Dave’s Ramblings – ‘Moan Day’

Now, I count myself lucky. I’ve got home and away season tickets, which basically makes me one of the chosen few. Not everyone can manage that, and I totally get how frustrating it must be to try and grab tickets through the club, only to come up empty-handed. You wait in the virtual waiting room forever, cross your fingers, mutter a few prayers to the football gods and nothing. Then, five minutes later, there are hundreds of tickets magically floating around on shady resale sites for prices that make you question whether you should sell a kidney.

 

Gone are the days of the old-school touts outside Fulham Broadway station whispering, “Need a ticket, mate?” No, no, no – we’ve gone digital now. The touts have evolved, just like Pokémon. The only difference is, instead of lurking on street corners, they now live in your browser tabs.

 

But here’s the kicker: the club themselves are in on it! Officially reselling tickets above the original price. That’s like being mugged—politely—by your own team.

 

So let’s talk about the stadium situation. I’ve almost convinced myself there’s no real intention of building a bigger ground. Why would there be? At the moment, every seat is sold, every match is a sell-out, and regular fans are… well, let’s just say not exactly “encouraged.” You see, we’re not the ideal customers. We’re too busy actually watching the football instead of spending a small fortune in the megastore buying keychains, scarves, and life-sized cardboard cutouts of Enzo Fernández.

 

For the owners, it’s simple economics. Why risk a half-empty 60,000-seater stadium when you can flog 40,000 tickets at premium prices? They’ve even invented eight (yes, EIGHT!) categories of matches for the men’s team. Eight! We used to have “big game” and “not so big game.” Now it’s Category AA (bring your wallet and your therapist) down to Category G (whatever games they might be).

 

Maybe I’m naïve, but I go to Chelsea to watch Chelsea. Not Liverpool, not West Ham, not the “glamour” of Luton Town or Grimsby. The badge stays the same, so why doesn’t the price? Spoiler: because they know we’ll pay it. Every. Single. Time.

 

And heaven forbid we actually build that 60,000-seater stadium – because then, shock horror, some games might not sell out. The horror! The balance sheets would tremble! The business plan would have to gasp account for loyalty instead of profit!

 

Meanwhile, Arsenal – of all teams  – are reportedly considering moving to Wembley so they can expand the Emirates. Arsenal! The club that invented quiet home support! If they’re doing it, what’s our excuse? We’re still squashed into Stamford Bridge like sardines in blue shirts, and there’s no sign of change before the next ice age.

 

I know the owners don’t care what I think. I could write them a heartfelt letter, staple a virtual season ticket to it, and it’d still get lost somewhere between “corporate strategy” and “monetisation opportunity.” But here’s the truth: over the years, I’ve seen far too many real fans priced out of supporting the team they love. And without fans, football is nothing. You can blast music, you can hire a pitch side DJ, you can even make the players run out through a tunnel of fireworks—but without us, it’s just 22 people kicking a ball in a very expensive echo chamber.

 

So can we do anything about it? Honestly, probably not. But should we at least try? Should we be asking questions, pushing back, and maybe slowing down the creeping Americanisation of our game?

 

Absolutely. Because if football turns into a theme park, the least we can do is make sure the fans still own a few of the rides. UTC