Oo Areeee Yer?
Who ARE we?Seriously?
You don't know?
We're Bradford City! The Mighty Bantams! Stuart McCall's Bradford Army!
Ring any bells?
No?
That's probably because we're now languishing somewhere towards the lower end of League 2. For the Americans (and the less sportily inclined - Oi Frank, you there?!) who read this blog, I should point out that "League 2" is what the FA et al kindly call what should rightly be termed "Division 4", to make the likes of us feel better. In British football, we have the Premiership, where Manchester United, Liverpool and all those other teams with fanbases far beyond those fair cities bask in glory and vastly inflated wages; then we have the Championship, where embittered sides jostle with one another for the much-covetted prize of promotion, that they may too sleep with each others' wives and sip champagne in far-flung jacuzzis; then we have League One, which, confusingly, used to be the name of the Premiership, before it was downgraded to the Championship, before it became the new name for the Third Division (are you with me so far?) League One is full of plucky underdogs, championed by news presenters and TV chefs (Delia's precious Norwich are here... but not for long, if the current table is anything to go by!) and those clubs who are down on their luck (Leeds United. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!) League One is actually where the interesting football happens - often nail-biting games, a whiff of violence mingled with fried onions hanging in their air, cold, seatless terraces open to the elements...
...
And then there's us. Are you still here? Here we are, in League 2, previously Divsion 4... well, you get the picture. I'd like to say League 2 was also full of plucky underdogs. But that would be lying. League 2 is, for the most part, a little bit sad, both in terms of the level of football played and in terms of the attitude of some of the players - a sort of listlessness tinged, on occasions, with simmering resentment. League 2 has much of the menace of League 1 (as my mate says "this is proper football - people get hurt") - without, unfortunately, any of the skill.
Take my experience at one of my beleagured team's matches as an example. Aldershot, that bastion of unity in a faceless, squaddie town, are currently languishing in League 2, though, it must be said, doing so with somewhat more finesse and rather higher up the table than the Mighty Bantams. I went to Aldershot last year and felt they were trying to replicate a sort of small-scale Millwall experience for their visitors. There were police everywhere, and a minute or so before the game their fans (and the terraces were packed) started banging on the stands and chanting "Aldershot Call The Shots". This carried on. For the entire game. That's over two hours, assuming they didn't stop at half time - and I'm not convinced they did. The hardcore amongst them carried on doggedly throughout. An element of polyphony was achieved only when our goalie was approaching the ball after a failed attempt on their part to actually score anything - which happened quite a lot. On such occasions a small, adventurous group strayed from the main chant long enough to shout "You're Shit! Uh!" at us.
So there's the menance. But what about the incompetence? Well, I'm a Welfare Adviser. I'm a Welfare Adviser whose sport of choice is cricket. I play the violin, sing, and write plays. Whenever I watch the Bantams I find myself frantically shouting "Get in a space! Where are you?" And that, my friends, says it all.
I shouldn't be so mean. The average age of our team looks to be about 16, after all, so I presume they have to fit in their training around their maths homework. But still, it doesn't bode well, and perhaps it explains why, despite our colourful, exhuberant and (some might say deludedly) loyal fan base, we are still doing so horrifically badly.
It's true, and it's sad, because, fan-wise, we're still attracting some of the biggest crowds in lower-league football to both home and away fixtures. We even managed to take a 200-odd crowd to Torquay a few weeks back, and who in their rights mind would travel from Bradford to Torquay in the middle of winter (or, indeed, at any time?) This is a team that went on an open-top bus tour through the wonderful city of Bradford, attracting massive crows, and even released a DVD called "We Are Stayin' Up!" when they narrowly missed relegation from the Premiership, beating Liverpool (I kid you not!) in 2000. I still remember the "Bye Bye Wombles" posters - which (oh ye of little faith) I thought a tad optimistic as the time, but we did of course wave bye bye to Wimbledon that day, and look what happened to them! Oh how the Not Always Totally Crap have fallen.
And this week we waved bye bye to Stuart McCall, a previously fine midfielder who's led us, admittedly with an impressive lack of success, since 2007. And now we are floundering more than ever, if that's possible. Not waving, not even drowning. We sunk long ago.
I'll tell you what sums up the current state we're in, and that's two defeats by...wait for it... Barnet. I kid you not. That's Barnet, the team that plays on a sloped pitch that would shame most schools; a team whose fans - the smattering that turn up - act as though they've accidentally taken a wrong turning on the way to the theatre, but don't want to be rude and slip out during the interval. Barnet fans are more like cricket fans are in 1920s short stories - they clap politely at every shockingly-aimed kick - balls can sail off metres above the goal, and the true Barnet fan's response will be "Oh, bad luck!" To my great amusement, while this was all going on, the Bradford fans, who'd come down en masse for the occasion (there were more of us than them, crammed onto stone terraces) were keeping themselves amused by hurling abuse at a giant bee - Barnet's mascot, Mr Bumble - to the tune of Guide Me Oh Thy Great Redeemer, cleverly amended to "What the fucking, what the fucking, what the fucking hell is that?"
A good point well made, I feel. But we still lost 2-1. Shame? That doesn't even begin to describe it.
We sighed with relief at today's tedious 0-0 draw against Grimsby, and trudged back to prepare for next week's battle... and dangerous mixing of the counties... against Accrington Stanley.
Who are they? I hear you cry.
Exactly.
Ring any bells?
No?
That's probably because we're now languishing somewhere towards the lower end of League 2. For the Americans (and the less sportily inclined - Oi Frank, you there?!) who read this blog, I should point out that "League 2" is what the FA et al kindly call what should rightly be termed "Division 4", to make the likes of us feel better. In British football, we have the Premiership, where Manchester United, Liverpool and all those other teams with fanbases far beyond those fair cities bask in glory and vastly inflated wages; then we have the Championship, where embittered sides jostle with one another for the much-covetted prize of promotion, that they may too sleep with each others' wives and sip champagne in far-flung jacuzzis; then we have League One, which, confusingly, used to be the name of the Premiership, before it was downgraded to the Championship, before it became the new name for the Third Division (are you with me so far?) League One is full of plucky underdogs, championed by news presenters and TV chefs (Delia's precious Norwich are here... but not for long, if the current table is anything to go by!) and those clubs who are down on their luck (Leeds United. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!) League One is actually where the interesting football happens - often nail-biting games, a whiff of violence mingled with fried onions hanging in their air, cold, seatless terraces open to the elements...
...
And then there's us. Are you still here? Here we are, in League 2, previously Divsion 4... well, you get the picture. I'd like to say League 2 was also full of plucky underdogs. But that would be lying. League 2 is, for the most part, a little bit sad, both in terms of the level of football played and in terms of the attitude of some of the players - a sort of listlessness tinged, on occasions, with simmering resentment. League 2 has much of the menace of League 1 (as my mate says "this is proper football - people get hurt") - without, unfortunately, any of the skill.
Take my experience at one of my beleagured team's matches as an example. Aldershot, that bastion of unity in a faceless, squaddie town, are currently languishing in League 2, though, it must be said, doing so with somewhat more finesse and rather higher up the table than the Mighty Bantams. I went to Aldershot last year and felt they were trying to replicate a sort of small-scale Millwall experience for their visitors. There were police everywhere, and a minute or so before the game their fans (and the terraces were packed) started banging on the stands and chanting "Aldershot Call The Shots". This carried on. For the entire game. That's over two hours, assuming they didn't stop at half time - and I'm not convinced they did. The hardcore amongst them carried on doggedly throughout. An element of polyphony was achieved only when our goalie was approaching the ball after a failed attempt on their part to actually score anything - which happened quite a lot. On such occasions a small, adventurous group strayed from the main chant long enough to shout "You're Shit! Uh!" at us.
So there's the menance. But what about the incompetence? Well, I'm a Welfare Adviser. I'm a Welfare Adviser whose sport of choice is cricket. I play the violin, sing, and write plays. Whenever I watch the Bantams I find myself frantically shouting "Get in a space! Where are you?" And that, my friends, says it all.
I shouldn't be so mean. The average age of our team looks to be about 16, after all, so I presume they have to fit in their training around their maths homework. But still, it doesn't bode well, and perhaps it explains why, despite our colourful, exhuberant and (some might say deludedly) loyal fan base, we are still doing so horrifically badly.
It's true, and it's sad, because, fan-wise, we're still attracting some of the biggest crowds in lower-league football to both home and away fixtures. We even managed to take a 200-odd crowd to Torquay a few weeks back, and who in their rights mind would travel from Bradford to Torquay in the middle of winter (or, indeed, at any time?) This is a team that went on an open-top bus tour through the wonderful city of Bradford, attracting massive crows, and even released a DVD called "We Are Stayin' Up!" when they narrowly missed relegation from the Premiership, beating Liverpool (I kid you not!) in 2000. I still remember the "Bye Bye Wombles" posters - which (oh ye of little faith) I thought a tad optimistic as the time, but we did of course wave bye bye to Wimbledon that day, and look what happened to them! Oh how the Not Always Totally Crap have fallen.
And this week we waved bye bye to Stuart McCall, a previously fine midfielder who's led us, admittedly with an impressive lack of success, since 2007. And now we are floundering more than ever, if that's possible. Not waving, not even drowning. We sunk long ago.
I'll tell you what sums up the current state we're in, and that's two defeats by...wait for it... Barnet. I kid you not. That's Barnet, the team that plays on a sloped pitch that would shame most schools; a team whose fans - the smattering that turn up - act as though they've accidentally taken a wrong turning on the way to the theatre, but don't want to be rude and slip out during the interval. Barnet fans are more like cricket fans are in 1920s short stories - they clap politely at every shockingly-aimed kick - balls can sail off metres above the goal, and the true Barnet fan's response will be "Oh, bad luck!" To my great amusement, while this was all going on, the Bradford fans, who'd come down en masse for the occasion (there were more of us than them, crammed onto stone terraces) were keeping themselves amused by hurling abuse at a giant bee - Barnet's mascot, Mr Bumble - to the tune of Guide Me Oh Thy Great Redeemer, cleverly amended to "What the fucking, what the fucking, what the fucking hell is that?"
A good point well made, I feel. But we still lost 2-1. Shame? That doesn't even begin to describe it.
We sighed with relief at today's tedious 0-0 draw against Grimsby, and trudged back to prepare for next week's battle... and dangerous mixing of the counties... against Accrington Stanley.
Who are they? I hear you cry.
Exactly.
Labels: Bradford, Bradford City, international students
posted by RLS at 9:54 pm
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