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Some will call me fickle, a turncoat. A more select, possibly imbalanced section of the audience may suggest I’m a man not to be trusted. But so it goes, because I’ve ditched my football team; committed the cardinal sin. And now I’m telling you why.
Roger Bennett of the venerable Men in Blazers suggests we do not choose the teams we support, but have them bequeathed through family or location.
For an Australian supporting an English Premier League team, the latter is out of the equation, and so I supported my father’s team. That team was Chelsea.
As children we’re immune to the politics of sports, and I wore the blue for 10 successful, if controversial years, initially ignorant of the club’s nefarious reputation.
When rationally assessing the state of modern sports, we know our commitment to our teams will never be matched by the players or managers. And while our support of is key to these clubs’ survival, it’s clear that the clubs themselves – who need our support in the grounds and through cladding ourselves in their kit – don’t have the fans’ interests at heart. Still, we support, we cheer, we build and revel in community, even halfway across the world.
But my relationship with Chelsea became complicated, then untenable.
When I first read that Chelsea had backed their manager, Jose Mourinho, in the case against club doctor Eva Carneiro, something in me snapped. At that moment I was wearing my season 2014-15 shirt, as my three-year-old daughter was treating the imagined injuries of her soft toys. Though the percentages are low, my daughter might pursue a medical career. She might rise through the ranks and become an esteemed member of a large corporation. If she was bullied unfairly I’d expect her employer to back her, no matter what pressure came from elsewhere.
Mourinho, unsurprisingly, acted like a dick and the club should have sanctioned him. It did not – it pushed Carneiro out. And this broke the camel’s back.
Say nothing of the club’s ownership, the character of the man whose riches pushed a perpetual mid-table club to the top of Europe. Disregard captain-legend-leader John Terry and his cartoonish villainy. Ignore the ugly, mercenary football the team plays.
Instead, focus on the message a father sends his daughter by supporting an organisation who think nothing of acting as bullies towards a woman doing her job (and doing it well, within the laws and expectations of the Football Association).
Must we loyally stand beside these vast corporate machines as they pillage and burn their way through the business of global football? Old ideas say we must. I say no.
If your club doesn’t reflect your values, how you behave and wish for others to behave, leave ’em. Support a low-level team. Get involved in grassroots football. Forget the team of the father and choose your own. Let your children choose their’s too, no matter how painful it might later become.
So I’ve put my Chelsea kit on eBay (not many interested in my 2012-13 Torres shirt I must say – grab a bargain!), cancelled my subscriptions to their TV and fan club services, and turned my attentions elsewhere. I feel relieved, energised, and less of a fraud when my daughter and I sit down to watch football.
Call me a fickle turncoat all you wish. Your illogical, emotional commitment to clubs who perform all manner of ugly acts as you parade their shirts and scarfs is old and daft. And your continued commitment to these fools means the circus will continue.
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