The Archive

Looking at aspects of maleness and football, Joyce Woolridge explains why the New Lads beloved of the media have little in common with the lads who actually go to watch matches

A few weeks ago at 6am I began a solo train journey from Bristol to Manchester to watch Manchester United lose to Chelsea. I’ve never been to a match alone before, but it happened that this time I was the only one with a ticket. As a solo traveller, I thoroughly expected to observe at first hand some spectacular displays of laddish boorishness, given that football is where the ‘new lads’ are most at home; where they gather to worship the cult of curry, boozing and birds whilst rejecting all standards of decent behaviour. 

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In the build up to the 1998 World Cup Simon Harris assesses whether Hungary's fortunes may be changing for the better – and explains how they came to sink so low in the first place

Poor old Ferenc Puskas. It doesn’t matter which Hungarian team is playing in Europe, his old club Honved, Ferencvaros, Ujpest or lesser names like Videoton or MTK, the foreign press are there waiting for their Puskas quote.

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Manchester bids to become the new natioanl football centre even though the odds are firmly stacked in Wembley's favour. Adam Brown reports

It is now a year since the Sports Council made the curious decision of asking Manchester and Wembley to revise and re-submit their bids for the national stadium. The ‘race’ for the national stadium saw the final, final bids re-entered on 6th November.

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Richard Darn pays tribute to Bradford's HSG stand which would be even better if you could actually watch the game

Got a swish ground yet? New stands, dazzling snack bar menu, toilets with hand lotion? Well, if you’re an Arsenal or Manchester United supporter you’ll probably answer yes. But as a die-hard traditionalist watching my footie in the lower divisions you can keep your corporate-style entertainment and £20 admission fee and just give me a decent view of the game.

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Footballers keep doing things that bother Matt Nation, but in the long term they'll thank him for pointing it out

In an attempt to outline just how difficult it is to be a footballer, Brian Clough once drew parallels between the respective lots of a cameraman and a centre forward. The cameraman, he reckoned, could spend an age perfecting his angles, positions and profiles, but then see the whole lot disappear down the toilet as a result of somebody deliberately knocking everything over just as he reaches for his clapperboard. Similarly, Cloughie’s number nine could spend an equal amount of time perfecting his shooting position (particularly if the number nine in question is Justin Fashanu) and then be brought down in one fell swoop by a carefully-aimed kick to the Achilles tendon.

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