The appeal of the football ritual

Which game can unite a country, can consume an entire community, and fuel a person’s identity? Baseball? Perhaps. Basketball? Not likely. Golf? Now that’s just silly. Let me add context to this question. Which game is the most popular in the world and is a way of life for people in Santiago all the way to Seoul? The answer is Football, or Soccer.

Few countries in the world do not have leagues that cater to it, but few leagues cater to the very best from countries worldwide. Out of these few global leagues, which one would you expect to be at the tip of most youngsters’ tongues in Shanghai? Which league would be top of mind for rising stars in Brazil? Which league intrigues oil tycoons from the Middle East? Yes, it’s the Premiership League in England.

What is so magical about this league? Well, I recently went to my first match at the Emerites stadium in London to watch Arsenal and the experience gave me a hint of what the answer could be: ritual. Granted, the familial aspect of the clubs is important, as is the heritage of each team. However, neither would have their power without the ritual. Allow me to explain.

So what is this ritual? Well, to boil it down to its most primitive definition, it is the dress-pub-match-pub routine, which is lived by most, if not all, the spectators. This routine consumes the day. Given the size of these stadiums that are tucked into dense urban residential neighborhoods, the community is automatically engulfed by the day’s match. Every pub is filled with team colors, every restaurant is packed with men getting in a last bite, every fast food chain is boiling over with fans looking for “lager-absorbing snacks”, every corner store is stuffed with patrons looking for “match fillers”, and the list goes on. The bottom line is that every business values each home game, and thus every local businessman can’t help but become a devoted fan. As a result, I am not remotely surprised that the community would put up with a great deal of “less-than-favorable” fan behavior. In essence, they are protecting their kids!

Beyond the magical summoning of the neighborhood collective spirit, this ritual also creates the stage for the week’s “meaningful conversations”.

English Football has a rich history and has been vital to life in England for ages. Unfortunately, this wonderful past and positive societal role is undermined by the more sensational reputation of “the birthplace of hooliganism”. Honestly, I think that this aspect of the English Football culture has its role in the allure of the clubs in Britain. After all, the passion that corresponds to hooliganism adds energy to the collective dynamism of the spectator crowd, which makes the fan experience electric, even for players. However, I don’t want to make this a key point. Let’s focus instead on the energy that this ritual brings to each match.

The rumbling that echoed throughout the stadium as I entered Arsenal’s home was so utterly unique, so incredibly powerful. It was simply impossible not to be consumed by the spirit of the game, and the dominating personalities of the Gods of Football. Few sports environments can rival this. Not even the religious followers of the New York Yankees could elevate their supporting voices to the level that was in the Emerites Stadium. Now try to put yourself in the boots of the professional players waiting in the dressing rooms below. They must hear the noise above. I don’t care how new the building is. This must only increase as they make their way to the pitch. I can only guess how overwhelming the electric power must be. Ultimately, these players are today’s version of the stadium rockers of the 70s. With this context, it starts to make more sense why the allure of Premiership Football is unmatched.

Imagine all this energy momentum culminating when the staring 11 run onto the pitch. How can these players not feel the vibe, get addicted on the vibe, tell their pals across oceans to feel the vibe?

Back in the stands the start of the match neared. As the noise escalated, I tried to take a step back and take it all in. A quick glance around the crowd brought a noteworthy observation: there were very few women. Now, I wasn’t expecting legions of passionate “Footie Females”, but the sheer lack of any feminine presence was something that I have seen in no other live sporting event. On judgment, this reinforces the power of the ritual. It is the pinnacle of “boy’s night out”, male-bonding at its grandest. As I would later find out, some seats have been owned by local families for decades. Dads take their sons to the match every weekend. Generations follow this ritual. Consequently, the impersonal influence of corporate seat ownership is minimized (which certainly has tamed some traditionally passionate and rowdy sports crowds such as those in Hockey). In addition, family ownership of seating assures high attendance and knowledge of players. Both of these realities influence the potency of a Gameday’s energy.

Up to this point, the ritual has brought together a community, alcoholically fueled the neighborhoods men, influenced the vocal power of the supporters, and energized the players. As both teams each strategically place eleven on the pitch, and the referee places his lips on the whistle, the fevered crowd can’t restrain itself. The result? Song, the next detail in the ritual. Only war songs of the past can rival these chants. They certainly beat the pathetic North American choruses such as “Go Leafs Go”. I’ve been mesmerized by these chants which have been used to great effect in historic songs by Pink Floyd. Live, their hypnotic allure becomes obvious. The Stadium graduates from sports venue to religious temple. Some become over-consumed. The already high energy becomes super-charged, which, at times, lights select fans’ short fuse. However, this reality only ensures a unique experience and, subsequently, the attraction of the ritual.

As the game progressed, another part of the ritual emerged: banter. Arsenal wasn’t playing to its full potential. Meanwhile, many of the gents to either side of me seemed to really need a dose of optimism so that they could face the upcoming workweek. Since it wasn’t happening, harsh words were slung at the pitch. This was like public therapy for many of these local folks. I don’t suppose the players realize all the roles that they play in their supporters’ lives. If they knew, the pressure would likely cripple their game. But, I digress. The public display of displeasure further electrifies the environment sparking great discussion among some and friction among others. Again, the experience is only enhanced by this dynamic.

The banter and resulting interactions lay the ground for the post game ritual. Essentially, it mirrors the pre-game mixture of food, alcohol, and tiny over-packed establishments. The level of celebration clearly depends on the outcome of the game. In my case, the outcome was positive. The pub, therefore, was equally pleasurable. The wind-down moment was at hand.

The frigid temperature outside was forgotten, the upcoming workweek was not considered, the horrid state of the economy a locked-away concern. All that mattered, all that was discussed, was the game. Those final hours of male bonding, of dancing with lady-lager, were meticulously enjoyed. After this, I too yearned for another chance to be taken away by the ritual. My next trip to the UK is already booked.

Until next time.

 

~ by fmertens on April 13, 2009.