turning it into an exact science.

All in all, the Brazilians had to apologise to their devastated fans for letting them down, which was proper. And the fans have shown themselves to be forgiving. For instance, no one has been shot as yet (touch wood), and that’s remarkable, seeing as in those parts of the world the law can be a life-for-a-goal.

At least coach Felipe Scolari and skipper apologised to the Brazilian people for the pummelling their team received at the hands of Angela Merkel’s boys. Can you imagine, in those e-platforms, they even replaced the face of Rio’s iconic Christ The Redeemer with hers?

No matter, no one will be taken in by the purported apologies by the Nigerian team, which got eliminated much earlier. The fib is that the Super Eagles, who at times looked like Spring Chickens, are on their bended knees, saying their mea culpas for failing to fly in Brazil.

That was okay, till it was suggested that said aggrieved fans would be reimbursed for money wasted on tickets, simply by sending certified copies of their tickets and details of their bank accounts, pin numbers, zips and so on.

Fat chance that anyone in Nigeria, or anywhere at all, will fall for that little prank. Unless, that is, one is vollig verruckt. Completely mad. But one never knows.

Jenerali Ulimwengu is chairman of the board of the Raia Mwema newspaper and an advocate of the High Court in Dar es Salaam. E-mail: [email protected]