Manchester United played in the Champions League against Otelul Galati on Wednesday evening at Old Trafford, and I went along to watch it.
It was my first game for a long while. I seem to average about one game a season with United these days which, for a lifelong fan, is pretty poor. Unfortunately I’ve been priced out, I just don’t love the game enough to turn up week in week out and pay through the nose for the privilege.
That being said though, when I do go and watch the mighty reds I do thoroughly enjoy it. Wednesday night’s tickets were going on the cheap, and I couldn’t resist them in the end. It was my first ever attendance to a European match, so I was looking forward to it a lot.
One of my good friends is a lifelong avid United fan and has held a season ticket with his dad since he was just a young boy. I’ve been to a fair few matches with him in the past and on my way to the ground on Wednesday I sent him a quick text to get him to give me a wave during the game.
He replied, quite solemnly, that he had given up his season ticket.
This left me quite surprised and a little bit shocked. My friend had been to every single game, season after season, he’s one of the most loyal and dedicated fans I know. And now he can no longer go to watch his team - priced out.
This stuck in my mind throughout the entire game. I was there at Old Trafford watching my team play, pretty poorly I might add, in the Champions League and it just didn’t feel right. Something was missing, and I knew what it was. My friend wasn’t there.
See, United play in the best leagues in the world. Heck they’re pretty much the biggest team in the world. But it pains me to see that their real fans are priced out of watching their team play.
Obviously this is nothing new, I’ve been priced out for a while now and I’ve seen many fans have to limit the amount of times they go to a match. Football has become a ridiculous behemoth, nothing more than a greedy business relentlessly harvesting money from any avenue it sees fit.
Football has always been a working class game. Just take a look at Manchester United’s history. Before it became the greatest stadium in England, Old Trafford was a place where all the working men of Salford would flock to, just for some recreation time, just to watch a game of football. Back then players weren’t on ridiculous salaries; they were working men too, playing for the love of the game – and the love of the club.
Back then Singaporeans didn’t care about United, nor did the Japanese, or the Americans. But to people in the Northwest, United were everything; and they still are.
Now the English Premier League has become an international brand, along with several of the clubs within it. All of a sudden football became a fast-moving consumable good, something they could sell around the globe to anyone willing to pay for it, week in - week out. Because of this the Premier League, the FA and many football clubs have become filthy rich and have been able to pay their players 50, 70, 80, 100, 200, 250 thousand pounds A WEEK.
Those fans who made the club what it is have become simply this. A method of bringing in revenue. Do you think Manchester United really care about their real fans? Of course not. Old Trafford is having no trouble at all filling the seats. Season tickets are still only available on a waiting list. Clearly there are people out there who can afford to come to watch them play. It’s too bad none of them are the real fans.
The grandsons of those who stood in the Stretford End watching Bobby Charlton play, where are they? Slowly being weeded out. Don’t believe me? Go to Old Trafford on match day. Walk to the car park. What do you see? BMWs, Mercedes, Jaguars, massive 4x4s, Porches, Bentleys, a helicopter. Working class game? Sure.
So as I stood there on Wednesday evening listening to the infamous Champions League music I just thought about what it represented: money, and lots of it. When you hear the music what do you think of? Messi? Ronaldo? The Nou Camp in ‘99? Maybe. But you can’t get by without thinking: Mastercard, Playstation 3, BSkyB, prawn sandwiches.
It’s a terrible shame that the values that used to be rooted so strongly into the game are slowly but surely becoming diluted beyond recognition. If feel for the fans who are still going, worrying about the next price increase the following season. Waiting for that inevitable day when they too are priced out and they have to put that renew form in the recycling bin while an M5 driver snaps up his ticket.
Old Trafford will never ever be the same to me now. It doesn’t matter how many fans are in there; if my friend isn’t there, then there might as well be nobody there.
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