In a world of pre-match build ups, different camera angles and tiresome ‘expert’ analysis, Dan Palmer goes in search of football's grass routes.
It’s a Saturday, it’s 3.pm. and like many people I have gone to the
footy. Except my experience is going to be a tad different this week. The ground I find myself in is uncovered on two sides and one end actually backs on to people's gardens. The pitch looks like it will turn into a mud bath after a single drop of rain and a dodgy looking burger van is setting up in the corner. A sixties style television gantry looms over the pitch and a creaky tannoy system echoes around the ground. I am about as far from Old Trafford as it is possible to be. This is Watnall Road, home of Hucknall Town Football Club.
I’m here to find out why people make the effort with clubs like this. With more televised matches than ever before, is there anyone left who cares about the local form of the beautiful game? I had come to meet the people who would shun the warmth of the pub, with its big screens and glamorous Premier League stars, to concentrate on football in its purest form.
Hucknall play in the Blue Square North division, two leagues away from the Football League and five shy of the Premiership. The club was formed as a colliery side in 1945 and has had reasonable success over the years, making their way up the football pyramid from the Nottinghamshire leagues to their current position. In the 2004-5 season they reached the final of the FA Trophy, the top FA tournament for non-league sides. Legendary players include prolific striker Ian ‘The Hitman’ Hannah, and ex Manchester United forward, David Johnson.
On my visit, the side were struggling. After fifteen games they were sitting rock bottom of the Blue Square North, with a pitiful ten points. Attendances were also low, with just 270 turning up to watch a dismal 3-0 defeat against Blyth Spartans.
In the club shop, which is based in a small portakabin, I meet retired sisters Lynne Taylor and Jill Nicholls. They have been coming to matches for twenty years. Lynne's husband Maurice is on the club's committee and Jill’s son Tom is training to be a physio. He hopes to join the club one day as well. So why have they given up so much of their time?
“I guess it’s just the sense of pride.” coos Lynne. “It means something to be a part of your local club.”
Jill, who has been nodding along, clearly agrees. “There is a great feeling of belonging. I feel like part of a community, and you just don’t get that at the bigger clubs.”
I watch them for a while as they sell scarves and programmes to supporters. They chat with everyone who comes in, clearly knowing them all.
“Everybody knows everybody here,” says Lynne. “It is a much better atmosphere, far friendlier. We treat our supporters like they are people, not customers.”
Soon it is time for the game. The guests today are Solihull Moors, and it soon becomes clear that the Hucknall supporters are passionate about their team.
“I have lived in Hucknall most of my life,” Jill tells me. “They are my local club, my team!”
It is not hard to see what she means. Looking around there are numerous examples of people who are passionate about their town, and therefore their team. With so many supporters opting to follow clubs miles away from home in places like Manchester and Liverpool, it is refreshing to see so much pride for a local community.
Monica Glover started coming eight years ago when Notts County no longer offered her value for money. She sells raffle tickets and also helps to take down the nets after games.
“At County it felt like they just wanted to take my money,” she tells me. “Here I am much more involved. And I have lived here for so long, so it is like Hucknall Town is my team. That means something, so I do my bit.”
Half time arrives and after a poor performance Hucknall are lucky to go into the break with the scores goalless.
“Could be worse!” says Jill, shaking her head at me. It is starting to rain and a biting breeze is blowing into everyone’s faces. With situations like this, does she every wonder why she bothers?
“Never!” she states bluntly. “This club is a part of me now, when you come every week, it becomes engrained in you. And I actually get involved at my club. I help out, make a difference. How many fans of bigger clubs can say that?”
The second half starts badly when Hucknall go behind. Jill shakes her head and sighs, clearly used to this sort of situation. Andrew Moore, another supporter, turns up to air his grievances. With the rain falling and his team one behind, why doesn’t he just pack it in and head for the warmth of the pub?
“If I were offered tickets to the Premier League, I would still come here,” he says, grinning. “It’s much more personal here. I know some of the players and they are just regular guys like you and me. You can’t say that about the Premiership, where you don’t feel part of it at all.”
Luckily, going behind seems to be spurt Hucknall into life. A good spell sees them take the lead, sending the fans into raptures. We are standing behind one of the goals and are right up close to the action. The stadium, although falling apart in places, is full of life and a stark contrast to the characterless bowl stadiums that many clubs are now building.
Hucknall look set to claim a vital three points but fate strikes a cruel blow. Solihull equalise with about ten minutes left, and the game finishes 2-2.
Lynne looks at me and sighs. “Oh well,” she says. “I’ll be back next week.”
And if it is always as friendly as that, I might be as well.
It’s a Saturday, it’s 3.pm. and like many people I have gone to the
footy. Except my experience is going to be a tad different this week. The ground I find myself in is uncovered on two sides and one end actually backs on to people's gardens. The pitch looks like it will turn into a mud bath after a single drop of rain and a dodgy looking burger van is setting up in the corner. A sixties style television gantry looms over the pitch and a creaky tannoy system echoes around the ground. I am about as far from Old Trafford as it is possible to be. This is Watnall Road, home of Hucknall Town Football Club.I’m here to find out why people make the effort with clubs like this. With more televised matches than ever before, is there anyone left who cares about the local form of the beautiful game? I had come to meet the people who would shun the warmth of the pub, with its big screens and glamorous Premier League stars, to concentrate on football in its purest form.
Hucknall play in the Blue Square North division, two leagues away from the Football League and five shy of the Premiership. The club was formed as a colliery side in 1945 and has had reasonable success over the years, making their way up the football pyramid from the Nottinghamshire leagues to their current position. In the 2004-5 season they reached the final of the FA Trophy, the top FA tournament for non-league sides. Legendary players include prolific striker Ian ‘The Hitman’ Hannah, and ex Manchester United forward, David Johnson.
On my visit, the side were struggling. After fifteen games they were sitting rock bottom of the Blue Square North, with a pitiful ten points. Attendances were also low, with just 270 turning up to watch a dismal 3-0 defeat against Blyth Spartans.
In the club shop, which is based in a small portakabin, I meet retired sisters Lynne Taylor and Jill Nicholls. They have been coming to matches for twenty years. Lynne's husband Maurice is on the club's committee and Jill’s son Tom is training to be a physio. He hopes to join the club one day as well. So why have they given up so much of their time?
“I guess it’s just the sense of pride.” coos Lynne. “It means something to be a part of your local club.”
Jill, who has been nodding along, clearly agrees. “There is a great feeling of belonging. I feel like part of a community, and you just don’t get that at the bigger clubs.”
I watch them for a while as they sell scarves and programmes to supporters. They chat with everyone who comes in, clearly knowing them all.
“Everybody knows everybody here,” says Lynne. “It is a much better atmosphere, far friendlier. We treat our supporters like they are people, not customers.”
Soon it is time for the game. The guests today are Solihull Moors, and it soon becomes clear that the Hucknall supporters are passionate about their team.
“I have lived in Hucknall most of my life,” Jill tells me. “They are my local club, my team!”
It is not hard to see what she means. Looking around there are numerous examples of people who are passionate about their town, and therefore their team. With so many supporters opting to follow clubs miles away from home in places like Manchester and Liverpool, it is refreshing to see so much pride for a local community.
Monica Glover started coming eight years ago when Notts County no longer offered her value for money. She sells raffle tickets and also helps to take down the nets after games.
“At County it felt like they just wanted to take my money,” she tells me. “Here I am much more involved. And I have lived here for so long, so it is like Hucknall Town is my team. That means something, so I do my bit.”
Half time arrives and after a poor performance Hucknall are lucky to go into the break with the scores goalless.
“Could be worse!” says Jill, shaking her head at me. It is starting to rain and a biting breeze is blowing into everyone’s faces. With situations like this, does she every wonder why she bothers?
“Never!” she states bluntly. “This club is a part of me now, when you come every week, it becomes engrained in you. And I actually get involved at my club. I help out, make a difference. How many fans of bigger clubs can say that?”
The second half starts badly when Hucknall go behind. Jill shakes her head and sighs, clearly used to this sort of situation. Andrew Moore, another supporter, turns up to air his grievances. With the rain falling and his team one behind, why doesn’t he just pack it in and head for the warmth of the pub?
“If I were offered tickets to the Premier League, I would still come here,” he says, grinning. “It’s much more personal here. I know some of the players and they are just regular guys like you and me. You can’t say that about the Premiership, where you don’t feel part of it at all.”
Luckily, going behind seems to be spurt Hucknall into life. A good spell sees them take the lead, sending the fans into raptures. We are standing behind one of the goals and are right up close to the action. The stadium, although falling apart in places, is full of life and a stark contrast to the characterless bowl stadiums that many clubs are now building.
Hucknall look set to claim a vital three points but fate strikes a cruel blow. Solihull equalise with about ten minutes left, and the game finishes 2-2.
Lynne looks at me and sighs. “Oh well,” she says. “I’ll be back next week.”
And if it is always as friendly as that, I might be as well.
