A Letter to My Children

Dear Gioia, dear Rome,

Daddy has a story to tell you.

As I write this, you are one and four years old, but your lives will change very fast. You will explore the world with curious eyes. You will laugh and try new things. You’ll make new friends. You’ll probably get TikTok and Instagram. And since I have been a footballer for most of my life, you will hear and read things about me. Truths. Half-truths. Rumors. Even utter nonsense.

You will hear my story from someone.

So, before you do, I want you to hear the real version — from me.

But first, let me tell you how you got here, because every day, I am thankful that you made it safely into this world.

Rome, as the firstborn, let’s do your story first.

I’ll never forget when your mother was seven months pregnant, and our midwife came to our home in Dortmund. She was doing an ultrasound, a routine checkup to make sure that everything was OK, but all of a sudden she said, “It seems like your baby isn’t OK.”

We said, “What do you mean isn’t OK??”

“His heartbeat is too slow. We have to call the ambulance. You need to get to the hospital right now.”

I nearly felt like my heart stopped beating. We had prepared for your birth to be in Düsseldorf, where we knew the doctor, and where we felt safe — but that was an hour away by car, and the ambulance headed for the nearest hospital, in Witten. I was driving right behind you, but I felt so far away from you. For 20 minutes we were going very fast with the siren on, speeding through red lights and swerving between honking cars.

There’s nightmares, living nightmares, and then there’s this.…

As a parent, it’s impossible to describe the fear of losing a child. I was panicking, sweating. Anxious to the pit of my stomach. Every second felt like a minute, every minute felt like an hour. I don’t even know how I kept the car on the road, because all I could think was, Please please please please please let him be OK.

GOD, PLEASE!

At the hospital, a dozen or so people were waiting for us. Everything happened so fast. They surrounded your mother, and then I think someone said, “His heart is still beating!” I was so relieved that I nearly fell to the floor. But then the doctor said, “We need to get the baby out!”

There was a chance you had an infection.

They did a medical procedure called a C-section, and for the next few minutes all I could do was sit there. Waiting, hoping, praying.

Finally, Rome, you made it into this world, six weeks early.

I guess you were just excited to see us.

And the second I saw you, I understood. I got it.

My life has changed.

Nothing will ever be the same.

But we had a little problem. You see, the doctors put you in the intensive care unit so that they could monitor you and be sure that you were recovering well, and we stayed there with you. I was supposed to go back into training with Dortmund, my club at the time, but this was in June 2020, in the middle of a pandemic, and there were safety rules for where we could go. The hospital staff told me that I could go back to the training ground, or spend time at the hospital, but not both. 

I had to choose: Football or family.

Hah.

I said, “Look, this is not even a decision.”

I called up the club and explained that I could not come into training until you were 100% OK. And in the end, I never went back. 

Your mother and I spent three weeks at the hospital, literally just sleeping, eating and staying next to you. You were born on 5 June 2020. My contract expired at the end of that month. By the time we came home, I was a free agent, and the season was over. I don’t think Dortmund were super happy about it, but I think they understood. They needed to. There was no alternative.

I’m a father first. A footballer second.

I will never apologise for that.

Today, you cannot tell that you were born so early. You have so much energy that Daddy has started drinking coffee just to keep up.

And Gioia, my beautiful daughter. What about you?

Your name is Italian for joy. You smile a lot, and you make us smile, too. Like a true Götze, you arrived early on the stage.

In the womb, you also had a very slow pulse. Thankfully, they found out at the hospital, so your arrival was a little less dramatic. No ambulance ride for you. You came “just” four weeks too early, but it was still stressful, and your mother was very strong to get through it all. The next time you both see her, give her a big hug.

We love you above everything else in this world.

No matter what you ever read about your parents over the years, good or bad, this is the most important thing. It’s the only thing.

We. Love. You.

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“Hey, are you Mario Götze?”

When we go for a walk together, people will sometimes approach us, and you will hear this question. They may ask for a photo, and you’ll wonder why.

So, there are two versions of Mario Götze. There is Mario the person, who is the one you know. It’s Daddy.

And there is Mario the footballer. When people ask for a photo, they want a photo with this Mario. It’s the only one they know, because they have seen me in the stadium or running around on TV.

To them, Mario the person does not exist as he exists for you.

This is very important for you to understand.

So who is Mario Götze the footballer? Well, when I was a small boy, I played football not really thinking that this could be my occupation at some point. But I loved the game and it was all I was thinking about. Fast forward to when I was 18 years old, I won the league with my hometown club, Dortmund, and everyone loved me. Two years later, I left for an even bigger club, Bayern Munich, and everyone in Dortmund seemed to hate me. They were calling me a traitor. But I had stayed in Dortmund all my life, and I simply wanted a new journey, new surroundings. Back then football was my life, so when something happened to Mario the footballer, it really affected Mario the person.

But the worst part was how it affected my mother and my two brothers. Your grandma and uncles.

Not just because one of my brothers was confronted in school.

Not just because we needed police protection outside our house.

As a family, all we knew was in Dortmund, but now my mother wanted my little brother to find a school in Munich, to stay close to me. A little later, my older brother, who also played football, found a club in Munich.

One day my mother said, “That’s it, we’re all moving to Munich.”

Just because of me.

All I wanted was to play at the highest level possible. The year after, I scored the goal that made Germany champions of the world. I’m not making this up! I was so good that people said I would become one of the best players on the planet. They expected me to be a superstar for the next 10 years.

I was the new German hope.

The next Messi. (You know him, right?)

But this is a big burden to carry. I felt like I had to dominate every game, every week. No bad days. Win today, and tomorrow. And I tried so hard, I really did.

But human beings do have bad days. They get injured. They get ill. Even when you’re playing well, the coach can change systems and you’re out. Looking back, I was too strict with myself.

I also wish I had been a little more patient.

I’ll give you an example. In 2016, I nearly went to a famous team in England called Liverpool. The coach there was a man named Jürgen Klopp.

Maybe you have seen pictures of him? Tall, big smile, very funny. Jürgen had been my coach at Dortmund, and I did not realise how lucky I was to have him. I went to his house in Liverpool, where we sat down together in the living room with our wives. What makes Jürgen special is that he sees Mario the person. We did not talk much about football. He wasn’t saying, “How can I convince you? What do you want?”

He asked me about life in general, and I think he said something like, “Look, Mario, you’ll play a lot, and you’ll have fun here. I know that’s the most important thing for you. The club is amazing. Have a think about it.”

I really wanted to play for him again.

But I also wanted to win things right away. I was so impatient! Liverpool had just finished eighth in England, and Dortmund had come second in Germany. Dortmund had also signed André Schürrle, one of my best friends in football. I remembered how much fun it had been the first time, when we won two league titles and made it to the Champions League final. Maybe things would be like in the good old days, you know? 

So I went back. And as much as I love Dortmund, I do feel that I missed out on a special journey with Jürgen. I didn’t understand that he needed time to build a great team at Liverpool. There was not really any need for me to play in the Champions League right away. I just didn’t think that far ahead.

But Dortmund still means a lot to me. Given the same circumstances, I would probably decide the same again. And anyway, I always try to look forward.

All thanks to the two of you. When Mom first got pregnant in the fall of 2019, I was very focused on changing clubs. I wasn’t playing much, and when my contract ran out the following summer, I’d be able to join another team for free. For the first time I was going to have all options, regardless of transfer fees or what my current club wanted. I was so set on my plan that when Manchester United wanted me in the winter, I said no.

A few months later, in March 2020, I got a call from Hansi Flick.

“Would you ever come back to Bayern?”

Well … why not?

We agreed to stay in touch.

And then I became a dad, and when we came home from the hospital, for the first time in my life, I had no club. Monday morning, nowhere to be. Nowhere to go. No game. No targets. No teammates to laugh with. I was a full-time dad, which was amazing, but also … different. I was sitting on the couch, hoping that my phone would ring. Bayern had just won three trophies, and I was waiting and waiting and waiting…. I spoke to Hansi a few more times … but in the end, it didn’t work out.

And suddenly it was October, and there was a deadline for registering players for European competitions, which was running out soon.

I was 29 years old. I had a kid. A family.

No job.

No income.

I was worried. 

I knew that I would find a club, but, you know … come on! I had played for Dortmund and Bayern, two of the biggest clubs in Germany. A few months ago, Manchester United and Bayern had called me.

And now … silence.

How was this possible??

I made one last call to a man named Roger Schmidt. Looking at it right now, I don’t think he knows how important he was for not only my career, but also for me as a person. He was there in the right place at the right time. He was coaching a Dutch club called PSV Eindhoven back then, and we’d been in touch for a few weeks. They were already training for the new season, so I asked if he’d be interested in signing me that very day. Thankfully, he did, and I got to play for a big club and a German coach close to home in Düsseldorf. Perfect.

But what if Roger had said that there was no space for me on the team?

That’s when I realised I couldn’t sleepwalk from club to club. I needed a plan. I had to do something other than football.

One day, I’m going to get out of bed, check my club calendar, and see lots of blank space. And not just for three months. Forever. No career. No competition. No income. I’ll be a former footballer, but I will still be a husband and a father. I had to prepare for a second life, and this is so easy to forget, because we athletes simply focus on our next game and then — POOF! — it’s over.

You probably think we get help dealing with this difficult transition, right?

Well, we don’t.

Nobody tells us how to handle our finances. How to save. How to invest. Nobody even cares as long as we perform.

“He’s a footballer, he’ll be OK.”

For sure, we are lucky to have money in the first place. Most people would love to have our jobs. But we’re still people. And no matter what we earn, we still have to deal with retirement mentally. This is so important because the day we stop being athletes, we lose a big part of our identity.

Today I’m Mario Götze, footballer. With no football, who will I be?

The next time you see a player who’s in for “just another season,” ask yourself: Is it pure love for the game? Or fear of stepping away?

There’s a great guy named Dirk Nowitzki, the first German — and European — to be named Most Valuable Player in the NBA. He played basketball until he was 40 years old. He had surgery on his ankle and pain in his foot, but he kept going. For sure, he loved it, but now he is 46 and can hardly move. I met him once in Frankfurt, and he said, “Mario, I should probably have stopped five years earlier.”

In sports, five years is a long time.

You know David Beckham, right? When I recently met him in Paris, he said, “I miss everything about football — I want it back.”

The day after he stopped playing, he flew to Miami to run a football club. He said, “I had to keep going.” He needed a new reason to get up each morning, something that could help him build a new identity.

I’ll have to keep going, too. When I signed for PSV, I began studying how former athletes in the U.S. set up their businesses. Today we’ve established a family office, and I’ve made investments to secure our future.

Mario Götze, investor.

This will be my second life.

I don't want to be known only as the guy who scored that goal in the World Cup. People still ask me about it, and I understand why. It was an incredible moment, but it was also just one chapter in my life.

When they ask if it was the best moment in my life, I simply smile. There’s so much more I want to accomplish.

I hope that things make a little more sense to the two of you now. 

Today, I’m still playing football, but after my first experience abroad, I’m now at Frankfurt, back in the Bundesliga. The league where I’ve been loved and hated, where I rose so quickly and put myself under so much pressure. I have also played in another World Cup. But I’m in a different position now. I try to help the younger players, to be a guidance on and off the pitch. And since arriving here, Frankfurt has become a very special place for me. Not just because of this club and its fans, but because this is where you two have your first real memories. This is where you, Rome, are in the stadium cheering for me and running around on the pitch after the games. This is where you, Gioia, were born, making our little family complete. 

This is my story. I could go on and tell you more. Just ask me. I will always be by your side and answer your questions. 

I’m a father first. A footballer second.

- Mario Götze

If any of your friends asks about me, you can tell them that I had some good times and some bad times, and that I am happy with what I achieved. Could it have gone better? Sure. But life isn’t perfect. I lived my dream and had so much fun along the way.

And in the end, I’m grateful. I have everything I could ever want.

I have two beautiful kids and an amazing wife. I’m healthy, I’m playing for an amazing club, and I’m having more fun than ever, because now that I’m a father, I realise what football is. It’s a game. It’s a small part of my life. If I play a bad game, you will still be there. If I come home with a cut on my forehead, which happened the other day, you don’t care because you want to play with Lego. And I forget the cut, because in that moment, there is nothing I would rather do than play Lego with you.

My phone used to be full of football highlights. Now it’s just you two.

One day, I hope you will realise how much you mean to me.

Finally, one last thing.…

A few months ago, I saw you sleeping next to each other in the bed. Even though I had seen it hundreds of times before, I began thinking about the fact that he has a sister, and she has a brother, and now they can grow up together.

It was so simple, you know? But I found it so beautiful.

I felt so lucky.

And then I began to cry.

Thank you for making my life complete.

I love you.

— Daddy