A Match To Forget
We’re Bradford City and we have the best fans in football. Remember? All the papers said so. I have believed this for the first few games of this season. The support has been overwhelming; we have packed out away stand after away stand, and the noise and atmosphere at Valley Parade has been unbelievable.
On Saturday, though, things were different. Much has already been written about it, accusations made on Facebook and insults thrown on Twitter. Well, I was there, on the far right hand side of the away stand next to the Crewe fans, and for the first time in a couple of years, I felt uncomfortable, then sad, and, finally, even a little afraid. It all started wonderfully. Arriving early at the station we wondered where one might go for a pre-match pint. As we walked past the Royal Hotel a raucous chorus of “Nahki Wells, Nahki Wells, NAHKI NAHKI WE-ELLS” spilled out. We went in to find the pub jammed with sweaty City fans, all getting along, and a (slightly bemused?) DJ playing “I Just Can’t Get Enough”, “Stephen Darby Baby” and various other City “classics”. I was even chatted up at the bar by a handsome chap who sung “You Can Leave Your Hat On” at me as I took my jumper off.
So we arrived at the ground in high spirits, high on camaraderie and feeling quite welcome in this bleak, damp town.
Minutes in, things were very different. Our stand was packed out and getting fuller by the minute. There wasn’t a lot of room, and by the time the match had started people were standing in the aisles, unable to find spare seats. To our right was a far less busy Crewe stand, whose occupants seemed intent on causing trouble. In particular, one group of lads (they must have been in their mid to late teens) began the usual juvenile goading, throwing out the usual unimaginative taunts, liberally scattered with unnecessary obscenities. The trouble was, a not insignificant group around us decided to give as good as it got. So ensued a rather depressing scenario of youths shouting: “you’re all f***ing c****” at a group of men in their 40s who shouted ““you’re all f***ing c****” back. Eventually, though, Crewe crossed the line. Unable to believe it, I strained to hear if I’d imagined that I’d just heard “Bradford City’s Burning Down”, but already several of our fans were tearing towards them in pure range, two of them making it over the barrier onto the pitch before being tackled to the ground by the stewards. More people went up, possibly to try and mediate, and the body language suggested the conversation was more than a little heated. The game, underwhelming, continued really as a backdrop to all of this.
The police and stewards seemingly did nothing, bar threatening to throw out one of the City fans who had tried to get over to the Crewe stand. I chatted to him later while we were in the scrum to get out to the toilets at half time. He was apologising to one of the community support officers, who seemed nice but out of her depth. She’d “had a word” with them, she said, telling us they were too young to know about the fire. I suggested they should show them the video footage and it might make them think twice. She said that sadly it probably wouldn’t. Either way, though, they had been allowed to stay. The guy explained his cousin had died in the fire, and that he had just lost it when he’d heard the chant. I’m not surprised.
The second half was, if anything, even worse. It felt as though the little gang of Crewe fans responsible for the chant were vitriolic at still being there. As for our own fans, a small group around me seemed far more intent on shouting abuse and causing trouble than watching the match, and the whole experience was depressing and intimidating. I have been in football crowds since I was a kid so I’m used to some of the colourful language that gets used at a missed chance or a stupid decision by a linesman, but I have never heard the “c” word used so often in so short a space of time. I was one of three women surrounded by what can only be described as a herd of men – two baying mobs of half wits hurling abuse at one another while a game of football continued unnoticed and placid stewards chatted over cups of tea. I was aware of groups around my trying to lighten the mood with chants like “Does your mother know you’re here?” directed at the youth in the other stand, but they were drowned out. At one point 30-or-so young men from the other stand aimed a chant directly at the two young girls in front of me: “Get your tits out/get your tits out/GET YOUR TITS OUT FOR THE LADS”, closely followed by “She’s got Chlamydia...” I usually rather enjoy the novelty of being a woman at football – we’re still enough a minority that there aren’t queues for the toilets, enough of a novelty that men tend to be quite chivalrous (whilst still maintaining a casual chauvinism) yet accepted enough that we can still swear with the best of them and not be frowned upon. And yet on Saturday I felt I didn’t belong. I felt almost threatened. I saw Crewe fans get away with the most horrific and hateful behaviour then watched as many of my own returned to the school playground in retaliation, and I felt sad. At the end of an underwhelming (if in places unlucky) 0-0 draw my heart sank as people around me shouted senseless insults at players who last year took us twice to Wembley then up into a higher league. I stood stationary as we all tried to get out of the single exit at the back of the stand for the long trudge home, pushed up against each others’ armpits in a mesh of people that was tedious but, had it been any worse, would have been frightening.
I am so very proud to be a City fan, so proud of what we’ve achieved, so proud that we take more fans to away games than some clubs can lure to home fixtures. But Saturday is an experience I’d like to forget. I’m heartened that Crewe has said it will take steps to identify the culprits who so cruelly and viciously made fun of the fire and in doing so laughed at the dead – that is surely the very definition of hate speech. I hope they will be banned and I hope someone sits them down and explains to them the gravity of what they have done and the amount of hurt they have caused. But I was dismayed, too, by the behaviour of many of those around me, which slipped far below the standards for which we were justifiably praised so much last year. We are so much better than that: we are Bradford City, and we have the best fans in the world. We don't deserve to lose that accolade. CTID.
On Saturday, though, things were different. Much has already been written about it, accusations made on Facebook and insults thrown on Twitter. Well, I was there, on the far right hand side of the away stand next to the Crewe fans, and for the first time in a couple of years, I felt uncomfortable, then sad, and, finally, even a little afraid. It all started wonderfully. Arriving early at the station we wondered where one might go for a pre-match pint. As we walked past the Royal Hotel a raucous chorus of “Nahki Wells, Nahki Wells, NAHKI NAHKI WE-ELLS” spilled out. We went in to find the pub jammed with sweaty City fans, all getting along, and a (slightly bemused?) DJ playing “I Just Can’t Get Enough”, “Stephen Darby Baby” and various other City “classics”. I was even chatted up at the bar by a handsome chap who sung “You Can Leave Your Hat On” at me as I took my jumper off.
So we arrived at the ground in high spirits, high on camaraderie and feeling quite welcome in this bleak, damp town.
Minutes in, things were very different. Our stand was packed out and getting fuller by the minute. There wasn’t a lot of room, and by the time the match had started people were standing in the aisles, unable to find spare seats. To our right was a far less busy Crewe stand, whose occupants seemed intent on causing trouble. In particular, one group of lads (they must have been in their mid to late teens) began the usual juvenile goading, throwing out the usual unimaginative taunts, liberally scattered with unnecessary obscenities. The trouble was, a not insignificant group around us decided to give as good as it got. So ensued a rather depressing scenario of youths shouting: “you’re all f***ing c****” at a group of men in their 40s who shouted ““you’re all f***ing c****” back. Eventually, though, Crewe crossed the line. Unable to believe it, I strained to hear if I’d imagined that I’d just heard “Bradford City’s Burning Down”, but already several of our fans were tearing towards them in pure range, two of them making it over the barrier onto the pitch before being tackled to the ground by the stewards. More people went up, possibly to try and mediate, and the body language suggested the conversation was more than a little heated. The game, underwhelming, continued really as a backdrop to all of this.
The police and stewards seemingly did nothing, bar threatening to throw out one of the City fans who had tried to get over to the Crewe stand. I chatted to him later while we were in the scrum to get out to the toilets at half time. He was apologising to one of the community support officers, who seemed nice but out of her depth. She’d “had a word” with them, she said, telling us they were too young to know about the fire. I suggested they should show them the video footage and it might make them think twice. She said that sadly it probably wouldn’t. Either way, though, they had been allowed to stay. The guy explained his cousin had died in the fire, and that he had just lost it when he’d heard the chant. I’m not surprised.
The second half was, if anything, even worse. It felt as though the little gang of Crewe fans responsible for the chant were vitriolic at still being there. As for our own fans, a small group around me seemed far more intent on shouting abuse and causing trouble than watching the match, and the whole experience was depressing and intimidating. I have been in football crowds since I was a kid so I’m used to some of the colourful language that gets used at a missed chance or a stupid decision by a linesman, but I have never heard the “c” word used so often in so short a space of time. I was one of three women surrounded by what can only be described as a herd of men – two baying mobs of half wits hurling abuse at one another while a game of football continued unnoticed and placid stewards chatted over cups of tea. I was aware of groups around my trying to lighten the mood with chants like “Does your mother know you’re here?” directed at the youth in the other stand, but they were drowned out. At one point 30-or-so young men from the other stand aimed a chant directly at the two young girls in front of me: “Get your tits out/get your tits out/GET YOUR TITS OUT FOR THE LADS”, closely followed by “She’s got Chlamydia...” I usually rather enjoy the novelty of being a woman at football – we’re still enough a minority that there aren’t queues for the toilets, enough of a novelty that men tend to be quite chivalrous (whilst still maintaining a casual chauvinism) yet accepted enough that we can still swear with the best of them and not be frowned upon. And yet on Saturday I felt I didn’t belong. I felt almost threatened. I saw Crewe fans get away with the most horrific and hateful behaviour then watched as many of my own returned to the school playground in retaliation, and I felt sad. At the end of an underwhelming (if in places unlucky) 0-0 draw my heart sank as people around me shouted senseless insults at players who last year took us twice to Wembley then up into a higher league. I stood stationary as we all tried to get out of the single exit at the back of the stand for the long trudge home, pushed up against each others’ armpits in a mesh of people that was tedious but, had it been any worse, would have been frightening.
I am so very proud to be a City fan, so proud of what we’ve achieved, so proud that we take more fans to away games than some clubs can lure to home fixtures. But Saturday is an experience I’d like to forget. I’m heartened that Crewe has said it will take steps to identify the culprits who so cruelly and viciously made fun of the fire and in doing so laughed at the dead – that is surely the very definition of hate speech. I hope they will be banned and I hope someone sits them down and explains to them the gravity of what they have done and the amount of hurt they have caused. But I was dismayed, too, by the behaviour of many of those around me, which slipped far below the standards for which we were justifiably praised so much last year. We are so much better than that: we are Bradford City, and we have the best fans in the world. We don't deserve to lose that accolade. CTID.
Labels: Bradford City, football
posted by RLS at 7:54 pm
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