The train pulled into Frankfurt. Steam. Noise. Anticipation.
You know that feeling when you're about to witness something extraordinary? That electric buzz in your chest? That's exactly what hit me as I stepped onto the platform, camera backpack over my shoulders and ready to document the German Cheerleading Championship. Not just any championship – the gateway to Tokyo.
BFC Bremen wasn't just competing. They were hunting.
The Revolution Begins
My AirBnB was perfect. Small, cozy, but most importantly – fifteen minutes from the action. Sometimes it's the simple things that make or break a shoot. Like having a friend on the inside. My buddy from BFC Bremen filled me in over coffee that evening, his excitement infectious as he mapped out the next day's battle plan.
Morning came fast. The team bus – or 'Car' as they called it – was buzzing with energy. These athletes had already ordered their World Championship shirts for Tokyo. Confidence? More like certainty. You could practically taste their hunger for victory.
But here's what I learned: confidence makes for incredible photographs.
The Warm-Up That Changed My Game
The Eissporthalle Frankfurt hummed with nervous energy. Teams scattered across the preparation area like chess pieces finding their positions. First up: The Revolution, BFC Bremen's dynamic duo. I'd only seen their routine once during warm-up, but as any sports photographer knows – familiarity breeds better shots.
I positioned myself right beside the judges. Front row. Prime real estate.
The girls were nervous. You could see it in their shoulders, tight with anticipation. But when that music hit? Pure magic. My RF 24-105mm f/4 captured every leap, every perfect synchronization. Those butterflies transformed into eagles mid-flight.
Click. Click. Click.
The beauty of understanding your subject's rhythm cannot be overstated. When you know what's coming, you're not just documenting – you're predicting poetry.
When Proximity Becomes a Problem
The BFC Stormies brought pyramids. Actual human pyramids. I stayed close to the judges, but something felt off. Too close, maybe? With so many people around, I found myself making exaggerated movements just to isolate my subjects. The shots were great, but the process felt forced.
Then came the XS Minis – the smallest warriors of BFC Bremen.
Decision time. I grabbed my 70-200mm f/2.8 and melted into the crowd. Middle of the bleachers, 45-degree angle to the front. Suddenly, everything clicked. Distance became my friend. Those group stunts? Perfectly isolated. The background? Beautifully blurred.
Sometimes stepping back helps you see forward.
The Firestorm XS Mistake I'll Never Make Again
Firestorm XS brought youth and fire. More group stunts, another pyramid, and my first attempt at flying shots. But here's where I got clever – and not in a good way.
I set my R6 Mark II to the second-fastest burst mode. Why? I wanted to save memory space. Classic rookie mistake, even for someone who should know better.
Let me be crystal clear: in sports photography, always use your fastest burst mode. Higher ISO is your friend. Slow shutter speeds are your enemy. Learn from my momentary lapse in judgment.
The shots were still fantastic, but I left performance on the table.
Wings of Fire and the Doubt That Crept In
Wings of Fire brought flags, stunts, pyramids – the whole spectacular package.
I stayed in the crowd again, but something felt different. Unsettled. The photos were turning out great, so why the unease?
Sometimes as photographers, we second-guess ourselves right when we're hitting our stride. The technical was perfect, but my confidence wavered. Should I move closer for BFC Firestorm's final performance?
Doubt is a photographer's silent enemy.
The Final Performance: When Everything Falls Apart
BFC Firestorm was up last. The pressure was mountainous. During their final rehearsal, things went sideways. Processes were forgotten. The coach rallied the troops, but you could feel the tension crackling through the air like before a storm.
I made a bold choice. Not front row. Not 45-degree angle. Dead center. Zero degrees.
Symmetry can be beautiful. But when something goes wrong, it's painfully obvious.
Then disaster struck. Two stunts failed. The pyramid wobbled like a house of cards in an earthquake. My friend's girlfriend took a foot to the neck but kept going until they presented the full performance. Behind the curtain she collapsed and tears dropped on the ground. She was rushed to emergency care…
The team's spirit shattered. Tokyo felt like a distant dream.
Through my viewfinder, I watched hearts break in real-time. The zero-degree angle – a mistake I won't repeat at sports events ever.
The Moment Everything Changed
Awards ceremony. I positioned myself to capture each Bremen team collecting their prizes. They did well – multiple trips to the podium. But when BFC Firestorm's name was called, nobody expected what came next.
I made a split-second decision. Instead of staying outside the circle, I stepped inside. Right into the huddle. Camera ready.
"BFC Firestorm – German Champions! You're going to Tokyo!"
The explosion of joy was nuclear. Disbelief. Tears. Pure, unfiltered elation. I was inside their bubble of triumph, capturing raw emotion that no telephoto lens could have delivered.
Those final shots – the ones of pure joy, of dreams realized, of the impossible becoming possible – they're worth more than any technical perfection.
The Takeaway
Sometimes the best photograph isn't about the perfect angle or the ideal settings. It's about being present when magic happens. It's about understanding that every setback is just setup for a comeback.
You want to capture extraordinary moments? Position yourself where extraordinary things happen. Get close to the action. Feel the energy. Become part of the story you're telling.
And remember – in sports, always use that fastest burst mode. Your future self will thank you.
What story is your camera waiting to tell today?