The Quiet Season

My Sunday newspaper recently contained an article lamenting the fact that some football crowds, particularly in the Premiership, are becoming quieter. Quieter than a few seasons ago, presumably. One reason may be changed demographics, with the relatively well-heeled taking over the central blocks from the artisans. There are other reasons, though.
One is the cost of tickets. Up to the 1970s most Football League clubs had only two revenue streams, season ticket sales and turnstile takings, with - in Norwich, at least - the price of a standing ticket on the terrace largely staying in line with the cost of a seat at the Odeon.
Today, it boggles me how some families can afford to pay some of the fantastical seat prices, because football is not any more thrilling than it was. It always was thrilling. But I do believe that today's fans read of lorry loads of TV money being poured into Premiership coffers and then look at their tickets and see how much they are also being asked to contribute. Something, eventually, has to give, and it may be that the victim is spectator patience.
Nowadays many fans simply settle into their plastic seats and think to themselves: 'Go on then. Entertain me. I've done my bit, now you do yours.'
There are other reasons for the quietness, I am sure, and yet another is that many players are simply not playing the game. Time and again replay cameras starkly illuminate the fact that many participants are deliberately trying to influence the match officials. They feel a finger on their shoulder and crash to the turf squirming in agony. They 'roll' around the legs of a defender and stare appealingly at the ref even as they launch themselves into the air. And so, endlessly, on and on.
It used to be called cheating. So let's call it cheating again, because I am sure it has succeeded in breeding a level of cynicism among the watching fans.
Another culprit is that current tactical fad, the 'possession' game. It has its uses, but if overdone it can become a real passion killer. In a game I saw recently a forward made a run deep into his opponent's half. Near the penalty area, however, he turned, played the ball back to a midfielder who played it back to a defender who turned it back to his goalkeeper. The impetus died, and so did excitement.
No-one is thrilled by a pass back, or by the spectacle of the back four (or five) having a quiet little game among themselves. And so occasionally, just occasionally, I think Division One is beginning to emerge as the more exciting spectacle.