England v Poland was a con in more ways than one
England v Poland was a con in more ways than one
What can you get these days for £150? Certainly 75 pints of beer (unless you drink in the Black Jug), and in some quarters, a week's holiday in Tenerife, leaving in ten minutes! Get on the plane!
For a longer fix, all manner of designer label clothing, a TV licence (think about that TAX next time you turn on the telly and suffer NON-celebrity Ready Steady Cook just because you can't think of anything else to do) despite the lack of footie now on terrestrial TV, and, up until recently, a year's road fund licence.
Which is something cyclists and horses should pay - especially horses, because they don't care where they crap.
Portable stereos, microwaves, mountain bikes, garden shed, and a decent sized lump of black. All for £150.
Answers on a postcard please, to tell me why I should want to spend, therefore, £150 on a ticket to watch England v Poland two weeks back.
Phoning up the Wembley booking office, I was greeted with the encouraging news that tickets were still available for the match. This was a recorded announcement, one for which no individual was to later take responsibility. I was then invited to embark upon a Dungeons & Dragons style adventure using my touch-tone telephone. Wembley still haven’t woken up to the idea of 0800- numbers and I was paying for the call.
"For Sheryl Crow, press 1, for Aerosmith, press 2; for Celine Dion, seek help...." and so on. "For Norwegian Brass Rubbing, press 84, for England v Poland press 85" GOD, I ALMOST MISSED IT!!! What was the number? 84? 85? Bugger! "Or press the star key to return to the main menu".
Since the early, and heady days of the industrial revolution, when railway lines were laid to improve world communications, right up to date when BT and the rest can tell who was trying to call you, who IS trying to call, and you can have a "one-to-one" with anyone dead or living, we now have the technology to communicate at all levels, any time of day or night, at the touch of a button, anywhere in the world.
What a shame then, that we don't talk to each other anymore.
I want to buy something! Can no-one be bothered to talk to me? I did it all again, remembered the "hotkey" code and got through to, wait for it, a HUMAN. Or so I thought.
"Good morning, yes, I heard the announcement (twice) about the England tickets, I'd like two please."
"Sold out, I'm afraid".
"But your welcome greeting says clearly, tickets still available."
"Does it? Sorry, it's wrong."
"Is it at all conceivable that it is right, and you might be wrong?" I inquire.
"The FA might release some more....blah....blah....."
I had become sucked in, and trapped in his vague zone. There was no point continuing, seeing only despair and sadness in my future talking to this man.
March 27th was my birthday. No, please, don't throw money. I hadn't been to Wembley since the 1990 World Cup qualifying campaign, and it hit me hard, how our national game has altered during the nineties.
Well done to Bobby Robson for getting us, oh so, close in 1990. And to clubs like Leeds, Man Utd & Arsenal who waved our flag in European club competition while Graham Taylor was staking his place in football’s international allotment. The popularity of football in England soared with the Venables era, with foreign talent coming to play in the Premiership, with Euro 96 & France 98. Off the back of two major tournaments which we might have, no, almost had, won, and with the darling of 70s soccer now in charge, I must have been bonkers, mate, quite literally, to expect to be able to secure a ticket. Wouldn't I?
Further investigation established that tickets were indeed available. The increased appeal of English football has been matched only by Corporate Britain's desire to exploit it for commercial purposes.
I'm not talking about "the money in the game these days" or the spiralling transfer and wage demands of players and coaches. UK companies are buying up tickets with a view to a little corporate entertaining. Grease the palm, oil the wheels, lick the arse of the next customer. And, fair play, given the benefit of the doubt, the majority of these spectators probably have a genuine love for the game and are happy to support our national side.
Specialist ticket agencies have been set up to secure, en block, large numbers of tickets for such events. This is where, as a businessman, I can go and buy tickets. The company is picking up the tab, oh well, it's tax deductible. Not for me, as an individual, it's not.
The agency can charge, just about, what it likes. Demand is there, and commission is huge. Standard practice used to be, sell the ticket at the cover price, plus 10% booking (one phone call, bloody parasites!". Now there is the opportunity to sell a "package" including food, drinks, accommodation etc. The ticket does't cost a whole lot more, but the bolt-ons start to add up. Why earn 10% of £25 ticket, when you can take 15% of £250 package?
I was offered two tickets through a reputable booking agency. I was not going to deny myself, I'd had a particularly good month, and it was my birthday. £150.
"Where are the seats?" I asked.
"Oh, overlooking the pitch." Good point, well made, but still none the wiser. I foolishly try and knock him down. But he got up, and then slapped me with the 9 pound halibut - £150 EACH!
With expletives pouring forth from my, otherwise, articulate gob, I admitted defeat. There is simply too much money involved in this sport at the moment. At the moment? Why, is it going to change?!
You betcha! What happens when football becomes unfashionable again, and the investment starts disappearing? The fan (you remember, the 80,000 supporters who used to fill Wembley) will be expected to flood back with their money ready, to sit in the seats vacated by a load of chinless suits. Trouble is, Joe Public simply couldn't afford to take himself, let alone his family, to watch a match when he could take them to Disneyland for the same money. At least Disney kits don't change every season - Donald Duck always wears blue, home and away.
I said a few weeks ago that Kevin Keegan had this columnists fullest support. Sorry Kev, I tried to get there to cheer you all along, but at £150 a throw, I'd rather watch Ready Steady Cook.