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Search: 'Fan culture'

Stories

Artificial stimulant

Having acquired sporting representatives in Austria and the US, Red Bull have turned to Germany. Paul Joyce assesses the fallout

No city exemplifies the decline of East German football since reunification more starkly than Leipzig. Lokomotive Leipzig, European Cup-Winners Cup finalists in 1987, went bankrupt in 2004 and had to restart at the bottom of the league pyramid. They now play in the same fifth division as former GDR champions Sachsen Leipzig, who entered insolvency in March with debts of €3 million (£2.7m).

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Blind faith

As Ian King observes, the media now defines football supporters by their fanatical behaviour. Is this encouraging some to behave in an increasingly irrational, negative and anatagonistic manner?

When the retail chain Sports Direct (SD) makes news it is usually in connection with their owner, Mike Ashley. But in mid-August several newspapers carried the story of a man who went to an SD store and spent £55 on a replica Man Utd shirt. He decided to have “YSB” (which stands for “You Scouse Bastards”, apparently), “96” and “Not Enough” printed on the back of it. He then posted pictures of his purchase on Facebook. Sports Direct say that they will now only allow the printing of current players’ names on their shirts and that the sales assistant who had the design made up didn’t understand it. This  line was not accepted by Margaret Aspinall of the Hillsborough Support Group: “I don’t believe it is possible someone printing football shirts wouldn’t know what the message meant.”

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Man of the people

Highly popular at each of his nine former clubs, Chris Powell is now looking forward to his 23rd season in professional football. Yet he also wants to project his ideas about the game, and the changes he has witnessed, to a wider audience. Mick Collins talks to the well-travelled left-back

When Chris Powell was named in Sven-Göran Eriksson’s first England team, the London Evening Standard reacted in strident terms. “Chris Who?” it demanded across its back page, seeking a cheap and patronising laugh. So what of the various parties now?

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Crystal Palace 0 Manchester City 2

A late summer night out in Selhurst. Manchester City breeze down to south-east London for the early rounds of the Carling Cup where Crystal Palace huff and puff against mega-rich opponents. David Stubbs reports

It’s grim down south. The freshly mint Manchester City and their supporters come down to Selhurst Park like a delegation from Italy’s Lega Nord descending with wrinkling noses on one of the more malodorous outlying districts of Naples. What a culture shock it must be for visiting fans from the regenerated and nouveau riche north-west as they emerge from Selhurst station, with its unappetisingly urinal-like walls, down a ginnel flanked with mistrustful barbed wire and as rank as the breath of an alcoholic in the afternoon.

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Letters, WSC 271

Dear WSC
For a major international tournament junkie like myself, summers in the odd-numbered years are the worst of times. As such, no amount of luxury on my holidays can ease the pain of the absence of a World Cup or European Championship finals. Even allowing for Scotland’s continued inability to connect with the 21st century, I miss, nay need, a big summer football event. A mid-life crisis only makes matters worse whereby I’m forced to accept an ever-increasing gap between myself and those much younger (and of course fitter) men I choose to cheer on. Surely I’m not alone in this respect – there must be thousands of similar sad old gits out there. My solution – a biennial seniors tournament featuring players aged 40-plus. I’m talking about a chance to see superstars from yesteryear such as Dalglish, Keegan, Platini, Maradona and others who are nearer to my age group. Restrict the tournament to 16 nations with the hosts being countries unlikely to ever stage the big events such as Norway/Denmark, Wales/Ireland, Canada, Cuba. All profits to charity, a boost to local economies and a chance to travel the world with a purpose. Someone hear my plea!
Robert Marshall, Cambuslang

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