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So
the festive season is behind us and, if I can come on all Scrooge
for a minute, thank God for that. No, not because I’ve an aversion
to the Vicar of Dibley, visits from the in laws and the constant
presence of Noel Edmonds - though of course, like anybody with half
a brain, I loathe them all - but because I’m sick to the back
teeth of hearing football managers whinging about the number of
games that get played at Christmas.
Apparently, playing Saturday / Tuesday / Saturday / Tuesday is too
much for some of them, in spite of the fact that that is the same
schedule that you’d have if you were playing in the overblown
money festival that is the Champions League.
But you get extra millions for that, so that’s ok.Having to
listen to the drivel that “tradition means nothing” from
the leaders of the big clubs, is pretty much typical. Because tradition
doesn’t mean anything to them, in spite of the fact that they
lead great clubs like Liverpool, clubs that are about nothing if
they’re not about tradition.
There’s a pretty good case to be made for managers having to
pass an exam before they take charge of any club, answering questions
on the club’s history, its fanbase, its culture. Having some
idea of the town or city they’re working in would be a good
start. But the only question they seem to have is “Where’s
the nearest bank / Ferrari dealer / Armani store?”
And when these complaints come from managers who can’t pick
the same side twice in a row anyway, who can’t help fiddling
with the team in the name of squad rotation, who have to amass a
playing staff the size of a military platoon, we’re in the
territory of the surreal.
I’ll
tell you why we play at Christmas. Because we want it. Remember
us? The supporters?
The ones who come through the gates and pamper your egos as you
kiss the third different badge in as many years?
The big boys play in big stadia that are always full, thanks to
the self perpetuating cycle of success that goes hand in hand with
huge wealth. The rest of us see our crowds fluctuate week on week
depending on our form, the opposition, the weather. The very future
of our clubs rests on those attendance figures that the big clubs
can afford to ignore.
Since that heinous day when the home club was allowed to keep all
the gate money instead of splitting it with the visiting club who
actually provide half the spectacle, the bulk of us have needed
to find every device possible to get people into our grounds.
And there ain’t no better device than Christmas. What do people
want in excess at Christmas?
Apart from drink and the new blonde temp from accounts? Entertainment,
a chance to get out of the house, away from the ever loving family
and the prospect of Julie Andrews emerging from over that hill again.
And whatever they say about football being a results business, first
and foremost it’s a part of the entertainment industry. Do
the cinemas close down for Christmas week? Theatres? Restaurants?
Pubs? Clubs? No, because that’s when they do a roaring trade.
At Christmas, people want to come to the football. They want some
entertainment. They want the buzz from the game, the distance from
the wife, the presence of the cheerleaders.
Those are the things we want. And it’s our game. We bought
you your Ferrari, and don’t you forget it. One day, we might
just take it back.
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