Football’s heritage is being corroded by selfish commercialisation
Mike Ashley, the Newcastle United owner, has renamed his club's spiritual home the sportsdirect@ St James Park Stadium to reactions of bemusement and anger from supporters
“Ah I remember the days when Dad used to take me down to Kit Kat crescent…” It doesn’t especially have a nostaligic feel does it? Our earliest memories of football should be imbued with a sense of innocence and tradition – a feeling that you are somewhere hallowed, even if you are standing in the cold screaming at a team destined for mediocrity.
It seems though that with the growing commercialisation of football such wholesome recollections are slowly going to be eroded. No longer will we will be able to attribute our football-based feelings of triumph or despair to recognisable places and names. Increasingly promotions, cup giant killings or derby day victories won’t be played out at a football club’s spiritual and traditional home – they will be played out at stadia named after confectionary.
Although the commercialisation of football is not exactly a new phenomenon, the level it has reached recently is worrying for football fans and neutrals alike. It is not uncommon for teams to cash in by selling the naming rights to their stadiums, but recession and simple greed have caused an untimely acceleration in football’s sprint toward utter dominance by commercial interests. Any hopes that football could hold on to the last vestiges of dignity, that it could eschew the principles of big business in favour of a respect for history are being systematically destroyed.
York City changed the name of their homely Bootham Crescent stadium in 2005 to the gaudy Kit Kat Crescent, after a sponsorship deal with Nestle. The ethical concerns of doing business with such a company are myriad in themselves, but should the club have changed the name? They will answer that they need to make revenue from any available source and sadly they will be backed by every chairman, or executive at every club throughout Britain. Even Chelsea Chief executive Ron Gourlay announced last week that the club were considering selling the naming rights to Stamford Bridge, and Chelsea don’t exactly have a reputation for being short on cash. Although Mr Gourlay qualified his decision by stating that: “retaining the ground’s heritage is paramount” it is a move symptomatic of the state of football today.
It is different for clubs that urgently need funds to stay afloat. Given their dire financal situation perhaps Mike Ashley can be partially excused for changing the name of St James Park to the laughable sportdirect@St James Park stadium (a decision satirised by George Caulkin, of The Times, on November 5). He is certainly ending a tradition that will be missed but perhaps if these tough decisions aren’t taken Newcastle United may not exist at all and then the whole debate becomes immaterial.
Chelsea, on the other hand, have no excuse. As one of the wealthiest clubs in world football they have no need to subject their fans to the ignominy of buying tickets to go to the Cillit Bang Stadium or Pot Noodle Bridge. Their actions are symbolic of a total disregard for the fans that generate the clubs income in the first place and their flirtation with naming rights shows the “Total War” philospophy of modern football. Each and every club is now scrapping to find any slight advantage over their rivals, any dirty trivial way to make an extra few pounds. What’s next? Will Chelsea, after deciding to play their home games at The Hollywood Bowl Alley, sell the names of their stands? Will the most vocal supporters be found in the Tennants Lager Terrace rather than the Matthew Harding stand? There’s no point stopping there, why not sell the rights to the colours that Chelsea wear – I’m sure Fulham fans would chip in if it meant their West London rivals had to a violet home strip.
Although far fetched, these hypotheticals serve to make my point – how many things do you sell or sacrifice before Chelsea is no longer Chelsea? It is difficult enough to explain the intagible relationship between club and fan. Apart from hereditary links, what real affection can you hold for a institution that has a football team. In the age of spoilt, millionaire players it is getting harder and harder as it is. If the last real connections that the fans have to their clubs are eradicated then they become dead, unemotive ciphers bereft of any attachement. The way in which football continues to sell it’s soul suggests that this reality is closer than we could ever envisage.
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