Everyone remembers the first time they come to the Stadion An der Alten Försterei. And as he followed his players on the lap of honour following the wildest of 3-3 draws you could ever experience (at least, were you not used to what one journalist called “the usual Union madness”), it’s unlikely Mauro Lustrinelli will forget his too.

His Union league, and competitive home debut against Eintracht Frankfurt on Saturday afternoon was exhilarating and utterly compelling. His grin was spread from ear to ear; he had barely got his feet under the table. What is most astonishing, however, is that the beginning of this game was as astonishing as the end, they were like two bookends with explosives attached. 

Starts don’t get much wilder than this; indeed, after three goals in the opening 10 minutes, thoughts were going back to that game against Stuttgart. That the first half of this game, in front of a typically brusque and raucous, and ultimately delighted, Alte Försterei crowd didn’t hit those ludicrous heights didn’t mean much, for there was still huge meaning here, everywhere you looked.  

It wasn’t just a Bundesliga debut for the head coach, three of his starting eleven were taking their first steps in the league, too. The impressive Michel Aebischer’s first touch was a peach; after robbing Raphael Onyedika, he looked up and hit a dreamlike long ball, half the length of the pitch, ahead of Marin Ljubičić.

Brimming with confidence from his double in the cup last weekend, the Croatian took it on, the whole stadium behind their returning (new) hero. He won a corner, taken by Josip Juranović, hit to where Emmanuel Latte Lath was to get his own first touch in the new league. He rose, meeting the ball perfectly with his head, planting it past a stunned Noah Atubolu.

It was breathtaking, hair-raising stuff. Yet that was nothing. Eintracht would score twice in two minutes before 11 minutes were up. First, Van Den Bosch sent Onyedika’s cross out for a corner, but there was no-one around to stop Younes Ebnoutalib sliding the loose ball in for the equaliser.

Then, suddenly, with the dust not yet settled, Leopold Querfeld’s usually considered touch deserted him and, waiting for just such an opportunity, Ebnoutalib was free on goal, putting the ball through Matheo Raab’s legs. Van Den Bosch flew at the line, hooking the ball away, but it was too late, it had just squeaked over. The Eintracht players raced as one to the corner, revelling in front of the Union fans whose boos and jeers reached jet-engine levels. The double scorer, having led the merry dance, got booked for his efforts.

The season had been going for just ten minutes, and already it felt like a year.

Eintracht ploughed on and Can Uzun was inches away when he lunged at Elias Baum’s clever cross from the right, in behind Union’s defence.

But this wasn’t Stuttgart, and the pace couldn’t hold. Aebischer was booked five minutes later after a barge on Keita Kosugi. He’d been putting himself about, as the euphemistic phrase goes - just as they like their midfielders here – and it was probably fair enough; not that Latte Lath could be accused of similar when called for the next foul on Uzun, 35 yards from his own goal. Raab held the resulting free kick though, way above his head, being careful just to stop it dropping inside his back post.

If, amongst the maddening crowds, Khedira and Kemlein were trying to provide the stability, Schäfer flickered in midfield, his impish old-self, winning one ball, hitting it out wide to Rothe who after one loping stride crossed an inch ahead of the toe of Ljubičić, flying towards goal.

The two coaches were a study in opposites, meanwhile. Adi Hütter in black, Lustrinelli in white. Hütter palms up, imploring his players to keep their intensity; Lustrinelli’s pointed down, urging calm to his.

With the levels of absurdity on the pitch reduced again to a minimum as the half went on, they rose off it as play stopped with half an hour gone. The fans whistled from both sides at the next hated drinks break, but the reason was more mundane; the linesman had pulled up hurt.

His replacement in place, they went again, with Querfeld heading back to Juranović, keeping the ball away from Burkardt before Ayoube Amaimouni-Echghouyab cut inside, only to see his shot cannon away off the back of his teammate, Uzun. When Baum and Ebnoutalib combined to the right of the Union box, Khedira was there, too, to get a toe in before van Den Bosch could sweep up before too much more danger ensued.

Union were showing moments, flashes, of what they could do, of what Lustrinelli had in mind. On 38 minutes Khedira picked up the ball in midfield, hit it quickly out to Rothe, who again fizzed the most tantalising of low, sharp crosses across the face of goal. Again, Ljubičić was a whisker away from turning it in. Rothe, Schäfer and Aebischer played a gorgeous set of short jabs between themselves, a pentagram of passes, on the edge of the Eintracht box well into the eight minutes of time added on to the half. But none of them could get it down to finish.

As the extra minutes went on, Union upped their offensive; Rothe hit another cross, this time from the right, across goal; Van Den Bosch found Juranović with a fine Crossfield ball that saw Atubolu claim the ball on the slide just ahead of Aebischer.

The Union players were first out after the break, unchanged, the sprinklers still on, Van Halen still playing through the speakers. Jump. Well, quite.

Raab was called into action early, but there never seemed much threat to Uzun’s low ball inside that he got to with little effort. Rothe, a menace up and down the right-hand side all day, won a corner the other way, but Juranović couldn’t recreate his magical delivery from the first half, and Latte Lath was outmuscled as he tried to get up to reach it.

Opposite Rothe, Juranović was incandescent when the linesman stood in front of him as he looked to launch his next long throw into the box. How could he not get out of his way, he cried. In the end he took it short, anticipating Aebischer’s clever return pass and winning the next corner.  At the other end, meanwhile, Fares Chaibi couldn’t get enough swerve on his shot from the edge of the box and put the chance wide. Rothe stood up strong, and blocked Baum’s half chance with towering ease.

On the stroke of the hour Lustrinelli made his first substitutions. Latte Lath, Aebischer and Schäfer were off, Livan Burcu, Wooyeong Jeong and Tim Skarke were on. Burcu immediately took the ball on when found by Jeong out on the left, but Atubolu was out quickly to snaffle his speculative stab into the box.

It was the Frankfurt born player, and former Eintracht youth, however, who saw his mis-hit volleyed clearance, back in his own box, drop ultimately at the boot of Ebnoutalib to lash home for his hat-trick for 3-1. If the Union fans’ heads dropped, Lustrinelli’s didn’t.

Burcu was keen to make up for it, and it took a good stop from the increasingly involved, and always excellent Atubolu to deny him after his and Skarke’s clever little routine at a freekick on the very edge of the Eintracht box. The keeper then saved well from Rothe, as he swung a volley at the next deep, swinging crosses from Juranović, then Jeong, having been played in by Ljubičić.  Burcu tormented Baum, running at him at pace, twisting him inside and out, but still nothing came of it. Janik Haberer, only just on for Kemlein, put his header too close to the keeper when he had time to pick his spot.

Union still wouldn’t give up, and with 15 minutes to go Atubolu was forced into two more fine stops, the second, flinging himself to somehow tip Juranović’s drive over, as the whole stadium around bellowed “Shoooooooot!” It would lead to the next goal.

The pressure was telling, and finally, on 77 minutes, Union halved the deficit through Querfeld, placing a thumping header to Atubolu’s right after the next of a seemingly endless string of corners. Now they had a chance and Lustrinelli - still, the coolest man in the building, his arms behind his back, watching on like this was a game in the park - made a final change to try and use all that momentum, bringing Derrick Köhn on to the right wing, replacing the spent Ljubičić.

His players threw themselves into the remaining minutes like they were looking for the very eye of the hurricane. Köhn drove too close to the keeper; Burcu ran from left-back almost across to the right wing. Juranović raged as another free kick fell into Atubolu’s hands; Querfeld flicked another throw-in behind him towards goal, but with no power on the ball. Kosugi – himself making his Bundesliga debut - dragged Skarke to the floor, substitute Otavio got booked for felling Köhn.

Something was happening, you could feel it in the air, in the sharpness of breath, in the steady rising of the volume. And in the 92^nd minute it came.

Rothe crossed from the left towards the back post where Van Den Bosch loitered, flicking it straight along with a flick of his head. Querfeld kept it in the air, nodding it on a further time where the ball reached Skarke. But this wasn’t a fait accompli, he had to flick it on the turn to finally beat Atubolu. He didn’t smash it in a panic as many would have; he caressed it home.

The stadium had completed its transformation from patient church of stolid and dogged support in the face of all adversity to a party, a broad-smiled, gushing, screaming one-hell-of-a-party.

And for Lustrinelli, it was quite the introduction to the old place. He’ll never forget his first time.