Mr. Eder, how do you remember your first encounter with Franz Beckenbauer? That was in the 80s. At that time, the doctor Müller-Wohlfahrt, who worked for Bayern Munich, occasionally called me to Säbener Strasse to look at players. On that occasion I met Beckenbauer. Many sank into the ground with excitement when they saw him, his fame preceded him. But I was pleasantly surprised at how approachable, how polite, how normal Franz was. That was really great.
How does that fit together – this Bavarian down-to-earth attitude and the much-vaunted imperial aura? If Franz said to sit down, then you sat down. And without checking whether there is even a chair there. His word carried weight.
Beckenbauer brought you into the national team in 1988 as a physiotherapist. You stayed with him for decades as “Master Eder” who can listen to your muscles. At that time, I had a lectureship at the university in Bayreuth with the sports economists. The lecture hall was full, everyone was listening to me, then the side door opens and the secretary whispers: “Mr. Eder! Mr. Eder!” I ask what’s going on, she says: “Mr. Beckenbauer is on the phone.” Me: “Mei, which Beckenbauer, please?” And she: “Well, Beckenbauer, Franz Beckenbauer.” Then I rushed to the receiver.
Is it true that he warned you about the job he was giving you? I had previously looked after the German fencers. They were very fine academics, Franz joked, but in football I would now have to deal with rougher boys.
For a long time, Beckenbauer was considered a figure of light, floating above things, free from all impositions. As a team boss, was he even interested in mundane things like strains and bruises?
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