In 2003, Joachim Löw only had himself and his open eyes: he looked outside the box, he climbed Kilimanjaro, he sat in Barcelona, he had as many questions as certainties, so he could better see what was going on in this game where the Germans suddenly just ran after them.
And so, against all odds, he not only advanced to the right man in the right place. But to the institution whose luster only deteriorated when he became unfaithful to himself, when he lost his open eyes; when he became like the others.