29 April 1972, Empire Stadium, Wembley. West Germany 3–1 England.
By Hamish McTavish
A wet Saturday night at Wembley, ninety-six thousand in, wind and a rain that did not have the manners to wait for the hymn. Sports Illustrated had them defying the weather to jam the place, English and German alike. Euro quarter-final, first leg, the old ground still calling itself the Empire, and Sir Alf Ramsey still calling this the side that had won the world. Bobby Moore had the armband and, because Brian Clough had pulled Roy McFarland out of the squad at the last minute, the centre-half’s job as well. Norman Hunter was next to him. Gerd Müller was the man they were supposed to hold. Günter Netzer was the man they had not budgeted for. Helmut Schön had come without Overath, without Vogts, without Schnellinger, and the German week had filed them as outsiders. David Coleman had the BBC. The crowd had the memory of 1966 and 1970, both of which they still treated as unfinished business rather than a warning.
Wembley in the wet is a bowl that remembers who used to own it. England had come as the home side with the World Cup still in the shirts and a centre-half pairing improvised because Derby would not release a man. Germany had come as the outsiders and left as the first German side to win on this grass. The rain did not care which hymn they sang. The last six minutes would.
They kicked off anyway.
It was even for twenty-five minutes, which is the part the English memory likes because it makes the rest look like a bounce. Then Moore lingered on a clearance he should have killed. Müller and Siggi Held made the room. Uli Hoeneß, twenty years old and still an amateur on the sheet, hit it from twenty yards. The ball came off Hunter and past Gordon Banks. Twenty-seven minutes. Hugh McIlvanney, in the Observer the next morning, had Moore loitering and the ball spinning viciously past a keeper who had already been a god in Mexico. One-nil, and the rain kept on.
Ramsey sent Rodney Marsh on for Geoff Hurst at the hour, which is how a World Cup winner leaves an international: not with a night, with a substitution in the wet. England had a spell. They always have a spell. Franny Lee, twelve minutes from the end, turned in after Sepp Maier could not hold Martin Peters, and the ground did the thing it does when it has been promised a comeback. One-one. Four minutes from the end it was still one-one, which is when Held ran at Moore and Moore, lunging, brought him down on the edge of the box. Netzer took the penalty. Banks got a hand to it, pushed it onto the post, and the post gave it back to the net. The reports called it the cruellest of luck. It was not luck. It was a penalty they had given away and a post that would not help them. Then Hughes lost it, Held had it, Hoeneß slipped Müller in, and Müller, on the turn, did the thing Müller did. Three-one. First German win on English grass. They had waited seventy years for it, the reports said, as if the wait were the story. The wait was not the story. The last six minutes were the story.
The Sunday Express, in the morning, did not wait for nuance. OH, WHAT A BLACK DAY FOR ENGLAND. The Observer put THE BEGINNING OF THE END across the same wreckage. McIlvanney, who did not write tabloid, wrote the line that still stands: a West German team playing with grace and spirit and an absolute commitment to attack had administered the most thorough defeat ever inflicted on Ramsey’s England on their own ground. First German victory in this country. Undeniably deserved. The second leg in Berlin was a fortnight away and already a mountain. They would draw 0–0 there and go out. This is the night they went out. Berlin was only the confirmation.
Netzer had the run, the penalty, the post, and the midfield Ramsey’s side could not live in. Müller had the finish they had been shown in León and had not learned. Hoeneß had the deflection and the youth. Held had the foul and the assist. Beckenbauer had the night from the back. Schön had the outsiders. Moore had the linger, the lunge, and the job Clough had left him. Hunter had the deflection. Banks had the hand and the post. Lee had the equaliser that made the last six minutes look like a collapse instead of a continuation. Hurst had the last cap. Ramsey had the most thorough defeat on his own ground, and the papers already looking for a successor he would not accept.
They said outsiders. They said 1966. They said Moore at centre-half would do. They said a spell. If you still think it was only the rain, a funeral is only a Tuesday. The Express needed one adjective. Black. The Observer needed the end. McIlvanney needed the word thorough, and then he left it. A first German win on this grass, in the rain, with the World Cup side still in the shirts.
The film is up. Hoeneß off Hunter, Lee’s tap, Banks and the post, Müller on the turn. Do not review it. Watch the last six minutes of a black day.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itR5m0PLjJc
Related reading
- Even the Scots had tears — León 1970, the West Germany night that should have been the warning
- For you, Fritz — Wembley 1996, another German night that ended English certainty
If the nights sit right, the shirts and the wall are at /shop.
FAQ
What was the score when West Germany beat England at Wembley in 1972?
West Germany 3–1 England, on 29 April 1972 at Empire Stadium, Wembley. Hoeneß, Netzer (penalty) and Müller scored; Lee equalised briefly.
Why “A black day”?
The Sunday Express morning front — OH, WHAT A BLACK DAY FOR ENGLAND — after the first German win on English grass.
Did England go through on aggregate?
No. This first leg effectively ended the tie; the second leg in Berlin was 0–0 and England went out. McIlvanney called it the most thorough defeat on Ramsey’s own ground.