| jeff,
Have you read topic 157 ? If you haven't, you might be interested in
its contents - don't be misled by the title; religion and politics,
thankfully, were eased out of the discussion. As a contributor to that
discussion, I had considered suggesting that it be renamed/moved to...
something like 'The Future of Football' !! So, well done that man !
Anyway, to respond to your topic, the future of the game depends on
money. Money is generated by support, whether it be commercial or at
the turnstiles. To increase turnstile support, I believe, relies
heavily on making the game family entertainment - but in order to
achieve that requires increased facilities, which means money. It's a
vicious circle, and one which the Aldershots of this world will never
break. It has to be faced - clubs will go out of business; but one
man's poison is another man's meat (sic). As one door closes, another
opens. Clubs like Wycombe, Altringham et al deserve a crack. Maybe
part of the answer lies in reducing the number of teams in the Football
League.....?
PFC
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| From "The Observer", Sunday 1st October 1995...
" Fickle fervour of fans
======================
It was late and a Scottish friend, fuelled by the hour and the
barley, reached for his copy of Scotland's 1978 World Cup theme
song. This was not going to be a pretty sight. Already reddened eyes
were rendered virtually scarlet as shaky fingers dropped the needle
in the groove and he began to blub. 'I love my country!" he wailed
to a backdrop of unrelenting tunelessness ... 'but what I'm doing
living in Fulham I don't know.'
It would be facetious to doubt his ardour. After all, Wee Scotty, as
we call him, has for more than 40 years sustained a love of Partick
Thistle, sharing doomed spiritual ground with the Big Yin, and will
happily repeat the comic's old quip that for most of his adult life
he thought the name of the club was Partick Thistle Nil.
But, like Billy Connolly, he moved away (even if Fulham is a
comfortably easier commute to Firhill Park than is Hollywood), a
member of the Exiled Obsessives, sad souls condemned to trawl the
agate in sports pages of hostile, foreign organs for the merest
mention of their heroes. Stirring stuff, eh?
Except that, as a survey by the Premier League last week
illustrated, loyalty is an increasingly portable commodity,
transferred on a whim to a bigger stage, home towns forgotten and
floundering. It is impossible to sustain the argument, as
traditionalists tried to when Rupert Murdoch plundered the hearts
and bank accounts of rugby league, that things are as they were.
Merger most foul was the theme, since resisted, but surely it's only
a temporary reprieve.
As we had suspected, the progressive dilution of genuine fealty is
upon us. The unpalatable reality is that small clubs that do not
carry the cachet of style, money, power and results deemed essential
in a superficial world are dying and the giants stride on, bulging
with money and cups and supported by an invisible army of thousands
whose only connection with Liverpool, say, is achieved through a
subscription to Sky.
It was not enough to make you drop your bacon sandwich, as they say
in "Loaded", to learn that 49 per cent of Liverpool's supporters
live more than 50 miles from Anfield (for crying out loud, people do
have cars) - but it would have been more illuminating to the
discussion if the distance had been put at 300 miles. Or 3,000.
Clubs like these, names that are scrawled in graffiti from Chester
to Los Angeles, command instant product recognition. People who have
never seen a football match have heard of Manchester United who,
incidentally, are considering launching their own television
station, with their matches sold all over the world to United loons.
These are links forged through television, of course, the saint and
the devil of sport. The experience, once treasured, of enduring the
wind and the rain, a sort of penitential bonding, seems no longer to
matter. So if you're not even going to go, you might as well watch
what's on, and what's on is rarely Partick Thistle.
All that some of these small clubs have left by way of support are
the few hundred who hire the supporters' bus for another away
thrashing, and the silent interest of people who adopt them like
raggedy-arsed waifs. (I can tell you that Emley are doing reasonably
well in the Unibond Premier League this season, after a middling
time last winter, only because I stuck my flag to their cause after
a visit there last Christmas.)
What initially looked like an innocent inquiry into where the future
lay for football ultimately left a sour taste; market-driven
loyalty, say the figures, is the future. Which is really a
retrograde step, if you think about it - like the squire signing up
the serfs.
Wee Scotty is happy now, though. He's moved back to Glasgow.
Kevin Mitchell "
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