Home > Opinion > Still 'going to the football'
Tim Rushby-Smith
Tim studied at Chelsea School of Art before working variously as a painter and decorator, printer, barman, telephone engineer, landscape gardener and tree surgeon, while continuing to practice as an artist and writer. His first book, a memoir entitled Looking Up, was published in April 2008. He lives with his wife and daughter in Hackney, east London, and is mostly happy. Keep up with Tim via his blog.
Still 'going to the football'
13th January 2009
Most people think that spinal injury is my only disability, but growing up in North London has left me with another. It is mostly unseen, but when I have episodes it can be debilitating, and often leaves me an emotional wreck. This time of year, it flares up more frequently.
I am of course referring to my support for Arsenal Football Club. From about the age of thirteen I have been a regular spectator, and I held a season ticket for around seventeen years before my accident.
I was discharged from Rehab at the beginning of Arsenal's final season at the old Highbury ground, and I made every effort to attend one last game before the move. This involved contacting the Disability Liaison Officer in order to get on the list as a disabled supporter. The 'tickets' were free at the old stadium, and the facilities consisted of a flat concrete area right by the pitch.
I expected the experience of going to a match to be familiar, a way of resuming something that I enjoyed before my accident. But it was different. I was different, wondering what was going to happen if we scored. Would I have a 'Lourdes moment' and leap to my feet, cured of my spinal injury, whilst simultaneously incurring the wrath of everyone around me who would assume I was just scamming a free seat?
The other thing that changed was the angle. Now I remained seated throughout the game, which, combined with the camber of the pitch and our close proximity to it, meant that when the action shifted to the far side I couldn't see below the knees of the players, and I had to play some kind of flowing spot the ball competition.
With many grounds, access for disabled supporters is a legacy from the days when football clubs were owned by successful local businessmen and were seen as a way of putting something back into the community. Much of the capacity was increased to cater for disabled 'heroes' coming back from the war/s. I doubt there would have been a consultation process or any other attempt to involve disabled people in the design.
I was discharged from Rehab at the beginning of Arsenal's final season at the old Highbury ground, and I made every effort to attend one last game before the move. This involved contacting the Disability Liaison Officer in order to get on the list as a disabled supporter. The 'tickets' were free at the old stadium, and the facilities consisted of a flat concrete area right by the pitch.
I expected the experience of going to a match to be familiar, a way of resuming something that I enjoyed before my accident. But it was different. I was different, wondering what was going to happen if we scored. Would I have a 'Lourdes moment' and leap to my feet, cured of my spinal injury, whilst simultaneously incurring the wrath of everyone around me who would assume I was just scamming a free seat?
The other thing that changed was the angle. Now I remained seated throughout the game, which, combined with the camber of the pitch and our close proximity to it, meant that when the action shifted to the far side I couldn't see below the knees of the players, and I had to play some kind of flowing spot the ball competition.
With many grounds, access for disabled supporters is a legacy from the days when football clubs were owned by successful local businessmen and were seen as a way of putting something back into the community. Much of the capacity was increased to cater for disabled 'heroes' coming back from the war/s. I doubt there would have been a consultation process or any other attempt to involve disabled people in the design.
I left at the end of the match, glad to have said farewell to the old ground, but saddened to realise that yet another part of my life had changed forever.
Then came the time to renew my ticket and move to my team's new home at the Emirates stadium. My friends who had all sat with me at Highbury were adamant that we all go and renew together, even though this meant waiting an extra three months as the club hadn't begun to allocate disabled tickets.
Only a few months out of hospital, this would be the first major public encounter where my access needs had to be taken into consideration. I spent a lot of time worrying about my approach and the kind of response I was likely to face. My confidence leapt when we were greeted with a look of panic on the face of the seventeen year old who had the job of allocating our seats.
I introduced myself, explaining that my circumstances had changed since I last renewed my ticket but was assuming this wouldn't be a problem. After several frantic calls, the all-clear was finally given. It was too early to get seat numbers, but from a computer generated image of the new stadium, we reserved the disabled seat, with my friends taking the ones immediately in front, and received a booking reference.
Then came the time to renew my ticket and move to my team's new home at the Emirates stadium. My friends who had all sat with me at Highbury were adamant that we all go and renew together, even though this meant waiting an extra three months as the club hadn't begun to allocate disabled tickets.
Only a few months out of hospital, this would be the first major public encounter where my access needs had to be taken into consideration. I spent a lot of time worrying about my approach and the kind of response I was likely to face. My confidence leapt when we were greeted with a look of panic on the face of the seventeen year old who had the job of allocating our seats.
I introduced myself, explaining that my circumstances had changed since I last renewed my ticket but was assuming this wouldn't be a problem. After several frantic calls, the all-clear was finally given. It was too early to get seat numbers, but from a computer generated image of the new stadium, we reserved the disabled seat, with my friends taking the ones immediately in front, and received a booking reference.
Later, when we received our seat numbers, we realised that the architects had bowed to pressure and found a way of squeezing in an extra three rows between me and my friends. I doubt they would have been so casual about splitting up two rows of normal seats that had been booked together.
My season ticket is half price for two, which allows me to bring a companion, but the other disappointment came with the discovery that their seat is behind rather than next to me, as if they would have no interest in the game.
Us disabled supporters are on a raised concrete plinth, tucked up under the upper tier with the big screen nowhere in sight. According to other disabled fans, someone realised at the last minute that if we were on the level, and everyone else stood up, we wouldn't be able to see anything. But for all that, the view is fantastic, rather like a very widescreen TV.
Yes, it's different. Yes, I can no longer sit with my friends. Yes, I can't see the replays or team-sheets without bending double, and yes, I am troubled by the widespread and blatant abuse of the Blue Badge scheme that takes place in the streets surrounding the stadium. But I probably wouldn't be able to afford to go were it not for my disability, and the unspecified companion slot has enabled me to treat various people to their first visit to an Arsenal game. I am often the 'hot ticket'. And, most important of all, I'm still 'Going To The Football'.
• What was your first big public appearance since becoming disabled? How did it pan out? Tell us about it in the comments below.
My season ticket is half price for two, which allows me to bring a companion, but the other disappointment came with the discovery that their seat is behind rather than next to me, as if they would have no interest in the game.
Us disabled supporters are on a raised concrete plinth, tucked up under the upper tier with the big screen nowhere in sight. According to other disabled fans, someone realised at the last minute that if we were on the level, and everyone else stood up, we wouldn't be able to see anything. But for all that, the view is fantastic, rather like a very widescreen TV.
Yes, it's different. Yes, I can no longer sit with my friends. Yes, I can't see the replays or team-sheets without bending double, and yes, I am troubled by the widespread and blatant abuse of the Blue Badge scheme that takes place in the streets surrounding the stadium. But I probably wouldn't be able to afford to go were it not for my disability, and the unspecified companion slot has enabled me to treat various people to their first visit to an Arsenal game. I am often the 'hot ticket'. And, most important of all, I'm still 'Going To The Football'.
• What was your first big public appearance since becoming disabled? How did it pan out? Tell us about it in the comments below.
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Comments
My first venture out to a big public event after my MS got a lot worse was the Download festival at Donnington. I was worried that the designated disabled campsite and viewing platforms wouldn't have the atmosphere or manic drunken music fans of the rest of the festival, but I was wrong. The people I've met in that campsite and on the platforms are probably even more determined to get very drunk and enjoy the festival spirit than the rest of the people there, and we get the advantages of a clean, spacious campsite with decent loos and showers, a place to sit and watch the bands without getting flattened by sweaty dirty teenagers in the crowd, and a load of like-minded people who have now become lifetime friends of mine. So I was very wrong about the effect my new disability would have on the festival experience (and owe big thanks to Live Nation, who have really figured out how to deal with disabled music fans properly!)
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I enjoyed the article sad though your a gooner supporter but we wont hold that against you we all have cross's to bear in life! I go to football as I hold a season ticket at West Ham United, I travel by train then get a bus to the ground as the underground station is not disabled friendly funny how in the 21st centuary we have a major footabll ground near by and yet if your like me in a wheelchair no chance what so ever to get to use the underground.
I am very angry at the way I cannot get tickets to away games as to be in chair means the issue amount given for away supporters in a wheelchair is nearly nil. My worse experience so far was at Watford FC ground my god I had no idea such grounds or facilites for the disabled still exsited. To say it was joke was a understatment, how on earth do Watford FC get away with this I ask?
But in truth even for you Alan going to a football match is a huge task and it for me drians me utterly the next day,plus seeing a highly paid footballer under perform makes it really grateing to accept. But I think there is still million miles to go before we can make football games really enjoyable for the disabled
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Hey
im a gooner also, and a 'wheelchair chap' as i was once described.... anyway, I find that if you ask the stewards some of them will allow your mates to come and sit with you - but this isnt guaranteed... my first game was an issue as the folk infront inevitably stood a lot obscuring the view, but on my second game that was sorted out. The access is very good in my opinion, and the price reasonable. loads of toilets also, and its easier to sneak a beer onto the stands
The only downflall is its a nightmare ordering a ticket, and the Arsenal office are frankly rubbish - i have even sent them emails suggesting a few minor changes to the app procedure (such as allowing electronic forms, which i could do in 5 minutes on word). If your app fails, you are not alerted till bout 2 days beforee the game, whihc is of ocurse annoying whern your planning a life!
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Not a football story but...
In the early days of my wheelchair life, we attended a blessing for our new nephew - held in a church hall; small group of regulars – maybe 30 people and all of EaZyD 's (my partner) family. I was pretty ill and we were very unused to getting out and about with wheelchair.
On the day, despite massive effort, we were late. We crept into the back of the room, as quietly as you can in a huge wheelchair that smashes into all the door frames and requires re-arrangement of the four rear rows of seats, hoping no-one would notice us!
We got into the service – gospel singing - I began to nod my head along with the music and chill. My mind wanders until I suddenly realise that the Minister is asking who wants to be blessed?
I sit in silence but am getting a very bad feeling about this as the Minister, now roaming the room, seems to eye me hopefully – naturally I’m the only person in a wheelchair!
The Minister approaches, I do not catch his eye or look up at all. My worst fears are realised as the Minister says that ‘as Gods presence is so strong today’, he insists on blessing EaZyD’s whole family! Sotto voce, I say to EaZyD, ‘get me out of here, now.’ ‘How?’ he mutters.
I wish that I could turn to God to get me out of here...
I feel slightly sick as each individual member of the family is ‘blessed’ - this involves at least 3 people chanting and singing about how life will be just peachy if God is given free rein! I am wishing that I was anywhere but here. EaZyD’s agnostic brother-in-law stands stoically as he is told how God will look after him if he just asks ...and then it was my turn.
Every pair of eyes turn to look at me. Lovin’ this, not!? The Minister starts bewailing my pain and anguish and the terrible times I have had. Could any of you have said, ‘yeah, and this is right up there with them!’?
Did I want to reveal, or discuss, my suffering in public? No. With legs, I would have walked. I did not have that option. One of the women in front of me leapt to her feet, screaming, shaking and crying to the Lord at the top of her voice for ’MERCY, MERCY.’ She scattered rows of chairs around me. Thinking, ‘good grief, how much worse can life get’, I promptly burst into tears. My tightly stretched nerves could take no more. I started praying, ‘was this never going to end?’!!
Finally it did and we left, quickly. EaZyD said, ’he didn’t bless me for as long as he did you.’ I looked at him in stunned silence - he was disappointed?! God, what a day I had! I now know that wheelchair = religious believer magnet. I do appreciate the thought but do not share the belief!
Elle at stilettowheels.co.uk
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