Fooball and...Money

What with the global economy bound for hell in a handcart and all, I thought it would be pertinent to discuss the star-crossed relationship between football and money. It’s a curious thing, money. And we seem to be at something of a crossroads. I am (just) old enough to remember my uncle slipping a fiver through the turnstiles at Upton Park to get his nephew into the ground. And now I am (just) old enough to be reading BBC articles on Icelandic liquidity in order to work out whether we can upgrade our options on the left wing come January. How times have changed, and so on and so forth.

This was always going to happen, surely? From the moment the free market started to gallop, through the investment booms of the 80s and 90 and the burgeoning of satellite television to Kia Joorabchian...football didn’t stand a chance. As a product, few things are as beloved of both street kids in Botswana and Russian oligarchs. It’s as global as they come. And when things are global, they are ripe for monetization. I’m going to stop the economic theory there, while I’m ahead.

I think money has made football more interesting. In fact, this is probably because it has made it more insecure, and slightly more mental. Now, instead of writing about formations and dodgy tackles and mediocre transfers, the press have got all sorts of lunacy to write about. Football’s inevitable collision with globalisation eventually made Man City be bought by an oil-rich, football club-poor Abu Dhabi family looking to diversify, and meant that they smashed the British transfer record by shipping in Robinho to the industrial north. Very odd, very unnatural, but very funny. The Abu Dhabis and Abramovics of this world have shit loads of the paper stuff, a lot of which trickles down. Thus Bolton can afford to pay £8.2m for Johan Elmander, an average Swedish striker. Very odd, but again very funny. West Ham could well be deep in the shizzle because of a barmy Icelandic banker who made a fortune in the 80s selling biscuits. Bonkers, but certainly entertaining.

But then, of course, there is the proverbial dark underbelly. When Roy Keane famously lambasted the “prawn sandwich brigade” at Old Trafford, was this the beginning of the end? Has football sold its soul? Is the fact that three League Two clubs started the seasons on minus points an indication that, like Maggie Thatcher’s economic policies, things just aint trickling down as far as they should be? Is the fact that brand new stadiums (cf. The Emirates and Wembley) have entire tiers dedicated to prawn-sandwich munching the end of football as a working man’s sport? Well yes, probably. But that’ll be covered in Football and...class, coming soon to a blog near you. Shit, can you really separate class and money? For the purposes of this post, yes.

In conclusion, money is the reason football is losing its soul. But the gradual descent to spiritual annihilation will make fun reading. That’s that sorted, then.