Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The hooligans go marching on
The hooligans go marching on
Now there's a surprise. Whoever would have guessed the fans from West Ham United and Millwall would have got together to settle some old scores last before, during and after their League Cup tie. Given the bad blood that exists between these two sets of supporters it was always going to happen. It was just a question of degree.
Football fighting has never gone away and the reason it stays with us is dead simple. People enjoy it. They enjoy the dressing up, they enjoy the banter, they enjoy the thought that their evening could end up giving or receiving a bloody good hiding. Forget all the bullshit the shrinks come out with at times like this. It's a laugh.
You can be sure for days before the clash the pubs around the east end and south of the river were buzzing about this game. About who was going to meet who and where.
Making games all ticket just shifts the aggro off the terraces. Making stadiums members only is fine and you will always ban a few fans for life that way but they'll still get up to mischief away from the ground if called upon.
Hooliganism seems to have been around forever and there are probably young men out there who were involved in last night's action who have had the buzz passed down from father to son. It's in their jeans. It's what they do innit?
It ain't always about having a dead end job with a shit life. People with good jobs are also known to swing a punch or pool cue. Explain that one you boffins.
Now of course we have a new breed of hooligan. The retired old hand. Back in the day players were the heroes but there was still a sense of approachability about them. Old Arsenal boys telling me about meeting the likes of Charlie George and Tony Adams in bars round North London after they had finished training and they were always willing for a chat with supporters.
Not today. You see these muggy players when they get off the team bus. Kitted in shell suits, looking mean and moody, locked away in their own personal i-pod world they hardly invite interaction with the outside world do they?
It was Ashley Cole who perhaps best illustrated how far the divide had grown between players and fans when he gleefully bragged in his pointless autobiography how he had nearly driven off the road after hearing Arsenal's offer of a 5 grand a week pay rise. Only 5 grand a week, only an extra quarter of a million a year. Tell it to those on mortgages Ash.
More recently of course we had Liverpool midfielder Steven Gerrard actually in a bar. But apparently he took offense at the music being played and decided to slap some guy a few times. Then have his mates join in. good friendly stuff.
Into the void stepped thug-lit. One time thugs, retired terrace heroes told their tales of daring do, never done, never run heroics back in the days of inter city specials and pay on the gate games. Write a book, make a t shirt, hey connect with the people you grew up with and suddenly the shelves of WH Smiths were straining under the pressure of these hoolie tales.
A circuit developed where these bovver boys would travel the country, have a jar with some folk who paid to meet them and sell a few more books. Throw in a question and answer session, everyone has a few beers and all go home after a very pleasant night out. While the players live in their celebrity wonderland, sipping in their exclusive clubs and sleeping in their gated communities far from the riff raff.
Everyone loves a rebel. Most people lead such dull, conformist lives where initiative is crushed out of them by the need to pay the mortgage and not upset the pricks at number 47. On life support machines they look to others for their kicks. Some see celebs as rebels. Others see musicians while yet others see people kicking the crap out of each other and wish they had the balls.
Most of us are pretty vacant when it comes down to it.
Now there's a surprise. Whoever would have guessed the fans from West Ham United and Millwall would have got together to settle some old scores last before, during and after their League Cup tie. Given the bad blood that exists between these two sets of supporters it was always going to happen. It was just a question of degree.
Football fighting has never gone away and the reason it stays with us is dead simple. People enjoy it. They enjoy the dressing up, they enjoy the banter, they enjoy the thought that their evening could end up giving or receiving a bloody good hiding. Forget all the bullshit the shrinks come out with at times like this. It's a laugh.
You can be sure for days before the clash the pubs around the east end and south of the river were buzzing about this game. About who was going to meet who and where.
Making games all ticket just shifts the aggro off the terraces. Making stadiums members only is fine and you will always ban a few fans for life that way but they'll still get up to mischief away from the ground if called upon.
Hooliganism seems to have been around forever and there are probably young men out there who were involved in last night's action who have had the buzz passed down from father to son. It's in their jeans. It's what they do innit?
It ain't always about having a dead end job with a shit life. People with good jobs are also known to swing a punch or pool cue. Explain that one you boffins.
Now of course we have a new breed of hooligan. The retired old hand. Back in the day players were the heroes but there was still a sense of approachability about them. Old Arsenal boys telling me about meeting the likes of Charlie George and Tony Adams in bars round North London after they had finished training and they were always willing for a chat with supporters.
Not today. You see these muggy players when they get off the team bus. Kitted in shell suits, looking mean and moody, locked away in their own personal i-pod world they hardly invite interaction with the outside world do they?
It was Ashley Cole who perhaps best illustrated how far the divide had grown between players and fans when he gleefully bragged in his pointless autobiography how he had nearly driven off the road after hearing Arsenal's offer of a 5 grand a week pay rise. Only 5 grand a week, only an extra quarter of a million a year. Tell it to those on mortgages Ash.
More recently of course we had Liverpool midfielder Steven Gerrard actually in a bar. But apparently he took offense at the music being played and decided to slap some guy a few times. Then have his mates join in. good friendly stuff.
Into the void stepped thug-lit. One time thugs, retired terrace heroes told their tales of daring do, never done, never run heroics back in the days of inter city specials and pay on the gate games. Write a book, make a t shirt, hey connect with the people you grew up with and suddenly the shelves of WH Smiths were straining under the pressure of these hoolie tales.
A circuit developed where these bovver boys would travel the country, have a jar with some folk who paid to meet them and sell a few more books. Throw in a question and answer session, everyone has a few beers and all go home after a very pleasant night out. While the players live in their celebrity wonderland, sipping in their exclusive clubs and sleeping in their gated communities far from the riff raff.
Everyone loves a rebel. Most people lead such dull, conformist lives where initiative is crushed out of them by the need to pay the mortgage and not upset the pricks at number 47. On life support machines they look to others for their kicks. Some see celebs as rebels. Others see musicians while yet others see people kicking the crap out of each other and wish they had the balls.
Most of us are pretty vacant when it comes down to it.
# posted by Me @ 5:49 PM 
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