With the sudden and completely unexpected onset of the same weather we had last year, the general confusion over which, if any SPOTY nominees actually constituted sportsmen and early reports of leaves on the line at Penge, sport seems to have been cancelled for the foreseeable future. With this in mind now seems as good a time as any to gather our thoughts for the new year and one thought I’ve been having rather recurrently – and fittingly for the panto season – regards an old phenomena that’s been steadily rising in popularity these last 12 months.
Booing has undergone somewhat of a populist revival (or resurrection if you will) at English football grounds of late, and despite its ever increasing ubiquitous-ness, it’s still an issue which divides fans. The main contention being its appropriateness or in short – the question of whether it is something real fans should do? (which I of course realise isn’t that short at all).
Of course ‘Things that real fans should and shouldn’t do’ is a contentious, constantly shifting and deeply hypocritical tome anyway, and one which can consist of up to 15 directly contradictory things at any one time. Hating and booing opposition players is a given, the level of hatred depending on many factors but it’s suffice to say that any Liverpool fan should on no account ever admit to quite liking Gary Neville’s beard. Willingness (or at least pretend willingness) to put your devotion to a group of well toned physically fit men in coloured uniforms ahead of any loyalty to your loving family is also mandatory, along with the constant threatening abuse of the referee, regardless of his actual performance and the disapproval and non-use ever, ever, ever of cheap elongated plastic horns.
Booing your team however remains an activity that many fans still decry. “It’s not the done thing, you don’t boo your own. Supporters support” etc, etc. The belief being it’s a nouveau phenomena, brought in by the plastic and prawn brigades – the new type of fan who sees football as entertainment rather than a contest and demands satisfaction more often than the experience can reasonably offer. In short (and actually short this time) spoiled c**ts.
This, at least, is the theory. It’s one I’ve heard espoused regularly by the Alan Greens of this world (and all the callers he graciously allows air time when they agree with him) whenever the Wembley crowd tear themselves away from Mexican waving long enough to pay attention to the football only to realise it’s utterly woeful.
I’ve heard it on message boards and phone-ins whenever the Emirates, Anfield or (as was the case on Monday night) Eastlands reverberates to a bassy tone after the home team fails to perform, or even at the perpetually successful Old Trafford when earlier this year the returning Wayne Rooney was booed by a section of his own faithful just as John Terry, Frank Lampard and Ashley Cole have been at Wembley Terminal 5.
But amongst all the points scoring and top fanning of whether it’s “propa” or not, I feel a more interesting conversation is being overlooked. Because of all the booed-out games I’ve attended (and I attend most England games – Algeria included – so you can imagine the abuse my shells have suffered), I’ve rarely noticed much of a divide in the “type” of fan booing. In fact in that infamous Algeria game in Cape Town the majority of abuse was coming from the gnarled veterans behind the goals. So is it really a new type of fan? Or is it more accurately a new type of reaction to a new type of player?
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In my opinion the booings of Rooney, Terry and Cole are the most telling. Far more so than any half time discontent at Goodison or rather bizarre vocal dissaproval at St Andrews. These booings are at the heart of the phenomena because, to put it bluntly, they had little or nothing to do with football.
For years now the feeling that the disconnect between players and fans had become an irretrievable chasm has not so much creeped up but waltzed brazenly into the saloon and gotten drunker, louder and more obnoxious with every passing season. This isn’t strictly fair on most footballers who largely operate well below the excess of the Premier League and whom on the whole – even in the dastardly top flight – behave no different relative to any selected group, with bad apples and good strewn liberally throughout. However, the lasting impression is unfortunately left by these bad apples right at the top, and it leads to the overriding assumption that footballers are – in the main – spoiled c**ts themselves. They simply don’t know how lucky they are and in this age of the Big I’m an X Celebrity Brother Get me On Ice where the general public feel it’s their duty to pass judgment on anyone with anything resembling a personality who’s brave enough to stick their head out of the parapet, they’re gonna bloody well let them know it.
The idea of players as idols is disappearing fast in all except the young, who will no doubt reject it themselves in time. The discontent comes not with new fans and their unreasonable expectations, but from the new players and the passions they stir. Whether the perceptions are fair or not (and most likely they aren’t) the damage is done. I’ve never met so many fans who’ll happily and openly claim to hate many of their own players. A few escape this of course, Sir David of Beckham has had his share of boo boys in the past but is cheered wildly these days on England duty just for taking his bib off, though one could easily find a connection there. With the prominence of the mercenary and the emergence (and failure, certainly internationally) of the Baby Bentleys, those old heads who diligently went about their work aware of their responsibilities (and their mortality) are suddenly a far more attractive prospect by comparison. The Giggs’ and Scholes’, the Bergkamps and Zolas seem a world away from The Rooneys and Tevez’s. Except this isn’t really true as there were hundreds of bad behaving footballers in every era, but the intense scrutiny on the likes of Rooney and Terry and their complete and utter failure to live up to it has seen the profession’s stock plummet with the populace.
And sadly the bad apples poisoning the juice seem to be mostly English too. If Rooney can demand to know Man United’s ambitions after the club has given him a vast medal haul and finished a measly point off the top last term then what does that say of the likes of Fabregas and Torres? While Wazza seemed to think his actions were perfectly justifiable, in comparison to his long term trophy-less foreign counterparts they reek of disrespect and arrogance, doing nothing but bolster Mesut Ozil’s bluntly poignant opinion that England players who were bored in South Africa didn’t deserve to be there. And this is the image that is projected as an example or blueprint of the modern English footballer. And it’s one we – the fans – don’t like.
This is where the boos come from, rightly or wrongly. They come from your average fan’s disgust at the arrogance of fame. Of the perversion of what was and still is ostensibly a working class game. From the social reality of a struggling economy to the blind and blissful ignorance of wealth and notoriety. Ashley Cole wasn’t booed because he misplaced a back pass, he was booed because he felt £55,000 a week was insulting. It may have taken Wembley five years to react to it, but it was in the mind of every fan who booed that night. It was – and is – social commentary in an age were (for better or worse – and almost certainly worse) passing judgment is Saturday evening entertainment. And it will continue I’m sure. The footballer stereotype needs a lot of overhauling. They will continue to be picked on by the press and highlighted as all that is wrong with excess. They will continue to be booed because the booers don’t want better football, they want better people, and the second the former stops the boos will ring out. There are many to lay the blame at; the media, the culture, the players themselves and even the fans, but none of it will change anything for the foreseeable future. Booing is just one in a long line of visible (or audible) examples of the unrest and discontent that’s slowly bubbling away in the fanbase of top flight football. It’s a crass but simple message to those who are usually showered with praise and affection in both their public and private lives. “We don’t actually like most of you, even if you do play for our team.” It’s here to stay I’m afraid, and anyway, I was saying boo-urns.
You can follow Oscar on Twitter here; http://twitter.com/oscarpyejeary, where magical, awesome, enchanted and amazing stuff will happen….Possibly.
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