Set Pieces - Hatred - the Lifeblood of Football
Author: Puskas / Date: Thursday 6 November 2008
Can hate be good, as the Honda advert man said? Yes it can, Puskas argues. Especially in football.
In recent weeks, we've suffered the disgraceful spectacle of players being booed. England's noble Ashley Cole forced to endure hardship after hardship as the Wembley crowd spew forth their bile. Closer to home, Kevin Nolan - a Bolton lad through-and-through (sort of) - subjected to merciless mocking over his weight and tendency to enter challenges arse-first. And let’s not even start on Gary Megson.
Why do they do it? The press are eagerly lining up to pile into the fans. Fickle. Ill-educated. How dare they boo these heroes playing for their country? Conveniently forgetting, of course, their own willingness to attack if they think it will sell more papers - Ashley's Arsenal career ending as he swerved in his car on hearing of the insignificant pay rise he'd been offered. Careering off the road, as it were. Not to mention his vomit-laden encounters with Morden hairdressers. Not really major news stories, but hey – a celebrity (one of England’s heroes, no less) in circumstances that make him look bad? Hold the front page. The press, though, as usual, haven't got a clue. Hatred is the lifeblood of football. Deal with it.
What they don’t take into account is how badly 90 minutes can affect the whole week of a football fan. Long journeys repaid by dank performances. Hard-earned cash squandered on watching over-paid prima donnas disinterestedly swanning around. And at the end of it, another defeat. How long before you feel cheerful again?
That’s what the press forget – for those of us who genuinely care about the game, as opposed to merely writing about it, it doesn’t end on Saturday evening. If only it did. It dominates all else. Misery extending well into the following week. Sullenness with partners, friends, pets. All because of the lack of effort shown by some arrogant millionaires. An hour or so of being booed isn’t that bad for the reward, is it? If it is, get a proper job. We have to. And we’re the ones suffering for much longer.
Hatred, though, is important in other ways. We only hate Man United, don’t we? (Although, as a friend, is only too willing to add when hearing that chant, “And Wolves, Tranmere, Burnley...” The list could go on.) I recall another fan once arguing that it was all rather childish. Well, it possibly is. Why hate Man United? Why support Bolton? Why cheer on an expensively assembled team brought together from all over the world, simply because they’re based near where you were born? It seems silly – certainly no less childish. Probably, those glory-hunting southerners who latch onto Man United would say, it is silly. Follow the crowd to success, right? Sheep they may be, but at least they’re winners.
But then, where’s the emotion? Why bother watching football at all if that’s all it means to you? The life of a fan holds the full range of emotion. And hatred is just as much a part of that emotional spectrum as anything else. Invective directed against the opposition, the players, the chairman (Gartside’s latest plan to ruin the game by destroying the lower leagues), the manager (what does Megson know about football? About anything?)... spill it all out. It’s clearly cathartic.
Nobody wants silent stadia, populated by nodding drones. We want seething, menace-filled dens. We want edge. We also want decent football, but that’s not the point, here. It's about passion, anger, disappointment, frustration and, very occasionally – probably just enough to keep us going – joy.
So go on – boo the bastards. They deserve it.
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