Twenty to three on a warm Saturday afternoon in September. I should be walking through a concourse, preparing to take my seat ahead of 90 minutes of nerves, thrills, agonizing near-misses and jubilations that some people dare to refer to as entertainment. It is, for football fans, the lifeblood of our week. I’m not. Instead, I’m mid-FaceTime call with my Dad to check his iFollow stream is working properly. Is the Wi-Fi on? Did you download the new app? Have you tried refreshing the page?
It was less than a year ago, despite feeling closer to a lifetime, when our pre-match questions would actually relate to the afternoon’s game. Why’s he starting? Who do you think will score first? What’s their new striker like? These are football questions. This is what I miss most.
I understand the reasons why fans cannot attend games during these exceptional circumstances – although the positive response to last weekend’s pilot games should provide hope for everyone that fans may return, in some form, in the coming months – and I understand why football has to continue without us, too. Sadly, it is unavoidable but, importantly, it is responsible.
However, football without fans, regardless of its necessity, fails to capture the elation that Saturday afternoons used to represent. That match day buzz, first hinted at through those mid-morning butterflies, which comes about just once (or occasionally twice) a week has fluttered away.
Matchday used to guarantee a day out. For some people, it would be their only day out during the week. For all of us, it was the highlight of any week. You would count down the days until you’d be back in a stadium, ready and willing to put yourself through any and every emotion. The pre-match trip to the pub, seeing the same old faces, a reminder that sport and football specifically, as Nelson Mandela eloquently put it, has a way to unite people in a way that little else does. It is truly a spectacle that people from all walks of life dedicate their focuses entirely, united as one, for two hours a week.
It was less than a year ago, despite feeling closer to a lifetime, when our pre-match questions would actually relate to the afternoon’s game. Why’s he starting? Who do you think will score first? What’s their new striker like? These are football questions. This is what I miss most.
I understand the reasons why fans cannot attend games during these exceptional circumstances – although the positive response to last weekend’s pilot games should provide hope for everyone that fans may return, in some form, in the coming months – and I understand why football has to continue without us, too. Sadly, it is unavoidable but, importantly, it is responsible.
However, football without fans, regardless of its necessity, fails to capture the elation that Saturday afternoons used to represent. That match day buzz, first hinted at through those mid-morning butterflies, which comes about just once (or occasionally twice) a week has fluttered away.
Matchday used to guarantee a day out. For some people, it would be their only day out during the week. For all of us, it was the highlight of any week. You would count down the days until you’d be back in a stadium, ready and willing to put yourself through any and every emotion. The pre-match trip to the pub, seeing the same old faces, a reminder that sport and football specifically, as Nelson Mandela eloquently put it, has a way to unite people in a way that little else does. It is truly a spectacle that people from all walks of life dedicate their focuses entirely, united as one, for two hours a week.
Today, the government announced that plans to phase fans back into football stadiums from October 1 have been postponed.
Now, though, matchday can only be enjoyed from the comfort of your own home. The pre-match pub trip is, most likely, cancelled. If you do brave the habitual routine, it is a sore reminder of the absence of fans. The familiar faces who adorn the pub are as much a part of the experience as the game itself, even if their names will forever elude you.
The escaping of your home, to accompany thousands of like-minded people, is a memory. For those whom a trip to the football was their only form of escape, I despair. That togetherness, camaraderie and sense of community is irreplaceable.
So, too, is the tangible excitement just minutes before kick-off. Especially now, at the dawn of a new season where hopes should be high, and fans should be dreaming of success. It is an unmistakeable sensation; palpable, as adrenaline surges round a stadium, manifesting itself into the twenty-two who have taken to the pitch in an attempt to make those dreams a reality. Try as we might, it feels impossible to communicate that passion through a screen.
That task is undoubtedly made harder by our struggle to emotionally invest in this season. I feel connected to my club because I go to the stadium, I watch the game through my own eyes and experience the rollercoaster journey as it happens, live in the truest sense of the word.
The reality remains that some fans may not witness a live minute of football in the 2020/21 season. Maintaining that connection to your club, knowing you might not get to celebrate any glories – large or small – with players, managers and other fans is impossibly tough. Those moments are the pinnacle of football, and celebrating them with the club, in person, make them all the sweeter. To not have that, or not know if you can have that, leaves a mournful lump in your throat.
The escaping of your home, to accompany thousands of like-minded people, is a memory. For those whom a trip to the football was their only form of escape, I despair. That togetherness, camaraderie and sense of community is irreplaceable.
So, too, is the tangible excitement just minutes before kick-off. Especially now, at the dawn of a new season where hopes should be high, and fans should be dreaming of success. It is an unmistakeable sensation; palpable, as adrenaline surges round a stadium, manifesting itself into the twenty-two who have taken to the pitch in an attempt to make those dreams a reality. Try as we might, it feels impossible to communicate that passion through a screen.
That task is undoubtedly made harder by our struggle to emotionally invest in this season. I feel connected to my club because I go to the stadium, I watch the game through my own eyes and experience the rollercoaster journey as it happens, live in the truest sense of the word.
The reality remains that some fans may not witness a live minute of football in the 2020/21 season. Maintaining that connection to your club, knowing you might not get to celebrate any glories – large or small – with players, managers and other fans is impossibly tough. Those moments are the pinnacle of football, and celebrating them with the club, in person, make them all the sweeter. To not have that, or not know if you can have that, leaves a mournful lump in your throat.
The scenes witnessed in stadiums now are alien to us, but will become necessary protocol for years to come.
The best part of a matchday is, unquestionably, seeing your team score a goal. It can be any type of goal: a 30-yard screamer, goalmouth scramble or even a goalkeeping howler from the opposition. The ecstasy is the same. The ecstasy is unique. Leaping from your seat, clambering over strangers who themselves are delirious with joy, is a moment like no other.
Words are few and far between as a crowd erupts into a chorus of spine-tingling noise. The hoarse throat the following morning is always worth it.
Running around my living room like a madman is, unsurprisingly, not a sufficient substitute. Granted, I may leap from my seat, but I look up to see a player celebrating in front of an empty stand. No one has jumped up in front of me and blocked my view. The roar from the crowd – the perfect backdrop for any goal – is non-existent. I smile and I cheer, but I do not feel the stupor goals once ensured. There is no frenzy in which body parts fly uncontrollably. Where before we were one, now we are alone.
Our community is separated, and football feels worse for it. We still love the game, we still love our club, but the sense of excitement has dimmed. This season, regardless of success, is unlikely to be remembered as fondly as others.
It goes without saying that health and safety of supporters is the most important thing to consider when discussing fans returning to stadiums. The pilot games have instilled a hope that the return of fans – at least in some form – is not too far away. Yet, as that wait continues, our longing intensifies.
Football is more than just two teams kicking a ball for 90 minutes. It is emotion, passion, agony, euphoria, community and identity all rolled into one. It is escapism. Our club, in some small way, belongs to each of us and, in return, we belong to it. To not be there, with our club as the action happens on the pitch, is gut-wrenching. Only when those proper matchdays return, with all their quirks and routines, will football truly feel like it’s back.
Words are few and far between as a crowd erupts into a chorus of spine-tingling noise. The hoarse throat the following morning is always worth it.
Running around my living room like a madman is, unsurprisingly, not a sufficient substitute. Granted, I may leap from my seat, but I look up to see a player celebrating in front of an empty stand. No one has jumped up in front of me and blocked my view. The roar from the crowd – the perfect backdrop for any goal – is non-existent. I smile and I cheer, but I do not feel the stupor goals once ensured. There is no frenzy in which body parts fly uncontrollably. Where before we were one, now we are alone.
Our community is separated, and football feels worse for it. We still love the game, we still love our club, but the sense of excitement has dimmed. This season, regardless of success, is unlikely to be remembered as fondly as others.
It goes without saying that health and safety of supporters is the most important thing to consider when discussing fans returning to stadiums. The pilot games have instilled a hope that the return of fans – at least in some form – is not too far away. Yet, as that wait continues, our longing intensifies.
Football is more than just two teams kicking a ball for 90 minutes. It is emotion, passion, agony, euphoria, community and identity all rolled into one. It is escapism. Our club, in some small way, belongs to each of us and, in return, we belong to it. To not be there, with our club as the action happens on the pitch, is gut-wrenching. Only when those proper matchdays return, with all their quirks and routines, will football truly feel like it’s back.
Written by - James McEvoy
Edited by - 3-At-The-Back
Edited by - 3-At-The-Back