Hamburger SV are back in Bundesliga. But their biggest wins have been off the pitch.
They say the way you treat people says a lot about you. The same is true for football clubs.
Absolute ecstasy in Hamburg, and this time, it’s not just on the dance floors of Reeperbahn:
After seven long years, the Volksparkstadion will finally see Bundesliga football next season. No more flirtations with promotion, no more collapses on matchday 34 (or as
puts it, a “tragicomedy of near misses”).No more jokes about being the biggest second division club in the world.
HSV are back.
But that’s not the story I want to tell today.
Because while most of the football world will focus on Hamburg’s return to Bundesliga, I want to talk about something else entirely. About what makes a football club more than a brand. About what HSV got right, when it would've been easier – safer – to get it wrong.
Twice in the past five years, HSV faced situations where some clubs might've turned their backs. The football world is not known for its moral courage. More often than not, clubs follow the PR handbook: distance, silence, then disposal.
But HSV didn’t do that. They stood by Bakery Jatta. And they stood by Mario Vušković.
Not out of naivety. Not because they had to. But because it was the right thing to do.
And in doing so, they won something bigger than promotion.
Let’s start with Jatta.
In 2019, a German tabloid launched what one can only call a racist campaign suggesting that the Gambian winger had entered the country under a false identity. The claim: Bakery Jatta was actually someone else – older, undocumented, an imposter who had fooled the system.
The story had everything tabloids love: suspicion, casual racism, a whiff of scandal. What followed was a grotesque public witch hunt. Opposition fans booed him, rival clubs appealed match results. Prosecutors launched investigations. His home was raided. It dragged on for years.
At any point in that timeline, HSV could’ve buckled. They could’ve told Jatta to sit tight. To lay low. To train separately. They could've distanced themselves, cited “ongoing investigations”, and let the story run its course while protecting their own arses.
But they didn’t.
Instead, their then-sporting director Jonas Boldt went public within days, unequivocally backing Jatta. The message: “We trust him. He’s one of us. He plays.”
This was a risky position to take. There was the potential of retroactive match forfeitures and point deductions. If Jatta had been found to be ineligible (for example, if his identity documents were proven false), HSV could have been sanctioned for fielding an ineligible player. Several clubs formally protested HSV’s victories in games Jatta played. Had the allegations proven true, the DFB sports court might have nullified those results, costing HSV league points and possibly derailing their campaign. HSV leadership knew this was a possibility. They took the risk grounded in their belief in the player.
By standing by Jatta, HSV also risked being at odds with German authorities or the DFB if new information had emerged. HSV could’ve been perceived as harboring a player who broke immigration laws. While the club would not have been legally culpable if Jatta had misled authorities, such a development could have placed HSV under greater scrutiny by immigration and football regulators.
HSV’s reputation was on the line. They stood by Jatta regardless.
The coach backed him. The players backed him. The club fought for him, with lawyers, with statements, with support. They didn’t treat him like a PR liability. They treated him like a human being.
And guess what? He was telling the truth. All of it.
It took years, but eventually the courts dismissed the case. HSV never once cracked. And Jatta, he just kept playing. Kept running up and down that wing with the quiet intensity of a man who had no time for drama. And in 2024, HSV extended his contract again. He’s still there. Still running. Still standing.
Because HSV stood with him.
And then there’s Mario Vušković.
Different case. Different kind of pressure. Same principle.
In 2022, the Croatian centre-back was accused of doping. The kind of accusation that doesn’t just sideline a player. It stains a career.
Of course, investigating doping allegations is legally and scientifically complex. Often, it’s an open-and-shut case. Not this time, though. The player maintained his innocence throughout and never waivered. There were irregularities in the testing process. The defence raised serious doubts about the evidence. But that’s not the point of this piece.
Doping accusations damage a brand. Not only can it end the career of a player, it may hurt the bottom-line of the club. The point is this: Once again, HSV could’ve dropped their player.
They didn’t. They believed Mario Vušković.
When he was handed a two-year ban, and while the media speculated, HSV stood behind him. They didn't spin a statement. They didn't hang him out to dry. Boldt again took the lead, pointing out inconsistencies in the testing process. The club supported Vušković’s appeal. And they let him stay part of the group, part of the family – even extending his contract.
Imagine being 21, in a foreign country, accused of something you know you didn’t do – and instead of being cut loose, your club tells you: We believe you. That matters.
Here, again, there were significant risks for the club. Aligning too closely with a player found guilty of doping could have backfired on HSV’s image. By supporting Vušković, HSV risked the perception that the club was soft on doping or in denial about a serious offense, even undermining the anti-doping message. However, HSV managed this risk by framing their support as faith in a young man’s personal development and the possibility of innocence or rehabilitation, rather than condoning the act.
Also, by appealing the initial verdict and backing Vušković’s fight, HSV may have indirectly risked a longer suspension outcome. There were rumours that early in the process Vušković had the option of accepting a shorter ban (potentially as little as one year) in a plea bargain, which he declined in order to clear his name. Pursuing the case through appeals led WADA to push for the full four-year ban, which he ultimately received. In a competitive sense, HSV sacrificed the short-term certainty of parting ways (and potentially signing a replacement without baggage) for the uncertain prospect of exoneration.
Not to mention the concrete financial costs of the entire case.
But Hamburg stood by him, which even elicited rare displays of solidarity from their rivals, St. Pauli.
This isn’t about painting HSV as saints. They’ve made mistakes, like every club. Every HSV fan will tell you that the recent history of the club is one marred by too much mismanagement. But when it came to human beings under fire, they acted with rare decency.
And that, to me, is the true test of a football club.
Because football isn’t just about results. We say that all the time, but rarely mean it. But here’s the thing: You can win matches and still be hollow. You can lift trophies while treating your people like assets.
A great club is one that builds a culture. And culture isn’t banners or slogans or hashtags. It’s what you do when the cameras aren’t looking. It’s how you treat your people when they’re down. It’s the things you do that might cost you something. It’s who you are under pressure.
HSV stood by their players when the media storm was howling, when the safe option was silence, when the world said “better not”.
They chose loyalty over optics. Integrity over convenience. And it paid off: Research shows the HSV brand profited off the club's stance.
Football needs more of this.
It’s easy to post “No to racism” on social media. It’s easy to say “We’re a family club.” Supporting your falsely accused winger through racially motivated tabloid smear campaigns, sticking with a young centre-back under suspension while sponsors frown – that’s what culture looks like.
So yes, Hamburg are back in the Bundesliga. Good for them.
But their real triumph happened off the pitch.
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Culture. Care.
Thanks for telling these stories.