From Widnes to Wembley: Empty stadiums and me.
Stadiums. I have, like many sports fans reading this, seen my fair share. Some of my fondest memories of stadia, however, are seeing them empty, without the fans, without the flags and without the action on that island of green (well, most of the year anyway) in the middle, encamped within the white lines which demarcate the boundary between sport and life, between winning and losing and between hopes and dreams.
From an early age I seem to have been fortunate enough (either by good luck or good judgement) to go behind the scenes of some famous and iconic stadiums starting in my home town, Widnes.
Naughton Park
Naughton park (as it was then) was the home of the Chemics, Widnes’ legendary Rugby League team, names as such after the ICI chemical planet located on the banks of the Mersey. Naughton Park was an old-fashioned stadium. On a match day the ‘cow sheds’ were the place to be as soon as you were big enough to sit on the wall that surrounded the field and, very rarely as it happened, kept the fans off it in times of triumph.
My school - it isn’t there anymore, the land was sold off for houses - was just around the corner, and during our lunch hour the stadium gates were often found to be open, allowing us to sit in the stand and eat our chips. To be more precise, our chip and pea barms (or rolls or barm cakes to use other colloquialisms), every day of term and without the faintest hint of that being a poor choice in terms of long term health. It was a fantastic experience to sit in relative silence and replay the action that unfolded on October 8, 1989 when the Chemics were crowned World Champions after defeating the Canberra Raiders.
The stadium has ling since gone, replaced with a more modern version that houses Everton reserves and ladies teams along with the Vikings, a new moniker for the the Widnes team. Suffice to say they no longer open their gates at lunchtime for the local Schoolboys to imagine themselves scoring the winning try.
Anfield
So now we come to a stadium that you may be more familiar with. There were no clandestine entries to this stadium, just a first visit with an over protective dad who insisted on getting in there “nice and early” to beat the crowds; three hours early to be precise. If it was today we would be guaranteed to make it onto the build-up for match of the day. Current thinking would suggest those into the ground so early are more likely to spend more at the concession stalls, we would have made them re-consider. Everything we needed for the game was safely stowed in our lunch boxes and flask.
These were the days when getting hold of your tickets was a different experience to today; having identified the game you wanted to go to, a cheque would be sent to the ticket office and then you waited, hoping that the stamped addressed envelope would be returned, not with the cheque, but with tickets for the father and son section of the Anfield Road end of the stadium. I acknowledge that this is sexist, mother went with their sons and daughters too, however, that was what the section was called.
Match days, including my first (when we go there three hours early), followed a similar pattern. When we got to the Rocket pub at the start of Edge Lane my dad would ask me if I had the tickets - I never did - and he would say “We’ll have to turn around, go back and get them.” We never did, they were always in the glovebox of his van. After that we would swing past his old house in the district of Anfield, presumably just to ensure it was still there, make an upfront payment to the long custodians of a scheme locally known as ‘looking after yer car’ and walk down Priory Road to the stadium.
I remember walking up the steps on that first visit and being wowed by the Sie of the pitch, the sea of red seats and nets, the old box nets which Bruce Grobbelaar would occupy. That was my first experience of live football and one, I think, that cemented my love of seeing empty stadiums. In case you were wondering, Liverpool won 2-1, against Arsenal.
Hillsborough
I went to University in Sheffield, Hallam that is, not the proper one, or at least that’s how the rivalry was sold on varsity day. The University looked a lot different today than it does now, with less space and facilities meaning that exams were often held off campus; at the end of my second year the location was Hillsborough stadium. I was only nine when the disaster happened - however the significance of it, I hope, was not lost on me.
Seeing the stadium on match day, however, carries with it more significance now than perhaps it did at the time. Seventeen years have passed and so much in my life has changed; I got married, had a child (and then another), been fortunate to travel the world and make new friends. It seems like such a long time ago. For the families of the 96 and their supporters, however, this time has been spent pursuing justice for their loved ones, tirelessly battling a system, which decided to hide the truth and apportion blame in all the wrong places.
The word inspirational is too often used in sport but my memory of seeing Hillsborough on a quiet midweek morning reminds me of what the word really means and the strength of those involved that did, finally, force the authorities to acknowledge the truth.
Tynecastle
I moved to Scotland in 2004 to take up a role with Hearts. Tynecastle is a great stadium, as every friend who has visited and taken in a game there agrees; when it is packed to the rafters and in full swing, there can be few places better to watch football. When it is empty, however, it takes on a different persona.
Walking out past the ‘Blood doesn’t show on a maroon jersey’ quote, through the tunnel doors and onto the pitch when the stadium was deserted is one of my favourite memories of my time with the club. It is also the first place where I, as an adult, briefly checked over my shoulder before smashing a ball into the net from as close a distance that removed the risk of missing the target. Childish, yes, perhaps however I would suggest that few football fans could have resisted the urge.
The recent renovations to the stadium have undoubtedly improved the club’s infrastructure and whilst these changes are a necessity for clubs as they vie to become more profitable and able to provide a greater range of hospitality options, the old main stand when empty was something to behold. Rising up behind the dugouts and echoing with the sounds of hastily cleared balls bouncing on the corrugated iron roof, with the uncertainty of whether they would ever come down again.
Celtic Park
It isn’t actually the stadium that I love about Celtic Park, it is the tunnel. I have been fortunate to go behind the scenes on a couple of occasions and have always found myself drawn towards the passageway between the changing rooms and the pitch.
The kink in the tunnel means you can’t actually see the pitch , the green surround reminding you of where you are, and more recently, the bricks denoting the names of those immortalised by the club. It is, as the club will tell you, paradise.
The first time I was there was with the Hearts Under - 19’s in a Youth Cup final and it had such an effect on me that my memory embellished it; I would recall to friends back home how it looked and felt, only to have that ideal challenged when I next returned with the Hearts first team. Perhaps this was a mix of being a little older and more experienced. If that was my response as a member of the support staff I can’t imagine how it might have felt to the young players that day and it shows, perhaps, the importance of continuing to play Youth Cup games in big stadia.
I returned to Celtic park in 2014 with the Scotland national team for a game against the Republic of Ireland, a game Scotland won 1-0. My memory and fondness of the stadium was only enhanced; partly because of the win bit more so because it was the day I picked up the family ring I used to propose to my wife a week or so later.
Dortmund
The first game back on home soil after winning the World Cup; Germany v Scotland in front of a packed Dortmund stadium, otherwise known as the Westfalstadion. International games are fairly unique, I think, given the away team has the chance to train on the pitch the day before the game, something that is not afforded at the club level (apart from Champions League). This was always my favourite part of the trip, arriving before the players and having a moment to appreciate the surroundings before a cup of tea and a biscuit in the sheds. Dortmund did not disappoint.
The ‘Yellow Wall’ as their south terrace has been named, was an incredible sight, and that was without the 25,000 fans screaming for their team and the unfurling of banners that have made the stadium famous in world football. I was reminded of the Kop at Anfield and the folklore that if the fans collectively drew breath they would suck the football into the back of the net.
In truth, the one time I did stand on the Kop I couldn’t see anything, let alone whether Liverpool had possession of the ball or not.
Wembley
The new Wembley stadium is something to behold, especially from pitch level, and long before the crowds have started to assemble. It is, in fact, quite disorientating. I had watched the England Rugby League team play there a couple of years beforehand and I couldn’t quite work out, when looking from the pitch, where my seat had been located.
The first team that I had made the trip to Wembley, characterised as it was then by the twin towers, was in 1993 to see England take on Holland. I watched my hero at the time, John Barnes, score the first, an experience that further cemented my ambition to some day be part of the action. Twenty years later I realised that ambition and was able to walk out on the pitch, the night before England took on Scotland in a friendly, and take a moment to enjoy it.
