When the stands speak, the Premier League must listen
The referee’s decision was, by the standards of these things, quite simple. Football in general and the Premier League in particular have a knack for courting controversy, but this didn’t seem like a particularly attractive candidate for the hot-take treatment. The evidence was too clear, too clear.
Early in the Premier League match between Sheffield United and Brighton last month, Sheffield United defender Mason Holgate made his mark against Kaoru Mitoma, Brighton’s dazzling winger. The referee, Stuart Attwell, showed Holgate a yellow card. Moments later, Attwell was advised by his video assistant Michael Oliver to look at the tackle again.
The replay showed Holgate’s right foot colliding with Mitoma’s thigh. (The ball, for context, was elsewhere.) Mitoma’s leg collapsed from the force of the blow; he was still, even as the referee watched the video, writhing on the turf. Attwell reversed his decision and dismissed Holgate, who seemed hurt, dismayed and bewildered. You had to admire the chutzpah.
That this turn of events – and the prospect of seeing the team play at a disadvantage for most of the match – enraged the crowd at Sheffield United’s Bramall Lane stadium comes as no surprise. The spectators had not seen the replays. It is the belief of most fans that any decision that goes against their team is wrong.
What was striking, however, was the form their dissatisfaction took. They applauded Holgate as he left the field. They spent the rest of the game laughing at Mitoma’s every touch. But they also stated long, loudly and with expletives their belief that the whole incident proved once again that the Premier League was incorrigibly corrupt.
It’s tempting to stress test this claim by asking two simple questions. No. 1: How could Premier League corruption tempt Holgate into making a terrible tackle? No. 2: Why would the Premier League be corrupt at the expense of Sheffield United?
Even if the league had for some reason decided that the presence of a long-standing, fervently supported team, housed in an atmospheric stadium and a vibrant, eclectic city, was anathema, it would hardly have to do anything to ensure to ensure that this would disappear quickly. With both respect and affection, Sheffield United don’t need any help to avoid relegation this season.
Of course, questioning the accusation is pointless because the claim is not rooted in logic. That hasn’t stopped that word – corrupt – from becoming a leitmotif for this Premier League season. Sheffield United are not alone in having accepted the idea that the authorities are against it for whatever reason.
The same chant that sounded around Bramall Lane has also been sent out by fans of the likes of Wolverhampton and Burnley in recent months, but if the curious process of osmosis through which these trends spread has an origin, it is likely to have been at Everton. .
It is Goodison Park, after all, where ‘corrupt’ has appeared on T-shirts, posters and banners, where the Premier League’s admittedly pompous anthem has been jeered the loudest, where the roots of the conspiracy lie deepest.
At least that makes some sense. In November, an independent panel stripped Everton 10 points for failing to adhere to Premier League financial rules, suddenly exposing the club to the very real threat of relegation. It was the first time a club had been punished for such an offense and the first time in more than a decade that a team had been stripped of points.
But just as relevant was the fact that Manchester City, the league’s perennial champions, had already been facing 115 charges for flagrantly breaking the same rules for almost a year, and had yet to hear much of the case. From Goodison Park, it looked like the Premier League would be more likely to punish one of the league’s middleweights than the reigning superpower.
However, it is remarkable that Everton’s case has been taken up by others. Wolves and Everton are unlikely allies: while the latter admitted to breaking the league’s financial rules, Wolves made the difficult and unpopular decision to comply with them last summer. In any case, Wolves should believe that Everton deserves everything they get.
Sheffield United is even more unusual. It does have an old complaint against the Premier League, relating to West Ham effectively fielding ineligible players in 2007. ultimately led directly to Sheffield’s relegation. But it seems strange that the burning sense of injustice is now flaring up again. Sheffield United have not broken any financial rules. No points deduction has been granted. There’s no real reason to complain.
And yet it’s not hard to see why the idea of institutional corruption struck a chord. Justice in football is essentially as arbitrary as Everton has claimed. This week the points deduction was reduced to 6 points instead of 10 by another independent panel, a punishment that the club seems to like much better.
But that does not take away the feeling of injustice. If anything, it reinforces it: not just because one panel ruled the other was too harsh, as Everton claimed, but also because both penalties were effectively plucked out of thin air.
No one disputes that the rules were broken. But the penalties for breaking the rules are not written down; the Premier League is governed by convention, not a constitution. This is the first time this has happened. There is no precedent. Are 6 points too many? Is it too little? Should Everton actually get points?
No one knows, and no one can know, because this is all a game, a game invented, codified and modified by humans. At the same time, Manchester City has yet to face any consequences, and perhaps never will, either because it is innocent or because it has enough lawyers to prove that it is not guilty enough.
That doesn’t make the Premier League corrupt, of course, but it does breathe life into the idea that justice only partly depends on the context. The same can be said with the belief that the league’s executives are in the pockets of the most powerful clubs: it feels like paranoia, but it’s not hard to see why this conclusion is compelling to some. A vast majority of the wealth generated by the game is monopolized by a few. They hoard the wealth, the talent and the trophies, and they bend the sport to their will.
At the same time, games are now decided by a faceless, irresponsible authority, an authority that – let’s put this kindly – doesn’t seem to be interpreting the rules with absolute consistency from a remote, screen-filled booth.
Fans, meanwhile, are forced to pay ever-increasing amounts of money to follow their teams, in person or on television. Their needs are rarely, if ever, taken into account: match times are shifted at short notice to suit broadcasters, completely overlooking the transport needs of the supporters who make an event a spectacle. They are powerless, passive and forgotten.
In that light, it is not surprising that so many clubs have internalized the idea that the institutions that oversee the game are corrupt, but so many have not. If anything, the anger should be broader.
Still, it feels like there’s a lesson in this, and not just for the people who run football. The protests may be taking place inside the stadiums, but the frustration, disruption and simmering resentment that drives them reflects a feeling that exists beyond them too.
Author Terry Pratchett once warned that politicians should take note of graffiti: not just its presence, but what it says. “Ignore graffiti at your peril,” he wrote. “It is the heartbeat of a city. It is the voice of the voiceless.”
Football stadiums, the last great secular meeting place of a fractured society, largely apply the same rule. The Premier League is not corrupt, not in the way Everton and Wolves and Sheffield United fans mean. But just because the statement doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it should be ignored. The stadiums are talking. The league would do well to listen to what they are saying.
A journey back in time
It is not particularly difficult to understand why Luton Town has won so many friends over the course of its (first) season in the Premier League. Fans own the club. The team has risen from the depths of non-league football. The squad is diligent, modest and devoid of spoiled, over-indulged superstars. The manager is helpful, flexible and extremely personable.
However, when visiting Kenilworth Road for the first time, another aspect of its appeal emerges: nostalgia. Kenilworth Road isn’t really a stadium, not in the Premier League sense. Instead, it’s something you’d build if you had scrap metal and a time limit.
But it is – for any fan over the age, who chooses a number completely at random, 41 and a half – what stadiums used to look and feel like. It makes Luton look like invaders from another era, emissaries of old footballers against the glare of the modern Premier League. To those who remember it, to those who may even long for it, it’s irresistible.
Forewarning
A few hours before Sunday’s Carabao Cup final, in the concourses outside Wembley, the lines of fans came to a standstill. There were reports going around that there was a problem with some electronic tickets: those with QR codes were fine, but those with barcodes didn’t work.
There was, it must be emphasized, absolutely no hint of trouble. Grumbling a little. A touch of excitement as the clock ticked and kick-off approached. A lot of patient waiting as the fans settled back into the familiar feeling of being a burden rather than a paying customer.
It all worked out well in the end – the stands slowly filled, the noise increased and the match started – but it’s worth pointing out that Wembley will host the Champions League final in about three months’ time. Again.
The last time a match of that magnitude was organised, the Euro 2020 final (in 2021), the chaos that followed led to an in-depth investigation. Should Manchester City or Arsenal in particular become the showpiece of European football, it will prove to be a significant test of how much the stadium authorities have learned from that experience. In that light, Sunday should serve to concentrate some thoughts.