The Fields of Dreams

I’ve written a lot about players and managers but enjoyment of football also owes a considerable debt to the non-sentient mainstays of the sport: the venues at which it is played.

Fans and building, bricks and steel, turnstiles and pie stalls, they all combine to create an organic whole: the matchday experience. Anyone who’s attended a game will appreciate the unique atmosphere created within the ground. Even if your side is playing like a pile of poo, when the crowd is in full voice there’s nothing like it. When a spectator says “the place is buzzing”, it’s no exaggeration. Walls, pitch and stands, they all seem to come alive. Whether the Saints are marching in, bubbles are forever being blown or they are never walking alone, it’s a similar story across the world.

Of course, many of the grounds we see today look very different from the days when I was young. Indeed, some didn’t even exist. The fan experience has undergone changes along the way, too. The first radical change arose in the wake of English clubs’ horrendous hooligan problem which culminated in the post-Heysel UEFA ban from 1986. Terraces began to resemble prisons and Chelsea owner Ken Bates went further, threatening to electrify the fences to cage the Stamford Bridge yobbos in.

The 1989 Hillsborough disaster killed off that Thatcherite experiment but standing-only terraces were on borrowed time. With government legislation, all-seaters in the top flights became the norm in the glossy Premier League era. The hooligans were priced out, capacity was reduced and diehard fans rued the ensuing lack of atmosphere. As long as Sky TV pictures show few empty seats, nobody else seems to give a toss.

I didn’t go to many matches in the days of terracing. I watched Billericay at the old Wembley sitting down but my Exeter games were observed from the stamina-sapping Shed, hoping to find one of those quaint metal bars on which to lean. I’m not sure that Loftus Road was ever particularly atmospheric, even with fans standing at either end. At least both Exeter’s (left) and QPR’s home grounds have survived to commemorate their centenaries.

Many other clubs have abandoned their inner-city locations, their new stanchion-free stadia joining the retail industry’s retreat from the Victorian streets to new out-of-town homes. With the physical moves have come the identity changes. Farewell, Maine Road, hello the Etihad. Goodbye, Burnden Park, welcome to the Reebok/ Macron/ University of Bolton Stadium. Hwyl, Vetch Field; creoso I Liberty Stadium! There’s something reassuring about watching matches played at plain old Molineux (Wolves), Deepdale (Preston) or Ewood Park (Blackburn), steel pillars of their respective communities since the 1880s.

Having attended games at the new Wembley, St Mary’s in Southampton and the Cardiff City Stadium, I have to admit they are so superior to their dilapidated Victorian ancestors. The plastic bucket seats may be uncomfortable but it’s great to have clean toilets, plentiful bars and food stalls (sorry, ‘retail outlets’) and – especially important - unimpeded views of the pitch.

To many around the world, Wembley represents English football. The nostalgic purist in me loudly lamented the demolition of the Wembley twin towers (left) a decade ago, but I have to confess a grudging admiration for the graceful Arch. I think my Dad in his dotage also quite enjoyed a few visits to St Mary’s despite feeling sadness about the demise of Southampton’s original home at The Dell. My football-mad stepdaughter Rosie insists that Ninian Park was far preferable to Cardiff’s new stadium, despite her being in pigtails and ribbons when the Bluebirds last played there in 2009.

Rosie is hardcore when it comes to CCFC and Wales. She is a long-time season ticketholder, travels to away fixtures across the UK - and beyond and - sits for no-one in a football ground, no matter what the rules say. To her, that’s what football is about, standing in a sea of replica shirts cheering, taunting or screaming. The field of dreams, be it a mud patch in Essex or an 80,000 seater in Barcelona, is integral to the footie fan experience. Chairmen and owners, take note: the club is the ground, the ground is the club. Mess with it at your peril.