So for the last time, Thomas Gottschalk appears on the studio stage, on the screens, on an altar of broadcast time, Because they don’t know what’s happening on RTL. He walks with casual Las Vegas steps, in a black velvet suit, too elegant as always, too much Italian leather for the German sneaker-and-jacket habit. “Thank you,” says Gottschalk simply. His smile is chiseled, perhaps from five decades of show business, from the sympathy of the last few days, but in the next few hours the tired corners of his mouth will probably simply be supported by the deep affection of his audience. Gottschalk always sought the audience’s love, he probably needed it, and he seemed increasingly affected by the rejection and criticism of the present, which can sometimes be merciless in its judgments. Jauch and Schöneberger walk in to the right and left of the side as “Günther Gottschalk” and “Barbara Gottschalk”. She calls out to the applause: “We’re all a bit Gottschalk today!”