The Times - UK (2020-07-27)

16 1GG Monday July 27 2020 | the times

It was the experiment foisted upon football that

nobody wanted, and certainly not in the

circumstances that made it a reality.

But Covid-19 forced the industry to make its

decision between a rock and a hard place:

abandon the season or play your games behind

closed doors. Given the choice, it wasn’t a

decision at all. An entire economy was more or

less depending on the games going ahead.

The prospect of top-flight games being played

in empty arenas had previously been a mere

thought experiment, floated occasionally by

observers alarmed at the astronomical sums of

money being paid for the broadcast rights. In

their view ordinary supporters were being

increasingly priced out of the match-day ritual,

and generally becoming alienated from a game

that had turned rampantly corporate. Television

had become the cuckoo in the nest and too many

fans were being thrown overboard.

Those who were willing and able to pay the

escalating ticket prices were now no more than

set dressing in a made-for-TV drama,

background providers of colour and atmosphere.

Premier League clubs were receiving so much

money from broadcasters the day was fast

approaching when turnstile revenue wouldn’t

amount to a hill of beans by comparison. As a

result, the elite division could sail on blithely,

with or without the masses in the stands.

Obviously this is the doomsday scenario, the

logical endgame envisaged by the most

pessimistic town criers. And it is a risibly

simplistic projection of the financial model at

most clubs. But it chimes with a broader

apprehension in the public realm that the

people’s game no longer belongs to the people.

Anyhow, the doomsday scenario did arrive,

albeit not with football in its sights but humanity

in general. The coronavirus sent the world into

lockdown and the Premier League was just

another industry scrambling for a survival

strategy. When it re-opened for business on June

17 at Villa Park, the experiment with emptiness

began. It will continue when the new season

starts in September.

One finds it almost impossible to separate the

wretchedness endured by society over the past

four months from the experience of watching

football during that period. In normal times they

are easily separated and compartmentalised. The

Premier League usually exists in its own parallel

universe. But even it could not avoid the

gravitational pull exerted by the biggest

existential crisis to face humankind in decades. It

was brought crashing down to earth. And when it

did relaunch, the empty stands were a constant

reminder of the reality beyond the stadium gates.

The resumption was supposed to symbolise a

resumption in society as a whole. If the game was

back, normal life was on its way back too. But all

it did was advertise how abnormal the new

normal would be. If communities couldn’t turn

up to watch their team play, what we were

getting was only a façade, a facsimile of

normality. Football wasn’t back at all; it was

football on television that was back.

But still, what’s 40,000 fans at Goodison Park,

say, in comparison with a couple of million

around the world watching from their armchairs?

It goes without saying that everyone across the

industry would prefer packed venues. But the

relevant executives have had a chance now to

look at the viability of their product for home

consumption without the element which for more

than a century was indispensable to its existence.

One imagines the end-of-season review will

bring only cold comfort for the invested parties.

Yes, they managed to get the games played and

their contractual obligations discharged. But the

experiment can only return one verdict: the

game, like the stadiums, is a shell without its

people. If the strategists had forgotten, or simply

taken it for granted, they have been dealt the

starkest of reminders. The fans on the ground are

at the heart of the game’s appeal. It is a palsied,

enfeebled thing without them.

Perhaps it is too premature for definitive

conclusions, but football’s significance in the

culture seemed to dwindle in front of our eyes

without the crowds to lift it and envelop it. Its

ultimate power source is in the popular culture,

made manifest by those who turn the stadiums

into theatres of passion every weekend.

One could argue that the game is still the

game irrespective of crowds. The mechanics of

pass-and-move don’t change just because there’s

nobody there. The game stands on its own

merits; its appeal is intrinsic, not dependent on

how many are there to watch it. But we also

know that crowds can have a material effect on

the players by transferring energy, by galvanising

them emotionally and thereby physically. The

intensity levels have been visibly lower than

normal in many of the games played under

lockdown. In this regard, the presence of

supporters is not merely decorative or passive,

but an active ingredient in the cocktail.

Some fantastic goals have been scored. The

silence that greeted them was deafening. The

noise that traditionally greets them is glorious.

The masses bring the glory to the glory game.

The experiment without them has confirmed

how essential they are. The game is dystopian

without them. And as a TV experience it is

greatly diminished too. If the silent disco of the

last four months has taught us anything, it is this.

The doomsters may have an alternative future

to contemplate, one in which the clubs and

broadcasting behemoths end up paying fans to

fill the stands, instead of charging them small

fortunes for the privilege. It is true what they say:

people are only missed when they’re gone.

Dystopian experiment has shown

how feeble football is without fans

TOMMY

CONLON

Liverpool parade the Premier League trophy at Anfield last week but no amount of tickertape could

make up for the absence of their fans inside the stadium to share in the players’ proud moment

FUNNY

OLD

GAME

Comedian

George Lewis

reflects on

the season

When I was young, end-of-

season football awards would

take place in pub function rooms,

all the dads would get too drunk

and you’d get the best ex-pro

within your price range to hand

out the trophies. Well, this one’s

no different. I’ve hired the big

room at my local working men’s

club to write this. Dad’s in the

corner, on his fourth pint, and

I’m paying Steve Ogrizovic to

stand next to me. Here we go.

There will be no most improved

player award this year. Everyone

knows it’s a patronising way of

telling someone that everyone

likes them and they try hard, but

they’re not very good. Instead, I’ll

start with most improved team,

which goes to Norwich City. Great

bunch of lads.

Next up, achievement of the

season. There have been some

big ones. Project Restart,

Southampton’s heroic turnaround

after their 9-0 defeat by Leicester

City, Eric Dier climbing over all

those seats to confront that fan.

But the award has to go to

Liverpool for their trophy

celebration. To create an

atmosphere in that context was

one of the most phenomenal

things I’ve ever seen. It reminded

me of going into a nightclub and

seeing there’s no one else there,

but you’ve paid your entry so now

you’re stuck awkwardly dancing

with a few mates in a huge room.

But the room Liverpool were in

had a 54,000 capacity.

Now for goal of the season.

I almost gave this to Son Heung-

min’s stunner against Burnley.

But another goal wins for its

originality and societal impact.

When Orjan Nyland, the Aston

Villa goalkeeper, fumbled the ball

into his own net against Sheffield

United, the technology said it

didn’t count. We’ve had goals not

count before, but this was the first

time every human watching could

clearly see that it went in, yet we

still obeyed the robots.

We’ll look back at this when

we’re living in a dystopian

wasteland with drones monitoring

our every move and think: “That

was the moment that finally

tipped the balance and we

knew THEY were in charge.”

This leads us neatly to fan of

the season. It’s tempting to give it

to a loveable old fella who follows

his team around the country. But,

when you look at the facts, there

can only be one winner. They

have attended every match since

the restart, sometimes several at

the same time, always giving the

exact appropriate response to

whatever is happening on the

pitch. No fan in history has ever

achieved anything like this, or

ever will again. So, my fan of the

season is... the digital crowd noise

algorithm. I deny any accusations

that I’m showing favouritism to

those I think will become our

overlords.

Right, I need to speed things up.

Steve Ogrizovic is sliding across

the dancefloor on his knees and

if he gets holes in his trousers,

I’ll lose my deposit. Manager,

moment, personality, smile, joke,

eyes and man of the season all go

to Jürgen Klopp.

Paul Pogba held his hands up, and then he held

his hands up. Harry Maguire said his Manchester

United team-mate had held his hands up in the

dressing room for conceding a penalty against

West Ham Unted last week with his panic-

stricken reaction to the ball approaching his head

at speed from a free kick. Ole Gunnar Solskjaer

also said afterwards that “Paul held his hands up

knowing he should have taken it in the mush”.

For the sake of clarity alone, football folk ought

to learn a few new clichés.

The view was that he should have taken one

for the team. They wouldn’t have said so if the

ball had been travelling towards the old crown

jewels. You have to draw the line somewhere.

When and when not

to take one for team

BRADLEY ORMESHER/NMCPOOL