Too much time is spent in England doubting, questioning, analyzing and generally damning the effect of Premier League football on the game. Perhaps Richard Scudamore wakes daily at 11 p.m. to prep for his daily routine: slinking through the night in search of the stray working-class man, woman or child still clinging to their few remaining, withered straws of football ownership. Then he snatches those straws from the common man and bounds away into the darkness along murky cobblestone streets. Sort of like his own personal Night of the Hunter reimagined without Lillian Gish there to save the day. Why quibble over what may or may not be a ruinous effect of Premier League dominance? Let’s focus on what the league got right: advertising hoardings! My goodness, I saw footage from the ‘80s the other day that featured a hoarding for “The Best of Blondie” album. A long-playing record? What kind of escapist fantasy does that provide?! Even a few years ago, the wonderfully futuristic Arsenal Football Club deployed hoardings that only let me know about LG’s newest phone. Right, because I call or text people to feel better about myself. Now, though, fanciful visions of jetting to Dubai, Singapore and places beyond flit through the background. Nike doesn’t sell shoes these days. They sell a movement! That’s the Premier League’s real legacy. Whisking me away from a cold Wednesday night in Stoke and off to the UAE – or Vietnam even! Joining a worldwide movement with a song praising life beyond Rory Delap filling my heart.
The Matchpricks’ twitterfeed similarly lacks banner ads. Pathetic!