Germany’s England love-in ahead of Euro 2024 is very concerning – they are definitely up to something

THERE is something concerning about the new-found affection for England among the Germans.

After years of rubbing our noses in it on the football field and generally looking down theirs at us, suddenly we are their brothers from another mother.

Jurgen Klinsmann told this newspaper just days ago that should we go all the way at Euro 2024, the whole of Germany would raise a two-pint stein of beer in celebration.

And those things are bloody heavy.

Back in the 1990s, Klinsmann embodied much of what us Anglo- Saxons resented about our neighbours from across the North Sea.

On the pitch he was crafty, slick and not averse to falling over rather easily.

He was also annoyingly successful and even danced on Wembley’s hallowed turf after winning Euro 96, while rejoicing in our demise —  along with 82 million of his countrymen.

Now it has gone full circle with Herr Klinsmann and his mates thinking that England are wonderful.

Germany’s midfield legend Toni Kroos actually wants Jude Bellingham to have a “decisive tournament”.

Not just that.

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Over here they are now modelling their country on ours.

This week is a prime example of how Germany is doing its level best to be more English, while also  shattering a few illusions about their ingrained superiority.

For a start, German trains are dreadful. The locals say “scheisse”. You don’t need to look it up.

Forget this long-held notion that they are punctual to the second.

If an inter-city “ICE” train turns up at all, let alone within 20 minutes of its scheduled arrival, you may hear spontaneous applause from despairing passengers on the platform.

This Wednesday, my 3.30pm connection from Nuremberg to Munich was cancelled without explanation.

The approachable young girl in her smart maroon Deutsche Bahn uniform informed the crowd that the next train would depart at 4pm.

The immediate response from one weary, cynical  traveller, ground down by years of this anguish, replied: “Today? Or Tomorrow?”

My first German joke.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter.

At 3.55pm DB decided to send it to Bremen anyway.

Which if you don’t know (and I didn’t) is 369 miles in the opposite direction to Munich.

One battle-scarred individual told me this is normal, as 500 people scrambled to switch platforms in a bid to make a later service.

Just last weekend, Germany striker Niclas Fullkrug told assembled media how he made the mistake of taking the train back to camp after a weekend visit to family.

After three were cancelled, the Borussia Dortmund centre-forward squeezed on to the fourth and found himself unwittingly becoming a temporary member of a school trip in a jam-packed carriage trundling through Bavaria at half speed.

The fact Fullkrug could chuckle about it is heartwarming, yet a characteristic more associated with us.

They are not famous for laughing at themselves in these parts, yet it is becoming part of the national make-up.

Kroos, a five-times winner of the Champions League with Real Madrid, poked fun at the German national team’s recent disasters — joking that his kids have become used to watching successful teams, so obviously they haven’t seen much of “Die Mannschaft”.

And the media themselves? This week some of my Teutonic colleagues expressed disappointment that Jack Grealish will not be at Euro 2024,  saying that they see him as “kind of German”.

When I asked if that’s because he has a terrible hairstyle, they actually saw the funny side and agreed even Stevie Wonder could get a job as a barber out here.

Then take the weather. It’s been largely dull, wet and chilly this week in Munich and I could see my breath on Wednesday morning.

The heating is on at my hotel. Much more Barnsley than the Bavarian summer ideal we have been sold.

Something is happening to Germany.

Instead of looking down at us, they like us and want to be more like us — haphazard, flawed and not quite as good as people think.