We need Brazil to save us

The 80s were a dark time for football. Hooliganism was rife and matches were marked by violence between rival fans. The terraces were a bad place to be. The crush and sway of the crowd. Bottles of piss being rained down on fans below. The opposition infiltrating the home end, meaning that anyone could get smacked. The ‘leg warmers’ (for those who don’t know, this was a lavatorial solution, allegedly invented by scousers. A rolled up newspaper to put your member in and urinate) Dark times indeed. Inevitably, it got worse. Disasters followed. Lives were lost.

First was the fire at Valley Parade. A truly awful event that saw 56 fans killed. Heysel followed soon after, another 39 souls lost to football’s endless violence. And finally Hillsborough. Another 96 dead. It seems incredible that it took so long for something like that to happen, given the relentless mayhem on the terraces. It could not continue. Football was in the gutter. Lower than the gutter. It was down with the rats.

It wasn’t the players, mind. Overpaid primadonnas were something of a rarity. Local lads coming through and teams consisting more or less entirely of British players. They used to say to win anything, you needed a Scotsman in your team. They don’t say that any more. There was passion, and pride. Back then, teams could be promoted to the old Division One and not just cling on for dear life. They could thrive. Hell, Watford finished second in 1983, their first ever season in the top flight. Will Leicester finish second next season? Will Burnley? Winning a cup meant something truly glorious. Not just a trinket to placate the masses while they wait for a top four finish.

There were characters as well. The likes of Vinny Jones, Bruce Grobelaar, Paul Gascoigne, Rene Higuita. Fellas you’d want to have a beer with. Well, maybe not Vinny. Sadly these guys seem to be consigned to the past. It’s all so serious these days.

[linequote]Gazza, one of our very own, twisting, turning, winning games for his country. His tears, such a powerful image[/linequote]

The potential was there. It could all come good, because the game itself was relatively pure. The open warfare on the terraces was the obstacle to football being culturally accepted. The introduction of all seater stadia after Hillsborough meant that rather than being survival of the fittest at football, you could bring the family. The demographic moved up a few classes. The prices went up to match.

But it was Italia 90 that really paved the way for change. It was a World Cup to capture the imagination. Italy, one of the giants of the footballing world, hosting the biggest tournament in football. The world was alight with anticipation. And the tournament did not disappoint. Cameroon, the ultimate underdogs. Came from nowhere to beat the holders Argentina in the opening game, in what must have been one of the most bruising encounters ever to take place on a football pitch. Their run to the quarter finals was unprecedented, still the equal best performance to date by an African team. Italy, the hosts and favourites, inspiring such passion.

And England. Glorious England. Everything stopped when we played. I was only twelve years old, but the anticipation before each game lingers long on the memory. I watched each game with my family. Feeling every kick, joy at every goal we scored, despair at each one conceded. Gazza, one of our very own, twisting, turning, winning games for his country. His tears, such a powerful image.

We were good, and it started to seem like we might even win. The semi-final, such drama, such agony. Taking Germany, who had previously swept all aside, all the way to the wire. The glorious failure with which England sides in the 90s became synonymous was born. Pride in the national team has never been so high. It’s easy to forget we only won one match in normal time. It was beautiful.

[linequote]The soul has been sucked out of the game. Bloodshed on the terraces has been replaced by people sat quietly, paying through the nose[/linequote]

It did not go unnoticed. Shortly after Sky began its march toward its domination of football. It seized the glory and passion of the World Cup and turned it into cold hard cash. It bought football and sold it to the masses at a profit. No more live league football on terrestrial telly. You want to watch it, you have to pay. Manchester United, who were so fortunate as to be coming to supremacy at the time, went on to dominate for 20 years. Liverpool, who had only just run out of steam, fell away. And who could forget poor old Luton Town. Hanging on in the old Division One until the moment it became the Premiership. Given the bum’s rush just before the party got started. Last seen in the Conference. They sure chose a bad time to get relegated.

Money is what the game became, and we didn’t notice it at first. Probably distracted by all that cash and the influx of exotic foreign players, the spoils of Sky’s twenty pieces of silver. Twenty four years down the line the damage is there for all to see. The soul has been sucked out of the game. Bloodshed on the terraces has been replaced by people sat quietly, paying through the nose. Chairmen squeezing the last penny out of the fans.

It’s been said by many, but I have never felt so disconnected from Spurs. Years of anguish and frustration, with occasional glory, replaced by… apathy? Emptiness? Can’t quite describe it, but it’s definitely there. As we all know, membership fees have just been taken. I am getting married later this year and somewhat short of funds. Being as I am highly unlikely to get to any matches this season until the new year, due to the cost, I contacted the club to ask if it would be at all possible to freeze my membership until November, after the wedding, when I will be able to afford it.

Apparently not, and if I didn’t pay up, I lose my place on the season ticket waiting list and all my loyalty points. I asked if it would be possible to forgo my place on the waiting list, being as I am unlikely to ever be able to make the most of one, and keep my loyalty points – it’s not like I have that many, just the principle really – I live in the north and only get to a few games season. Computer says no.

[linequote]Football needs Brazil 14 to be another Italia 90. Or Mexico 1970. It needs dazzling entertainment[/linequote]

Why should we lose our loyalty points if we don’t pay… oh that’s right. Money is loyalty. You don’t pay, you are not loyal. You pay late, you are not loyal. You lose your points. If you truly loved the club, you would have paid, and on time. I know there are far worse examples – StubHub being the obvious – but it’s left a sour taste, nonetheless. It’s not just at Spurs. It’s rife.

So here we are again. Football once more stands on the precipice. This time it’s not violence on the terraces that threaten to wreck our game in a shower of blood and urine. Its soul has been sucked out, bought and paid for, chewed up and brutally discarded. From rot, bloodshed and death in the terraces to apathy, manipulation and disconnection from our clubs. Better by degrees, I suppose.

Football needs Brazil 14 to be another Italia 90. Or Mexico 1970. It needs dazzling entertainment. A good run by England would be nice. Been a while since I thought that… It needs players playing for the love of the game and their countries. More than anything, it needs passion and pride. To rediscover something pure. If it can happen anywhere, surely it must be Brazil.