It all began in late summer 2024 with that queasy feeling every Bayer fan knows: optimistic anticipation laced with a cautious dread of the next drama. After more than a year without a Bundesliga defeat – 462 days unbeaten, just imagine that! – we secretly believed we were indestructible. Of course, typical Bayer that the very moment we got comfortable, the next slap was waiting. In early September, RB Leipzig came to town and ended our beautiful run in a match that was both theatre and tragedy. We led 2–1 at halftime, the BayArena was buzzing, everything smelled of the next triumph – until Kevin Kampl spoiled the party just before the break. What followed was a Leipzig onslaught and a 2–3 final score against us. That’s how quickly it can change: one moment you’re over the moon, the next you’re in the depths of despair. We fans took a big gulp of gallows humor and exchanged rueful grins with a resigned “Well, typical Bayer…” The first international break couldn’t have come at a better time—wounds needed licking, nerves needed settling.
But giving up was out of the question. Our Werkself bounced back from that setback with even more determination, as if Xabi Alonso himself had ordered a defiant counterreaction. In the league, we swept through autumn like a well-oiled machine. Win followed win, and whenever things got shaky, the boys always found a way. Eleven Bundesliga victories in a row eventually sat on our record – we pinched ourselves now and then to make sure it was really our Bayer 04 down there. Patrik Schick started banging goals in rapid succession again, making us almost forget how injury-prone he’d been at times. Florian Wirtz enchanted us week after week with dribbles that looked like moving works of art. Jeremie Frimpong raced up and down the wing like a Duracell bunny on espresso, and newcomers like the clever Aleix Garcia slotted into the ensemble seamlessly. At home in the BayArena, Bayer was almost unstoppable – and away? Away, we were becoming legends. Every foreign ground felt like our own living room. “Away is the new home,” we joked, as the Werkself set one away-game record after another.
Of course, not everything went smoothly, and some victories were tighter than we liked. Games like in December, where we scraped a nervy win, aged us like poorly stored Camembert. And in November, there was that day they showed us a lead is never a guarantee – we threw away points all too carelessly, much to our chagrin. But none of that changed the fact that Bayer 04 went into the winter break with a perfect record. Second place in the table, just behind Bayern, and the mood in Leverkusen swung somewhere between cautious dreaming and the quiet question: “Could we actually…?”
The drama really kicked into gear after the New Year. At the end of January, we faced that dreaded trip to Leipzig – and what can I say, it became yet another Bayer moment for the history books. On the fan bus to Saxony, we joked about why we put ourselves through this. The answer came straight on the pitch: because we love this team, even when it drives us mad. In Leipzig, our lads started like a fire brigade. Florian Wirtz weaved through their defense, Patrik Schick scored the opener, and Aleix Garcia even made it 2–0 – we rubbed our eyes in disbelief. Maybe, just maybe, we could do it this year? But as every Bayer fan knows: if you celebrate too early, it’s usually your own fault. Before the break, Leipzig pulled one back via a deflected free-kick and, suddenly, nerves were frayed. In my half-time pep talk, I whispered, “We’ve got this.” Mistake number one.
What came next felt like a creeping horror film. Leipzig kept battering us, but our Finnish rock Lukas Hradecky held firm at first. Wirtz, our little magician, rattled the woodwork more than once – as if competing in a personal aluminum-hitting contest. The clock ticked, Leipzig threw everything forward, and we defended with man and mouse. Then, in the 85th minute, disaster: a Leipzig free-kick swung in, Edmond Tapsoba met it with a header – unfortunately into our own net. Own goals are like heartbreak: you know they can happen, can’t change them, and they sting all the same. 2–2 – instead of an away win, only a point. I stood in the away end stunned, and as the Leipzigers celebrated, we realized: Bayern had once again pulled six points clear. The title dream we’d secretly held was abruptly out of reach. It felt as if fate whispered mockingly, “Don’t get your hopes up, you Leverkusen lot.”
But there was little time to brood, because big stages awaited on multiple fronts. In the Champions League, we had qualified convincingly for the last 16 – Bayer 04 in the knockout phase of the Champions League, that sounded like grand nights ahead. And then, as always, the draw pitted us against FC Bayern Munich in the round of 16. Of course. Who else? We fans took it with a pinch of irony: the record champions, as if the football gods wanted one more test. The first leg in Munich went badly, leaving us with a deficit for the second leg. But oh, the hopes were there: a magical night in a sold-out BayArena – just as we’d dreamed. The stadium trembled, we began like possessed. Bayer pressed high, pinned Bayern back. Schick had chances, Frimpong was everywhere, and Granit Xhaka doled out tackles like a carnival bouncer. For half an hour, we could almost smell a sensation – you could see Bayern wobbling. Maybe, just maybe, there was something in this?
Then came that moment. A lapse at a set piece – Bayern’s free-kick. And who was perfectly placed? Harry Kane, that goal magnet with an instinct for big moments. Boom – header, 0–1. Combined with the first-leg deficit, it felt like a cold shower after a raucous night: bitter, yet somehow predictable. That goal extinguished our last spark of a semifinal dream. The Werkself threw everything forward still, pumping every ball upfield – but when Alphonso Davies added a second, the game was done. Dream over. No magical night, no Leverkusen miracle. Instead, the sobering realization that we still fell short of Europe’s elite. It hurt. We’d so often proven we could beat anyone. We wanted it so badly. And deep down, we’d dreamed bigger than another round-of-16 exit. But: we are Bayer 04. We get back up, no matter how often we’re knocked down. The Champions League was gone, but the season wasn’t over!
Hardly had we digested that European exit than the DFB-Pokal beckoned – our remaining path to silverware. As cup holders (yes, we’d finally won something last year!), we marched through the rounds, and in the quarterfinals came the Rhine derby against 1. FC Köln. Oh, that evening… Matches against Köln are never for the faint-hearted, but this quarterfinal aged us by a decade. The atmosphere? Electric. The game? An emotional rollercoaster. Bayer dominated early, missed chances, and of course Köln struck first – a classic cup punch. Damion Downs scored for the Domstädter and the Köln fans partied. We Leverkusen fans felt that familiar flutter: would our cup dream end against our archrivals? But our Werkself answered with heart and fury. It swung back and forth, we equalized, took the lead – only to concede again. 2–2 after 90 minutes, extra time, pulse at 180. In the 98th minute the explosion: goal for Bayer! 3–2! Köln threw everything forward, even scored, but the VAR had no mercy: offside! When the whistle blew, we hugged each other, utterly drained and elated. Victory! Semifinal! What a night on the Rhine! The title defense lived on, and we’d shown Köln where the barrel gets its best juice. In that moment, we truly believed: Cup? Bayer can do that – maybe we’d keep this one, too!
Well… maybe. Or maybe not. Four weeks later came the season’s biggest blow, one that would haunt our nightmares: the Pokal semifinal at Bielefeld’s Almstadion. Third-division side versus Bundesliga leader – on paper, an easy win. But in the cup, other rules apply. Still, whatever happened that Tuesday in early April felt like a particularly cruel episode of “Gotcha!” for Bayer fans. Anyone there live probably wanted to switch off their phone after 30 minutes, throw their shirt straight into the wash, and pretend the game never happened. But that’s fan life – especially in Leverkusen.
It began according to plan, as if written for a comfortable victory: Jonathan Tah headed in from a corner for 1–0, and in the stands it was full Feierabendbier mode. Lead secured, all good—up to that point, you could snack on your bratwurst in peace. But that was the last moment Bayer truly controlled the match. What followed was collective head-shaking. Bielefeld pressed aggressively, our team suddenly looked clueless, and Xabi Alonso’s game plan seemed to have melted on that bumpy Alm turf. Long balls flew high as if we’d been beamed back to 2005 or caught in a monsoon. But on that field every high ball dropped like a wet sack – as effective as a vegan barbecue in a butcher shop. Combinations? Absent. Tempo? Only with the opponent. While we flailed away, Bielefeld did exactly what we’d wanted to do: play football. The Arminia combined, fought – and scored. Twice the net rippled for them, and paradoxically, each Bielefeld goal felt inevitable. Our defense became Swiss cheese, and up front we found no answer. Before we knew it, we were 1–2 down at halftime – Tah’s opener nothing more than a footnote, Bielefeld fans dreaming of Berlin, us standing like drenched rats.
In the second half we waited desperately for a late Bayer surge – but all that came were aimless crosses and a hopeless attempt to talk football gods into our favor by launching Tah as a makeshift striker. Sure, one shot clanged off the post, and Amine Adli forced a fine save, but the truth was: if you enter a cup semifinal against a third-division side with no plan for 45 minutes, you don’t deserve better. 1–2 – out, done, nowhere instead of Berlin. After the final whistle the players stood stone-faced before us in the away end. Granit Xhaka argued angrily with fans, heads hung, eyes vacant. This was more than a defeat – it felt like a deep stab in the heart of our season. A mental knockout leaving scars long after.
For us hardened supporters, it meant: slump, take a deep breath, and somehow carry on. Never give up, even when it hurts. The team vowed to double down in the league – salvage something from this season so it wouldn’t end in pure disappointment. And indeed, the Werkself responded in the final league sprint: character was needed now. But in the weeks after the cup exit, it was a rollercoaster of emotions. A few matches saw drawn-out stalemates, as if stuck in a time loop. A dreary 0–0 at home against Union Berlin felt like Groundhog Day – no win, just frustration. And before that, a dispiriting 0–2 loss to Bremen – a day nothing worked. Yet instead of burying their heads, they rallied once more. Xabi Alonso reminded the team of their qualities: stay calm, believe, press on.
At the end of April, just when everyone thought the air was out, Bayer 04 flipped a switch. Against Augsburg we witnessed one of those days when everything clicked: sunshine, cold beer in the cup, and a Werkself that shook off all the season’s frustration. 2–0 we won, casually and confidently, as if the collapse never happened. Schick scored early, Buendía curled a beauty into the top corner – pure popcorn cinema. While we celebrated, we knew: this win was more than three points, it was a statement. The Bayern fiesta would be postponed! Indeed, this victory prevented Munich from clinching the title early. “Mission accomplished – Rhine party crashers,” we laughed on the journey home. The lads had shown true character. And we fans thought: maybe this season can still end with a perfect finale? A glimmer of hope flickered – after all, you’ve got to keep dreaming.
But the third-to-last match in Freiburg finally ended our title hopes – but not before one last whirlwind of emotions. It was Jonathan Tah’s 400th appearance for Bayer 04, and what did our captain do? He wrote his own script. The game was a tough slog. Freiburg defended deep, we played tame possession football with no bite. In the pouring rain little happened – until a long-range shot from Freiburg’s Lennard Eggestein somehow found the net, our loanee keeper Matej Kovar looking unlucky. 0–1 down. And then – because misery loves company – Piero Hincapié deflected another ball into our own net. A slapstick own goal of the highest order that stopped every Bayer fan’s heart. 0–2! Against Freiburg of all teams! As the Breisgau fans dreamt of a sensational upset, we knew: one more dropped point here means the title for Bayern. You could practically sense the corks popping in Munich. Still – or perhaps because of that – our “now or never” mentality kicked in. Florian Wirtz took matters into his own hands, weaving through the Freiburg defense and unleashing a shot that thudded off the inside of the post and in. 1–2, twenty minutes to go. Suddenly that mad hope was back. The Bayer hope that never quite leaves you, even when reason says to give up.
And it happened: in stoppage time, one last corner for us, the ball swung in – and who rose highest? Jonathan Tah. With what I like to imagine was his farewell shoulder charge, he headed it over the line! 2–2! The stands went ballistic, we celebrated like champions. Tah had headed his way into our hearts, literally. Sure, objectively it was “just” a draw. Yes, that officially put the title out of our reach – Bayern stood unassailable and kept the ugly salad bowl. But who cares? In that moment only one thing mattered: 33 away games unbeaten! With that point in Freiburg, Bayer Leverkusen equaled Bayern’s decades-old away-record. Two entire Bundesliga seasons without an away defeat – let that sink in. If you can’t have the trophy, at least you have the record. “A record for eternity,” muttered one fan beside me, almost reconciled. We shrugged: that we handed Bayern the title? No big deal. They win it every year – but a record like this? That’s ours! Simply insane. Simply Bayer.
That set the stage for the penultimate matchday – a home game against Borussia Dortmund that held more emotion than sporting significance. Second place was secure, the championship decided, Dortmund still fought for a Champions League spot, but for us Leverkuseners it was all about saying farewell to two great club legends. Xabi Alonso and Jonathan Tah walked onto the home pitch for the last time in the Bayer shirt. The match itself? An afterthought. Yes, we lost 2–4 to BVB. Yes, we probably could—and should—have won – chances were there. But who cared on that Sunday? A hint of melancholy hung over the stadium, mixed with the scent of bratwurst and beer. Banners read “¡Gracias, Xabi!” and “Thanks, Jona!” As the two were honored before kickoff, even the steeliest Ultras had tears in their eyes. We all knew: two figures who shaped our Bayer heart were leaving.
Xabi Alonso – the maestro on the touchline who arrived when we were stuck in “meh” and “another coaching change?” and turned our gray mush into a Michelin-star menu. In a short time he molded the Werkself into one of Europe’s most stylish and successful sides. He may not have delivered the Meisterschale, but he left something far more precious: hope. Hope and pride in being a Bayer fan. Under Xabi we saw football that made us dream and finally felt like we could achieve something big. No wonder hundreds of scarves with his name waved as he climbed the fence, tapped his chest, and bid us farewell with shining eyes. Goosebumps all around – not just a coach leaving, but a friend.
And Jonathan Tah – our “Capitano,” our rock in the storm, ten years at the club through thick and thin. He embodied what it means to be a true Werkselfer: loyal, down-to-earth, always there when it mattered. A fitting farewell for a Bayer icon.
Final matchday in Mainz. Bayern crowned champions, Leverkusen runners-up. But Bayer 04 wouldn’t be Bayer 04 without a little drama. Three Mainz goals ruled out. Two penalties. A shaky draw. 2–2. And then: 34 away matches unbeaten. A record for eternity.
And so the 2024/25 season ends for Bayer 04 Leverkusen with second place in the Bundesliga, countless unforgettable stories, and that typically ironic Leverkusen conclusion: Had it all – except the Meisterschale. Again no league title. But honestly: who needs that ugly salad bowl every year when you get records, legendary matches, and magical moments on a silver platter? We laughed, cried, trembled, and rejoiced. We endured cup nights and dreamed Champions League dreams. We fell from the clouds and got right back up. At the end stands not just a solid table finish and an away record for the ages, but above all: the unshakable feeling that being a Bayer fan is a damn good time. Alonso goes, Tah goes – but the love for this crazy club remains. We found hope again, and around here, that’s a rare commodity. What remains of this season? No trophy. But pride. Joy. Hope. A team that grew. A club that won our hearts. A coach with style. A farewell that hurt. And a record that will last forever.
