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Ha. Where’s this from?
The fact is that most clubs have had to move. Some have adapted and settled in but it’s completely killed the experience of going to watch some teams. Bolton were ripped out of the town and are now six miles away on a horrible retail park. I’ve got mates who won’t go because the trains are shit and you end up drinking in a Harvester before the game.
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Whereas Burnden Park was a delight of course.
The mists of time.
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Article in the guardian. Apologies for the mobile link..
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@tommmmmmm
I’m hoping the fact that spurs haven’t had to move (though it’s taken all sorts of dealings and machinations) from our neighbourhood means that we don’t get that disenfranchisement, despite the idiocy of our impending season ticket pricing policy alienating our core support.
There’s something about the rituals of going to a match, the places that you gather that can’t be replicated when you move, and which most clubs in the rush for the cash seem to forget about. Staying close by means that stuff isn’t lost.
I remember riding past Maine road when I lived in Manchester and being in awe of this massive stadium that just appeared out of this mass of terraced housing. And thinking how inextricably linked to that community that club was.
You can’t move too far away from your roots no matter how much financial incentive there is if the fans are going to have a shit time...In the case of Man City, did winning alleviate the pain of moving stadiums? And do city fans feel that stadium is “theirs”?
andyp
cornelius_blackfoot
West Ham fan lament about the move to the new stadium and the lack of familiar surrounds.
Love the quote at the end. Not sure if it should live hear or in the hipster thread...
A typical complaint I heard before the Stoke game came from Tom Girling, a 52-year-old who has been following West Ham since he was 13. “This place is soulless,” he said, gesturing at the stadium and the empty expanse in which it’s located. “It’s got nothing. I used to go to Upton Park, grab a programme, nip in the pie and mash, have a bet, into the boozer, meet my pals, all good, have a laugh, then out afterwards. I’ve got nish here. I’m out in the elements drinking beer out of a plastic glass.”
I told him that I’d seen a pie and mash kiosk outside nearby Hackney Wick station, and there is one on the perimeter of the stadium. He looked at me as if I’d suggested becoming a Spurs fan.
“You mean the fashionista place?” he asked scathingly. “No, no, no. I’m not being funny… you’ve got all these trendy bearded people and they’ve got all these 13-hop ales I don’t understand. I’m old school. I like a pint of Carling. I’m a working-class boy. Football’s a working-class man’s game.”