How the Unicorns built one of Berlin’s most expressive and welcoming football communities
“The Unicorns? That’s their name? You play for an actual football team called The Unicorns?”
“I do.”
This was the typical exchange whenever I mentioned the amateur Berlin side for whom I was lucky enough to play two seasons. I understood the disbelief - it seemed hard for people to imagine a group of male footballers who would play each week under this title and in a pink-and-black kit.
But the Unicorns were and are real enough.
Established a few years ago by Andrew Weber, an Australian graphic designer, they play a few minutes’ walk from Ostkreuz station, just within the belt of rail that surrounds the city’s bulging midriff. They were born when Andrew, then playing for the fourth team of local club SFC Friedrichshain, decided that he wanted to do something a little different with his group of players. And so he went about creating, or rather curating, a community of footballers whose closest ties and best moments were found far beyond the pitch.
Photographer: Ryu Voelkel.
The most visible change was the team’s appearance: out went the baggy green shirts, and in came these sleek designs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a cycling club (or a nightclub, for that matter). Our early shirt sponsors were - in my view - two of the best local bars, where I have spent many hours with new and old friends. We even met one of our future players in one of these night-spots: Philip, a midfielder who had played with Vincent Kompany for Anderlecht’s youth team, and who we encountered long after midnight over a raucous game of table football. The most important change, though, was in the explicit articulation of the team’s values. It was vital to Andrew that the Unicorns should have a truly inclusive dressing-room, and so a progressive founding charter was drawn up; one where the players took a firm stand against sexism, racism, homophobia and misogyny.
Photographer: Ryu Voelkel.
The result of this approach is one of the most welcoming environments that I have ever encountered in football: and also one of the most timely. I played my first full season for them in 2015, during a period when the far-right and ISIS were doing their best to tear apart civil society in Europe: one of our matches kicked off with a moment of remembrance for the civilans slain in the Bataclan nightclub attack that November. It was a year when many people of foreign heritage questioned whether Germany was a place where they could make a long-term home. The existence of the Unicorns was a reminder and a reassurance that, despite the increasingly bold protests from neo-Nazis along some of Berlin’s most beloved streets, this city was my home too.
Photographer: Ryu Voelkel.
What’s more, the Unicorns were useful at football. Really useful. I turned up at training one week, having been recommended by Paul, a beer-drinking buddy, who had briefed Andrew that he had no idea if I was any good, but at least I talked a good game. Having played amateur football for several years in the UK, I can safely say that I was at a decent level there, but this was something different. Training was a huge amount of fun - but, at the same time, the sheer level of talent sometimes made it intimidating. It helped that the best players were also the most humble: Alexei, an apparently ageless genius whose first touch was as if he had dipped his boots in honey, and Andy, whose body-swerve made defenders fall away like passengers on the deck of a listing ship.
My first season with the Unicorns had a storyline that was almost miraculous: from being thrashed in an early game by the eventual league winners, we improved so rapidly that we ended up finishing second to them on goal difference. This meant that we went into a playoff for promotion to the highest amateur division, which we won in a penalty shoot-out thanks to one of the most confident penalties you will ever see.
Photographer: Ryu Voelkel.
It’s no exaggeration to say that this team is a reason why several of us migrants have arrived in or stayed in Berlin. The squad has about thirty members, boasting both a strong German contingent and about a dozen other nationalities: it therefore provides a rare place where newcomers can not only feel part of the country but also celebrate the best of the countries that they left to make a new home in this capital. What’s more, the Unicorns are a true cross-section of city life. Its players include tech workers and painters, politicians and musicians, scientists and singer-songwriters: as a result, there’s seldom an evening when you won’t be able to enjoy an exhibition or an entertaining drink with a team-mate. It’s a true brotherhood, one which takes regular trips away from Berlin; whether hanging out by a lake in the middle of summer, going en masse to each other’s prize-winning ceremonies or weddings.
But let’s go back to football, because that’s where it all began. The Unicorns, following promotion in my first and penultimate season with them, have been up and down between the first and second flights for much for much of the last decade, once coming within minutes of a division title. Most importantly, during that time, they have played a brand of football that fits their identity: a controlled chaos within which they can express themselves, often thrillingly. In the midst of a fast-changing town, the Unicorns have always stayed true to their nature: and there is no greater compliment than that.
Musa Okwonga is an award-winning writer, poet, musician, and the co-founder and co-host of the Stadio football podcast. He’s also a regular guest on the Wrighty’s House football podcast. His debut novel, “In The End, It Was All About Love” was named by the Irish Times as one of its books of the year for 2021, and has since been translated into German.
Find out more about his work on his website, or follow his Instagram.