Yesterday I was in the Virgin shop in town, when I heard a guy say something that’s been hovering in my mind ever since.
Him and the Virgin employee were partaking in the usual customer service patter, when the discussion (naturally for the West of Scotland) moved onto football. The customer bloke was upgrading to Sky Sports, and so the Virgin guy asked him who it was he supported. The conversation went a bit like this “Well I was brought up supporting Ayr United, and used to go to all the games and everything, but now I prefer to watch Arsenal on the tele”. The Virgin guy politely bantered him off about Arsenal’s title chances, the usual stuff, asked him if they’d keep Sanchez and so on. Everyone moved on. I didn’t though, which is why I’m sat here at 11 at night writing about it. That attitude. The whole answer. Everything. It was so alien to me that I was a little bit scared. The whole prospect of ditching a team you were brought up supporting. A team with genuine roots in the community. A team that must’ve given you memories you’ll never forget. To sit in the house watching players you have no connection with play 300 miles away made me want to grab the monitor and attack the bloke until he was unconscious. For the life of me I couldn’t understand that attitude. Nothing. Absolutely nothing even comes close to being at a live football match. Sure you can have Sky or BT on a 50” UHD TV in your living room, but give me a damp Junior ground in front of 150 people over that every day. In 2016/17 I went to 57 games. A figure that’s dropped by about 30 a season since I started coaching four years ago. I fully understand that I’m unusual in that regard. I’m someone who’ll go wherever they can to see a live game of football, the idea of watching it on the TV just does not appeal to me at all. A few months ago a family member went to his first ever football match. He’s not too into football, and neither’s his Dad, but they got hold of tickets to a game and went along. Did they go local? Nope. They went to watch Manchester City. What they will associate with football, and what I associate with football will be two totally different things therefore. The whole expense, the feeling around it for them was that it was a sightseeing trip. They went to a football match like I’d visit the Eiffel Tower. The result didn’t matter, it was all about the experience. Unfortunately that’s something that seems to be becoming the norm. Football at the highest level risks becoming a sightseeing exercise. Just look at the ghastly ‘Premier League Asia Trophy’ as evidence of this fact. Martin Tyler said it ‘will give the Asian fans a taste of the Premier League experience’. Maybe if they actually left the house and supported football in Hong Kong, Malaysia, China wherever, then they wouldn’t need this ‘experience’. Instead the vast majority seem content to sit in and watch Manchester United or Chelsea...Just as the chap in the Virgin shop seemed keen to do with Arsenal. I dread to think how many Virgin Shop people there are now in Scotland. Guys (and gals) content to sit and watch hyperinflated egos in fluorescent boots pretend to care about a club who lose more and more of their identity with every passing season. If you’re reading this and considering scaling down how often you attend live football, don’t. I know the costs are high at the top level, but pop down to visit your local team. Lower league, Lowland League, Junior, it doesn’t matter. Go along. ‘Experience’ it. Put your money towards helping players scrabble together a reasonable standard of living, put it towards keeping these little local clubs alive, keep it from Rupert Murdoch’s hands. I still remember one of the first Junior games I ever went to. It was at Adamslie Park, Kirkintilloch (which is unfortunately now a sorry derelict site awaiting redevelopment). Rob Roy were playing Largs Thistle in front of a crowd of about 300. It had been pouring, but had now cleared up, and Largs were searching for a goal to draw level. I was stood right down the front leaning on the wee fence, when the ball went out of play on the edge of the box for a Largs throw. The player jogged over, picked up the ball, turned to me and said: “Watch this”. He then hurtled a monstrous throw into the box which was headed into the net. He turned looked at me and did that wee thing folk do with the arms, as if to say ‘told you’. I was starstruck. Not only had a real life footballer spoken to me, he’d then practically celebrated with me. That was comfortably more than a decade ago now, yet it’s still one of my clearest football memories. It would also never have happened if I’d stayed in the house that day and just watched Arsenal. I’m aware this has turned into a ramble, but I hope it vaguely illustrates just why I was sat in a state of seethe and stunned disbelief. A guy had chosen to turn his back on (much cliched) ‘real football’, for what is fast becoming the reality television world of the Premier League on Sky. I hope that I’ll never be able to understand his feelings.
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April 2020
CategoriesAuthorI'm Fraser, 22, Sons fan who is now living the dream of reporting on Dumbarton for the Lennox Herald. |