As issue 5 of Turnstile Blues is coming out very soon – and is on sale at Portman Road on Saturday, 3rd May 2014 – I’m posting some of my favourite pieces from the previous four issues in an effort to show you what we’re about. First, a particular favourite from our first issue, by Gavin Barber.
A few years ago, Heinz announced that they might have to stop making salad cream because everyone was buying mayonnaise instead. “Imagine that!” exclaimed a woman I worked with at the time, “no salad cream in the shops!”. “But hardly anyone’s buying it”, I replied, “do you actually buy it yourself?”. “Well, no”, she admitted, “but it’s nice to know it’s there”.
There was, of course, a subsequent mad rush on the purchase of salad cream and the product was saved. The whole thing was probably just a clever marketing ruse by Heinz, tapping into a basic truth: there are some things that comfort us simply by their continued existence in the background of our lives, whether it’s the presence of a condiment on the supermarket shelves, the smell of the coffee stall we pass on the way to work or the continued international career of Dennis Rommedahl. They don’t make much real difference to us, but we’d miss them if they weren’t there.
Does Ipswich Town fall into this category? I started thinking this when I was challenging myself to work out exactly why the bloody hell I had been so determined to pass the Portman Road habit on to my son. Was I handing down a precious gift, a timeless expression of parental love with value beyond measure? Or was it more like one of those irritating hereditary quirks such as premature baldness or eczema?
My Dad was a much better and more responsible parent than I am. He followed Ipswich himself and would respond cheerfully to all my questions about them, but never made any particular effort to foster my interest, perhaps sensibly deciding that if I wanted to open myself up to the same lifetime of frustration as he’d had, then it was my own lookout. Of course, it wasn’t long before I was pleading with him to take me along: the idea of actually going to Portman Road held the sort of allure for me that Disneyland had for other kids. Even then, I think Dad was a bit surprised, and not really convinced that I’d like it as much as I thought I would, but of course, when I eventually did make it through the turnstiles I was irretrievably hooked.
I wasn’t allowed to go every week but I’d mark on the fixture list the games that Dad had said I could go along to (this being the early 80s, these were mostly determined on the basis of having the lowest hooligan risk) and these, like Prufrock’s coffee spoons, would become the punctuation marks of my young life, each one as eagerly and as long anticipated as the last, regardless of how Town were playing at the time. Often we’d go with my extended family – my Grandpa, who always seemed to think it was cold and who judged each new signing according to whether or not they were as good as Tommy Parker (they never were), and my Uncle, who loved the Dutch players and whose own moustache I imagined to be his personal tribute to Frans Thijssen. I could disappear at this point into a quicksand of clichéd reverie, but I’m sure you get the picture: the boy in a man’s world; the always-lingering cigarette smoke; above all, the excitement of Christmas fixtures and the massed ranks of pocketed hands afterwards as the crowd shuffled, heads bowed against the biting winter wind, towards their trains and buses and cars and the New Year.
Fast-forward a couple of decades and I’m faced with the chubby cheeks and enquiring mind of my own progeny. By now I am located far from Portman Road, living in Oxford. Do I take my Dad’s wise, calm, dignified approach, allowing my son to plough his own footballing furrow and hope it leads him to the same field? Of
course not. The poor child has ITFC-branded tat shoved in his face from day one. Babygros, teddies, woolly hats, the lot. His baby bouncer pointed towards the screen for televised Ipswich games, in the hope that some formative connection will be made. Ostentatious attempts at bonding, even while the child is still in nappies: “Daddy’s off to football now! At Ipswich! I expect you’ll be wanting to come with me soon? Won’t you? Won’t you? Won’t you?” It was the sort of evangelistic approach that the Jesuits might regard as being a bit extreme.
In any case, it worked: he did start wanting to come along and now, at the age of 8, he’s a season ticket holder with me in the West Stand. We make the long journey by train, we have fun on the way, meet up with friends for lunch, watch the game, and then relax again on the train home. By that stage, the effects of a long day’s travelling and socialising can be taking their toll, but he usually wakes me up when we get to Liverpool Street.
But – that question again – why? Why was I so determined to bring another sacrificial lamb to the altar of underachievement? Is Ipswich the background music to my life, a comfort blanket that I wanted my offspring to grasp so that he can carry it for me when I’m too old and bewildered to remember the full name of Eric
Lazenby-Gates? Is it something that provides reassurances just because it’s there? If so, all well and good, but couldn’t I have kept it to myself?
I think the answer is that it’s more. It’s about maintaining a family tradition, but not just for it’s own sake – it’s because there is something about Ipswich Town as a club, as an entity, that can – in amongst all the frustration – bring moments of great joy and community. One of the things that always impressed me as a child about matchdays was that, no matter how mundane the fixture, the game was always, unquestionably, the most exciting and important thing happening in Ipswich that day. And in that way it brought people together and was a force for good.
There are many other football clubs whose fans would say exactly the same, and they’d be right too. Change, like death, taxes and the UK’s annual poor showing at Eurovision, is inevitable. Over time, players, managers, kits and even the physical structure of the ground itself are altered until they’re almost unrecognisable from those you grew up with. But something remains at the heart of the club that transcends all this. It’s the fans, basically – the togetherness, the humour, even the traditional Portman Road moaning – that make our club a special one: and that’s why we want to hand it on to our kids. We’re not only giving them a gift, we’re preparing the way for them to take their own turns at its stewardship, just by being there.
I’m not at all sure that Marcus Evans and Simon Clegg [This was first published a couple of years ago. – Ed.] get this. Their approach seems distant, a sort of “you let us get on with running the football club and we’ll paint the turnstiles occasionally so that you know we haven’t forgotten about you”, missing the point that we – like our parents and grandparents before us, and hopefully our children after us – are the football club. Clegg and Evans are people who happen to have functional roles for the moment, but one day they’ll be gone and we, the fans, will still be here.
But I think I can still justify my zealous approach to my son’s upbringing. That stuff that made me want to share it with him in the first place – the spirit of community – is still there. These days it’s not just in the pre-match pubs and in the ground itself, but it’s on Twitter and the message boards too, and is all the more fun for that.
This isn’t, then, about tradition for its own sake. It’s not like the outraged howls of protest at proposed changes to the Radio 4 schedule, made by people who never listen to Radio 4. It’s not just sitting in your favourite seat on the bus to work. It’s worth preserving because Ipswich Town stands for something. It’s up to us to do that preservation and right now it feels like we’re doing it in spite of the owner and the Chief Exec, rather than with them.
My uncle remained a season ticket holder in the West Stand until he died last November. On the day after his funeral, Town threw away their game against Reading in spectacularly slack and incompetent style, turning a 2-1 injury-time lead into a 2-3 defeat. Leaving the ground, my mind still laden with the grief of the previous day’s events, I was furious, feeling an irrational but unavoidable sense of affront at what I’d just seen from Town, in addition to the obvious annoyance that we all shared. Muttering to myself in fury, I heard my son’s voice cutting
through the discontented hubbub. “Never mind, Dad”, he said. “It was good to see Josh Carson score for us, wasn’t it?”
Without meaning to, he’d pulled me round in an instant, from a rapidly darkening mental state to a realisation that actually, yes, if we can only see the world through a child’s eyes then there is always something to take comfort in, whether it’s seeing your favourite player scoring or simply that there’s another game next week. When it comes to ITFC I’ve got big concerns about the present, but I’m learning to put my faith in the future.
Narrator: There’s smog in the busy town of Ipswich this morning and the football club’s joint Bespoke Global Deliverance Provider, John Fletcher, has gratefully accepted a lift in David Hitchins’ Alfa Romeo Moltotraballante 4Ci. They’re off to a meeting with Rachel Tesco, entrepreneur and the brains behind one of Ipswich’s most exciting new businesses, Life of Pie, an artisan bakery, just relocated from London’s fashionable Haggerston district. Joining them to sample Rachel’s pastries is Head of Brand Experience, Graham Bobbins. Wendy Ramsey, Lead Business Logic Analyst and Mick Mack, Head of Performance have both sent their apologies.
John [striding into the bakery and vigorously shaking Rachel’s hand]: Rachel! Good to see you again. I think you’ve met David.
Rachel: Yes, indeed. [Laughs] Well, you’ve been my best customer since I moved here, haven’t you, David?
John: And this is – er – Graham, Head of Marketing.
Graham [sulkily]: Head of Brand Experience, actually.
John: Good. … Anyway, let’s get on. I have to say I can’t wait to taste the product, Rachel.
Rachel: Well, no need to wait. Here you are… the Portman Pasty!
[She offers a plate of small pieces of pasty around and everyone tries them. Murmurs of approval.]
Rachel: So this is a hand-raised artisan-baked Suffolk pasty containing only traditional organic ingredients.
John: Oh, good. It’s a local dish. I hadn’t realised the pasty was an East Anglian delicacy.
Rachel: Oh yes. The recipe is absolutely traditional. It was the way that Suffolk tin miners were able to take their meals underground.
John: Fantastic. I didn’t know that. … And Graham, you have a rather – um – innovative idea for sales, don’t you?
Graham: That’s right, John. It’s called the Portman Pasty Promotion Pledge.
Graham: Every supporter who bought a season ticket pledged to pay the cost of a Portman Pasty at every game and… wait for it… the pasty will be delivered to that supporter’s seat for no extra charge!
David: Wow! Lucky supporters!
John: Good. So, how many season ticket customers do we have?
David: 12,000. Ish.
John: And they’ll all get a pasty delivered to their seat? Sounds a bit tricky logistically, Graham.
John: Keeping them hot, that might pose a problem?
Graham: Hot? Oh no, they won’t be hot.
Rachel: They’re supposed to be hot.
Graham: Oh yes. Totally.
David: And not everyone will want a pasty, obviously, so we’ll have to look at numbers…
John: Good point. No point in supplying pasties where they’re not wanted! Could be a lot fewer… Did they get a choice of whether they wanted to sign up to the Pasty Pledge when the money was taken, Graham?
Graham: [looking bewildered] Choice? We didn’t tell them about it.
John: Didn’t tell them?
Graham: I thought it would be a nice surprise.
John: So what happens if they don’t want a pasty?
Graham: Well … they have to opt out.
Graham: They’ll have to opt out. We’ve already taken the money, so they’ll have to apply for a refund. Otherwise… well, they get a pasty.
[John’s mobile rings.]
John: Hello? Wendy. … Yes…. Yes. Good? … No, no, not good. OK, we’re on our way back to the office. Could you put an Out of Order sign on the vending machine? … Yup. Thanks.
[He ends the call.]
John: I think we need to look at this again. That was Wendy. It’s total pasty meltdown out there. We need to do some fire-fighting. … Rachel, we’ll get back to you.
David: Great pasties though, Rachel. Great!
Rachel: But the contract…!
[The soft sound of a very expensive car engine fades into the distance.]
Narrator [a soft Scottish voice]: In a small office in the centre of the busy Suffolk town of Ipswich, a meeting is being held to discuss the financial strategy for the next football season. John Fletcher, joint Bespoke Global Deliverance Provider and his co-worker, David Hitchins, arrive in the car park almost simultaneously. John, casually dressed in cashmere sweater and jeans, is chaining his bike to a newly-painted blue railing, while the more urbane David, sporting a smart blazer unbuttoned over his crisp white shirt, prefers to travel in a classic Alfa Romeo Moltotraballante 4Ci. Joining them in the boardroom are Head of Brand Experience, Graham Bobbins and Lead Business Logic Analyst, Wendy Ramsey. Head of Performance, the gruff, tell-it-like-it-is Yorkshireman, Mick Mack, has sent his apologies.
John: I haven’t got much time. I’ve got a video conference with the Bermuda branch of the supporters’ club in fifty minutes, so shall we… ?
Wendy [tentatively]: Sorry, John… Just wondered if anyone would like a frothy coffee or an iced bun…
John [irritably]: I don’t think…
David: Great idea, Wend. Do they do pasties?
John [even more irritably]: I think we should just get on… [Wendy leaves the room]… Graham, we’ve already decided on the price structure for next season based on a demographic analysis of Cambridge. Graham, as Head of Brand Experience, you’re going to have a key role in convincing the people of this fine university town that their increased contribution is essential to the future progress of the brand. How do you think you’re going to achieve that?
Graham [looks thoughtful]: Well…
David: Well, we need to convince people that they’re getting value for money. Which of course they are.
David: Obviously people in Cambridge can’t expect that to mean the same as people in – say – Chelsea do.
John [nods]: I know where you’re coming from.
David: What I mean is, it’s all very well, people going on all the time about what a historic city Cambridge is. I mean, it has been historic, I grant you that, but it [floundering a little]… isn’t all that historic any more.
Graham: Because that’s totally like living in the past, isn’t it?
Wendy [coming back into the boardroom with several paper bags]: I could only get you a sticky bun, David. With pink icing. I hope you don’t mind… And I got you a Florentine, John. I know you didn’t say, but…
John: Thank you. That’s really kind.
Wendy: If anyone wants a sandwich for later…
John: I think we need to press on now. So we have to persuade the people of Cambridge to stop living in the past. Good. How do we do that… Graham?
Graham [staring at his iPhone]: Er…
John [irritably]: I’m sorry, Wendy but we are going to run out of time soon.
Wendy: This is Ipswich.
Wendy: Ipswich. This is Ipswich. Not Cambridge.
Wendy: But you must know that.
John [vaguely]: Of course. … Good. So, Graham, how do we persuade the people of Ipswich that it’s the future they should be interested in?
Graham: We’ve got some really good Ipswich Town Keep Calm key rings. Just in.
John: Good. But I was really thinking more of how we get across to people that it’s worth their while continuing to spend money, more and more money, year upon year, on something that is becoming less and less enjoyable.
Wendy: Faith? Loyalty?
John: Woolly. Thinking more of…. ?
Graham [consulting Google]: Fresh Frozen Plasma? Flexible Food Packaging? Fairly Frequent Penalties?
David: Financial Fair Play.
John: Good. Go on.
David: We say something like this: in an ideal world we’d have liked to have held prices across the board but with Financial Fair Play coming in, it’s meant we’ve had to review the pricing.
John: Good. Go on.
David: We tell them we’re listening, yeah? We’ve met quite a few people from supporters’ groups. We’ve taken what they’ve said about ticket prices on board but we have no choice.
John: I’m liking this.
Wendy: This is great.
David [feeling he’s on a roll]: We feel it’s very fair when you consider what you get for it.
Wendy: What do the supporters get for it, David?
David: Hold on, Wendy. That kind of detail can be sorted out later.
John: This is good. Carry on.
David: Progress. Success. Positivity. Achievement. Excitement. Wobble.
John, Wendy & Graham [in unison]: Wobble?
David: Yes. Wobble. Or, to be exact, no wobble.
Graham: Yeah, no wobble. Duh!
John: Right. Of course… . Expand on that a little if you will, David.
David: We say to our fans ‘this is not the time to wobble.’ ”
John: Brilliant! Superb. OK, people, let’s call it a day. Get on to the usual contacts in the local media and let’s get that message out there. From now on, this is a wobble-free football club.
Wendy: Just one thing, John. If this whole FFP thing gets kicked out because of the current legal action by other Championship clubs, does that mean we can bring ticket prices down again?
John: I really am a bit pushed for time now, Wendy. Maybe you… [Gets out of his seat.]
Wendy: And – just a thought – if a relatively small number of people decide not to renew their season tickets because of the price rise – it’s a small rise, I know, but I think some supporters are feeling a bit fed up and finances are tight – so, if say about two hundred season ticket holders decide not to renew, won’t that wipe out any extra income that we’ll derive from charging an extra nine pounds or so? Just a thought, as I said.
John: Perhaps you could drop me a memo on that one… ? [Moves towards door.]
Wendy: Oh, and – sorry, this is a small point, I know, but it might be important. What effect will this – along with other factors like the years of decline, the quality of the football, the succession of players on loan, the high prices for away fans – have on the crowds, and the atmosphere? Almost seems as if we’re in some kind of vicious circle here. People might start finding other things to spend their hard-earned money on and it could be hard to win them back once their support has been lost.
John [holding his mobile to his ear]: Ah, I think that’s Bermuda now. Must take this call.
Subtitled “Children Of The Revolution”, the third issue of Turnstile Blues has as its theme the Ipswich Town Academy: past, present and future. The fanzine focuses on youth development; how this has changed at Ipswich over the years, how well the Academy system prepares young players for a life inside and outside of football, and what the future could hold in the light of the club’s intention to become a Category One Academy.
The centrepiece of the issue is a moving and at times startling interview with former Town player Adam Tanner. Tanner, who in 1995 scored Town’s first-ever winning goal at Anfield on only his third senior appearance, talks candidly about his life at Ipswich and how a career that promised so much was over at the age of just 27. He talks about the support he received from the club during troubled times in his personal life, and the experiences of playing under John Lyall and George Burley.
Elsewhere in the issue there is a look back on how Bobby Robson looked after young players during his time at Portman Road, and an analysis of what Category One status really means for the club in practical terms. There’s a report from a Town fan who visited West Africa and experienced the new generation of Academies in Senegal and Sierra Leon, and a review of last season for Town’s young sides.
Turnstile Blues is priced £1 and will be available from sellers around Portman Road from about 2.00 onwards. Copies will also be available in the Greyhound pub on Henley Road at lunchtime, where Turnstile Blues contributor Susan Gardiner will also be selling and signing copies of her new book, Ipswich Town: A History (Amberley Press, £16.99).
For those who can’t make it to the game, the fanzine will also be available to buy via download or mail order from http://www.turnstile-blues.co.uk, from Monday.
For more information contact Gavin Barber, 07720 543 929 or email email@example.com. Gavin will be talking about the fanzine on BBC Radio Suffolk’s “Life’s A Pitch” programme on Saturday lunchtime. The show is on from 12.00 – 2.00.
Photograph © David Kindred www.kindred-spirit.co.uk . All rights reserved
Portman Road has joined Old Trafford and Anfield in being officially recognised as an asset to its local community.
ITFC 1st, the independent Ipswich Town Supporters’ Trust, has announced that – following representations it has made to Ipswich Borough Council (IBC) – Portman Road has become an Asset of Community Value (ACV), recognising its importance to the town and its people. The ground is owned by Ipswich Borough Council and leased to the football club.
Colin Kreidewolf, the Secretary of Ipswich Town 1st, said “Supporters’ Trusts at Liverpool, Manchester United and Oxford United have recently been successful in having their club’s stadia recognised as ACVs, reflecting the value of those grounds to their respective local communities. Our view is that Portman Road is just as important to the people of Ipswich, and to Ipswich Town supporters generally, as Anfield is to the people of Liverpool. We’re delighted that the Borough Council agree – this is a fitting way to mark the 125th anniversary of Ipswich Town’s move to Portman Road on 1st October 1888”.
What does becoming an ACV mean for Ipswich Town?
ACV status means that the ground cannot be sold without the local community being told about it, and that they will be given the opportunity to bid for it themselves. Today’s announcement means that any future IBC administration would be required to consult the local community before selling Portman Road, and allow six months for the community to raise the money to buy it themselves.
Mr Kreidewolf added: “We appreciate that the current IBC administration have no desire to sell Portman Road, and are pleased to see it remaining in public ownership. Having ACV status means that any future administration at the council wouldn’t be able to change that situation without involving supporters and local people. It helps to safeguard the future of Portman Road as a part of the Ipswich community. We hope that the current owner of Ipswich Town will also recognise this as a positive move for the football club”.
Councillor David Ellesmere, Leader of Ipswich Borough Council, said: “The current council administration has no intention of selling Portman Road. We are very happy to support listing Portman Road as an Asset of Community Value to give supporters the reassurance they need that ITFC will remain in the heart of Ipswich.”
Tom Hall, Head of England & Wales at Supporters Direct, the governing body for supporters’ trusts, said: “Ipswich Town First should be congratulated in their work to make sure that Portman Road takes its place alongside Old Trafford and Anfield, and the first two, Oxford United and Nuneaton Town, in having stadia successfully listed.
“We are seeing this trend escalate, and many more applications are being lodged from across the pyramid. This and all other successful listings are demonstrating that our view that clubs and their stadiums should be seen as community assets and not simply as part of an investment portfolio is being widely accepted.”
Turnstile Blues welcome this development and congratulate Ipswich Town 1st and Ipswich Borough Council in recognising the importance of Ipswich Town’s historic home to the football club’s supporters and the people of Ipswich.
There’s a famous bit in Dickens’ Little Dorrit when the novel’s hero, Arthur Clennam, receives a letter from Flora Finching, the girl he was engaged to twenty years earlier, when she was seventeen and he was not much older. Despite the passage of time, he can’t help imagining her to be exactly the same as she was then and Dickens has a lot of fun describing his disappointment that she has turned into a much larger, more garrulous, silly, sentimental woman. But, being Dickens, the reader is left feeling a great deal of sympathy for both characters: Arthur, for his foolishness at expecting his love not to have changed at all in twenty years and Flora, because the changes in her have so obviously been caused, not merely by the passing of time, but by the disappointment of lost love.
I’m beginning to feel a little bit like that about Town. The new season has started me thinking about past glories, the fixture list is like a letter inviting me back to those good times, to forget the awfulness of recent years under Keane and Jewell. I know rationally that Matt Holland is no longer our captain but there’s a little bit of me that thinks he might run around the pitch applauding the fans. One more time.
It took Mick McCarthy about ten minutes – and this video – to remove any misgivings that I might have had when he was appointed. MM, our seventh manager since we were last relegated from the Premier League at the end of the 2001/2 season, appears to have done an excellent job of assembling a competitive squad, spending very little money in the process. We may have lost at Reading but we weren’t outplayed in what must be one of our most testing fixtures this season and, although I’d have loved a run in the Carling Cup, the defeat by Stevenage has been easily forgotten after last Saturday when I enjoyed a match more than I’ve done for…. oh, ages.
But as it was for Dickens’ characters, my long-standing passion is beginning to be strained, the object of my affections has changed, is a bit blowsy, overblown, and full of contradictions. Expensive but also a little cheap. Nice but occasionally a bit nasty. I can still see the thing I adored but there are too many irritants. I may have to make my excuses and…. [ditches strained analogy].
We have written about aspects of ITFC that are a little disappointing here for example – and the independent supporters’ trust, Ipswich Town 1st, has issued a statement about the new ticketing policy here, so I won’t go over old ground. There are many views on the new ITFC and it’s hard to form a definite opinion when you’re not sure of the motives behind the decisions. The new Managing Directors, Symonds and Milne, along with Simon Milton, seem to have improved public relations exponentially. But still, there are things that annoy, nagging doubts… redundancies, bad experiences of customer service, rip-off prices, the tension between a football club as a business and as a club, with supporters who are part of the “family” or “community” according to the PR, but are also there to be exploited by the business, a multi-millionaire owner who is asking hard-pressed working people to stump up for the Academy and the fans, bless ’em, don’t let him down.
Recently, the club has advertised for three part-time, unpaid “interns.” I’m disappointed once more (and possibly also, disillusioned encore) because I expect more from the club of Sir Alf Ramsey and Sir Bobby Robson. Yes, I know other clubs – bigger clubs, more successful clubs, richer clubs – do it too, but I only care about my club, ITFC. I understand the economics too. Unfortunately, for several decades now, we’ve been encouraged to look at the dismal science of economics as if it is a proper science and has inexorable, immutable laws, like the laws of physics (which as we know, ye cannae change). But economics can’t, in my view, be taken out of the context of morality and society which even the Prime Minister has admitted exists after all. And what is the morality of employing people but not paying them?
Apart from morality, there’s actually a rather compelling reason why people should be paid for their work which every devotee of capitalism should be arguing for. It’s obvious really – if people have no wages, or low wages, they can’t spend on the goods and services businesses are offering. It’s counter-productive and short-termism at its worst. Think, Mr. Evans, how many more shirts and ITFC-branded meerkats we’d all buy if we were all living in a high-wage economy instead of scraping around in the back of the sock drawer for the cash to buy that season ticket every year.
The arguments in favour are, of course, that a young person, seeking experience in a difficult labour market will be pleased to have the opportunity to work for nothing in order to gain a foothold into a career in football … and it’s football! Football, which as everyone knows is more important than life or death or affording to eat, itself.
After all, what’s the difference between being an unpaid intern on the American model and volunteering? Well, there’s a considerable difference. I volunteer for two organisations, but I’d never do any work that would or could be done by a paid employee. I’m a qualified librarian but I would never work unpaid in one of Suffolk’s libraries. It’s an insult to the paid workers and makes it more likely that redundancies will be made. Working for free (or for very low wages or zero hours contracts) undermines other working people’s jobs, their conditions of employment and their wages. It may be that many people no longer care about their fellow citizens and only see what will benefit themselves, but in the end, we’ll all suffer. Decent wages, working conditions, paid holidays and sick leave are taken for granted now – or at least they were until recent years – but they were won by the hard-fought campaigns and the real suffering of people in the past. Even the fact that football matches traditionally start at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon goes back to the nineteenth-century Factory Acts which were the result of long campaigning by reformers to allow people a few hours off a week. Because before that, most ordinary workers laboured from dawn until night, seven days a week – and that isn’t living, it’s existing.
Of course, in a world obsessed by “choice” or the illusion of choice, it’s up to the individual to choose whether or not to work without pay – except that it isn’t. Only those with some other means of financial support – the Bank of Mum and Dad, perhaps – can do it. In that sense, it’s discriminatory. Lots of people, I’m sure would love to work for ITFC. Few are going to be able to afford to do so for nothing.
Oh, and according to this website, unpaid internships are illegal.
You can find more information here.
There are lots of difficult things going on in football at the moment, all the result of big business and faceless corporate owners who have little love for or knowledge of the game. Cardiff City, Hull City AFC [please consider signing their petition against the enforced change of their name to Hull City Tigers] and Coventry City all have their own problems. It’s making fans feel alienated from their own clubs, sometimes even causing such tensions that supporters are arguing and fighting one another. It’s not that bad at Portman Road. I sincerely hope that it never is, but there are signs that business and the interests of the owner and shareholders are paramount, more so than football. You may accept that this is right, or it’s part of the modern game and we have to be cynical about it if we want to “succeed.” But success can be measured in many ways.
Once we were highly regarded as a football club which, like our managers, Ramsey and Robson, showed the best side of football, decent, competitive, inclusive. When ITFC were last promoted to the Premier League on 29 May 2000, BBC radio commentator, Pat Murphy, welcomed us back to the top tier with genuine warmth, speaking of a club of “good football, good beer and good people.” I like that description and I’d like to be good again.