NB: Those who don’t follow non-league football may want to consult the diagram below about English league structures before reading, to avoid confusion over what a Ryman or Conference league is.
It’s an understatement to say there are a few issues to resolve following the devastating floods in the south. Issues such as whether it’s worth cutting flood defence funding if the government later has to pay more for preventable flood damage, why there is funding available to help flood victims but not working families reliant on food banks, and how Nigel Farage so closely resembles a confused frog in his waders and wellies.
The effect of the weather on non-league football is much further down the list. Winter fixtures at these levels are always prone to postponements and abandonments; indeed, the first Tonbridge Angels game I attended back in 2006 was called off after 70 minutes, as the pitch was so waterlogged that the ball was literally floating. Yet these unprecedented conditions have led to a huge backlog of fixtures for many teams. Tonbridge have had to rearrange Conference South fixtures for Thursday nights because Tuesday nights are already fully booked to the end of the season.
This havoc is perilous to the finances, and therefore survival, of clubs up and down the country. We have played just 8 of the season’s 21 home league games, with many more postponed in the past few months. Consequently, with no revenue coming in, the club’s benefactors have had to dip into their own pockets to pay players. Although rescheduled weekday fixtures arguably have a better atmosphere than those on Saturday afternoons, they’re far less profitable, with crowds and bar takings down. This is bad enough for the Angels, who are solvent. Clubs with debts must be watching through their fingers.
Meanwhile the board and supporters of Maidstone United FC, Tonbridge’s rivals, must be feeling pretty smug about this panic. The club were the first in England to install a 3G/’plastic’ pitch at their ground of 2 years, The Gallagher Stadium. Where grass pitches are susceptible to frost or becoming waterlogged, plastic pitches are resilient to the caprices of the season. Accordingly, they’ve had no home games postponed this season.
Yet current rules state that these pitches are unacceptable in both the Football League and the Conference leagues, including the Conference South – the league for which Maidstone are aiming. Sitting top of the Ryman Premier table, they’re well on course for promotion this season. The Conference leagues voted to decide whether the rule should be overturned – but the result was a resounding defeat for the Stones. Their response to democracy? Threatening to sue the Conference.
But, given the weather, their arguments in favour of 3G pitches are clearer than ever. Fewer games postponed, more steady revenue, and opportunities to loan out the pitch, raking in up to £150,000 a season. Their persuasive response to the oft-made point that artificial pitches cause more injuries than grass – that there’ll be even more injuries from a three game a week, end of season fixture pile-up on grass – is even more convincing. Add to this the fact that a European Championship game between Russia and England was played on plastic, and outsiders must be bewildered as to why the Conference would turn down the proposal.
While there is little doubt at this level that 3G pitches are the future, it’s not as simple as it sounds. For a start, they’re not cheap. The FA gives out £150,000 grants for sustainable pitches, but they cost nearly half a million pounds to install, while necessary maintenance costs stand at over £100,000 a year. The cost of installing a pitch in the short term is far more crippling to teams than a few months of precarious weather. It’s not a debt that can be paid off quickly, either; Maidstone are making a profit of just over £180,000 a year from their pitch, but this is with average crowds of nearly 2,000 a game and a league-winning side. They still have debts of over £3.3 million, £2.8 million of which was accumulated on the stadium, to pay off. A change in financial circumstance could destroy the club – a club whose predecessor was wound up in 1992 for bankruptcy. Should the rules remain, they can only be promoted if they groundshare a grass pitch; previous groundshares have seen their crowds dwindle to a tenth of their current average.
Secondly, for as long as artificial pitches are unacceptable in the Football League and ‘proper’ rounds of the FA Cup, they will continue to be in the Conference. There is no point having a vote, or now a lawsuit, to overturn rules in the Conference if in a few years the same argument will need to be had all over again so the Football League will accept them.
Finally, until the threat of injury on them has been assessed long-term, there looms the threat of lawsuits from injured players that would further deplete a club’s finances.
Besides, despite their reasonable points, Maidstone have approached this unreasonably. Aside from shunning democratic decisions, they knew when installing their pitch that it was only acceptable in certain leagues: that they have waited to consult the Conference until the season in which they could have their promotion blocked is madness. As such, their righteous indignation at choosing between stagnation in the Ryman Premier or groundsharing evokes little sympathy.
Their lobbying group, 3G4US, also has dubious ulterior motives. While it has the support of 50 clubs across the football pyramid, one of its chief endorsements comes from FieldTurf, a company specialising in artificial pitches. It takes little effort to imagine the profits that they would make from the leagues embracing their wares.
I have no doubt that 3G pitches will become acceptable soon, as clubs such as Merthyr Tydfil and Harlow Town jump on the plastic bandwagon. But ultimately, the Conference and Football League need to work together, over a sensible timeframe, to work out the logistics and consequences of implementing this change. Until this has been achieved, Maidstone will have to grit their teeth and realise they should have looked before they leapt.
07/05/11. 3pm. 2nd vs 4th. Step 3. 7 goals. 2,411 spectators. 1 promotion. 1,589 days (4 years, 4 months and 7 days) have passed since my first game, but I’ve finally seen my beloved football team promoted in their most successful season ever. And it’s probably the greatest feeling in the world. In a week when Osama Bin Laden’s time was finally up, the country was still recovering from a Bank Holidaytastic Easter break and a Royal Wedding, and Chelsea finally got their arses back in gear through dubious refereeing decisions to challenge for the Premiership title, this was the biggest event of the lot for me. This isn’t going to be one of my usual let’s-have-an-argument articles; rather, it’s just a little piece on the joy of promotion, what it means to a dedicated fan, and how I ended up loving Angels instead.
It all began on a very rainy Saturday afternoon. Saturday, December 30th 2006, to be precise. My father and brother were paying a trip to watch their newly-adopted local team, Tonbridge Angels, and I was going along to the Longmead Stadium to see what all the fuss was about. The fuss appeared to be about a team that were losing 2-0 to Ramsgate and reduced to 10 men before the game was called off after 70 minutes, had a swimming-pool of a pitch (admittedly, owing to the diabolical weather conditions), and fans that sang and swore a lot. But, despite swearing being neither big nor clever, a certain very immature 14-year-old found it hilarious, and contrary to parental expectations, I adored the experience. Four and a half years later, I’m still adoring the non-league experience.
They didn’t convert me to liking football – I’d supported Chelsea since early childhood, during the Zola/Poyet/Wise years, when we won the FA Cup twice but were mid-table fodder. Gradually we crept up into the UEFA and Champions League spots, and then Mr Abramovich came in with wallet nicely overflowing, and we all know the story hereafter. Despite still having never attended a match, I’ve watched many, many games on TV, bought each new home shirt since I was about 6, and locked myself in a toilet to sob for fifteen minutes after we lost the 2008 Champions’ League final. But supporting Chelsea vociferously from afar is not the same as planning your weekends and Tuesday nights around the home matches of a team whose ups and downs you live and breathe, who you finance with your student ticket and cheese-and-bacon burger every match, and who you stand in the freezing cold to watch in a Kent Senior Cup replay against a team two leagues below you – and your club has put out a team of reserves and youth players. It becomes a lot more than ‘just a game’ when you turn up every week to watch a Jekyll-and-Hyde side whose favourite pastime seems to be yo-yoing around the league table, and when you chant yourself hoarse for ninety minutes in the hope that it will inspire a glorious victory from the players. You become totally attached to the club, its fans, the players and management, and perhaps even fall in love with the whole package. It’s also my weekly bonding time with my dad and brother, and makes up a lot of the conversations I have with both. So the promotion is something of a big deal to me, especially given that I hopped on the train from Penryn, a mere 300 miles and £63 away, to see the final. But at least it was all worth it.
I’d always daydreamed about the rush of a pitch invasion as the final whistle blew, but due to the PA box’s insistence on people keeping behind the barriers, it was rather belated by the time it came around. By the time I finally strolled onto the pitch I was there with at least a thousand people, most of whom were fair-weather fans, and it became apparent that the busy season had worn the ground out to sandpit status. I finally had the chance to sing the chant that every non-Premiership side aspires to – the one with the deeply profound lyrics “We – are – going up, said we are going up!”. It was incredibly emotional, and something that you just can’t understand unless you’ve had an almost unhealthy love for a team of some description. It was worth all the awkward conversations with friends when something had been planned that I couldn’t attend due to Angels commitments, all the times I felt crushed after a resounding defeat (c.f. Tonbridge Angels 0 – 4 Cray Wanderers, the last game before I went to university), all the times I felt crushed after a rousing victory that I couldn’t attend (c.f. Tonbridge Angels 7 – 1 AFC Hornchurch, the first Saturday after I’d gone to university), the heartbreak of losing in the play-off semi-final to Carshalton in 2009 and the stress of the game itself, having twice chucked away a two-goal lead. But we came through eventually.
Our joy will probably be short-lived; I foresee a relegation battle next season due to a fairly small playing budget. And while I’m rather smug about the prospect of playing Truro City away next year due to conveniently being eight miles from their ground during university months, I’m sure the fixture list will decree this game be played when I’m back in Kent for the holidays. But a football team is for life, not just for promotion – so I’ll keep loving Angels instead.