The quest for real football
August 16th 2008. One of the worst days in memory of supporting Northampton Town and football in general. The stage was set for a Cobblers invasion of Milton Keynes. Over 3,000 away tickets had been sold as we made our way to neighbours Milton Keynes Dons for the first time in our history. This is a history that stretches back 111 years, whereas the Dons have hardly made it through a decade in existence.
I had my doubts before even travelling to Milton Keynes from Southampton. Not doubts as to whether I should go or not, but doubts as to whether the Dons would have pushed aside their bad press to host football in the right way at least.
But as soon as we had arrived we were surrounded by a ridiculous football venue. Everything about Stadium: mk, from the name of the ground to the numerous corporate ventures in and around the place, just stank of a sell out. The stadium itself is impressive, that’s not in question at all, but the things that got me was that there was no atmosphere at all from the home end and when the Cobblers fans fell silent there was an eerie silence around the place.
Even the one song that the home fans chanted was recycled from Millwall. You know the one, “no-one likes us, we don’t care.” Well, Dons fans, you should care. Every single one of those fans would have surely had a team before the creation of the Dons. Some came from Wimbledon, though not many, some from local residents who supported a Premier League side before and were jumping on this bandwagon, and some from local sides such as ourselves who can’t in any way compete with their monetary power.
This wasn’t football. It felt like a theatre, with the players putting on a show to its suited and booted audience. Lord knows what the owners would have thought had they been in the tiny away end bar before the game! The Cobblers fans were up for this one and any one of the corporate community that walked in to see how the visiting fans were doing would have ran with their prawn sandwiches under their arms. This, my good friends, is football.
I found myself pining for the days of open terraces at Brentford, standing for two hours in the snow and being hammered 4-0. I was pining for the days of Gay Meadow, Shrewsbury where there was not even a sink for away fans in the toilets. And I was pining for the days when you had to walk down cobbled streets to get to grounds in the middle of housing estates. This is football.
Some of these wonderful places do indeed still exist but probably not for long. Out of town stadiums are quickly replacing the traditional football grounds. No longer do you fear for your life while walking down a back alley nearby the incredible Vetch Field. No longer do you have to wipe your hands on the bloke next to you in the toilets at Gay Meadow. And no longer can I piss up the wall at our old County Ground. Well, I could, but the cricket team who still reside there wouldn’t be too happy. These, normally fearful and disgusting things, become cheer folklore in football. like “Do you remember this lot’s old place when the hot dogs were colder than the ice on the terraces?”
So I’m on a mission to rediscover real football and the reasons why I fell in love with the beautiful game. The best places to discover this is, of course, non league grounds but it still has to have something special about it to make me visit. So that’s why my quest will begin in the most perfect of places. On Bank Holiday Monday I’m going to visit Kingstonian, temporary home of…AFC Wimbledon.
