Of Storms, Sportsmanship, and the Social Function of Football

Yesterday, an old mate and I took a long walk through the local forest—or what was left of it after the recent storm. Trees, once tall and proud, were snapped and scattered like matchsticks. Nature’s fury had left its mark, as we crunched through the debris, our conversation turned to something completely different, sport.

With the Six Nations Rugby (Sorry David, or any other Welsh readers) in full swing, it was only natural that we found ourselves comparing rugby to football, two sports that, on the surface, seem cut from the same cloth but in reality reveal stark contrasts in their culture and societal role. I never played rugby myself—where I am from it has always been seen as a more middle-class sport. Us ruffians at the local secondary school weren’t exactly trusted (for good reason) to play it. Rugby was for the grammar schools and the posher kids; we were left to kick around a football and, in doing so, found our own kind of belonging. Rugby, we agreed, is a sport steeped in respect and discipline. There’s an unwritten code that governs not just the players but the fans as well. On the pitch, players address the referee as "sir," disputes are minimal, and when the final whistle blows, there’s a handshake, maybe even a pint shared with the opposition. It’s fierce, sure—no one’s pretending rugby isn’t brutal—but there’s a sense of honour in how it’s played. The battle stays on the field, and sportsmanship reigns supreme, it is after all “a hooligan’s sport played by gentleman”

Football, (a gentleman’s sport played by hooligans) though? That’s a different beast altogether. The constant cheating, diving, and arguing with refs aren’t just tolerated—they’re often celebrated if they lead to a win. It’s not about how you win; it’s just about winning. The players on the pitch are ‘soldiers’, and the fans in the stands are their tribes, ready to defend their colours to the bitter end. Yes it can be very annoying, but here’s the thing—that tribalism isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, maybe it plays a vital and now missing role in society. Football offers an outlet for that deep-seated tribal instinct we all carry. It gives people a place to belong, to channel their passions, frustrations, and loyalties in a way that’s, for the most part, harmless. It’s a pressure valve for the human spirit, a way to let off steam in a controlled environment. It’s not always safe, and it’s not always controlled. The hooliganism and violence that sometimes follow football are themselves perhaps proof positive of this thesis—evidence that football taps into something primal. Even when it spills over into chaos, it reflects that same deep need for belonging and identity. In a world where traditional community bonds have frayed, football steps in to fill that void, providing a sense of identity and belonging that’s hard to find elsewhere. Yes, it would indeed be better found elsewhere, but it’s not, and thus football fills this void for millions.

Football fans are often seen as knuckle-dragging barbarians—and yes, footballers can be overpaid prima donnas. The sport can be cultish, people take it far too seriously, and it's often used as a distraction (bread and circus, I know) from real-world issues, this is all true, and all too frustrating. But none of that changes the fact that football provides this vital outlet for our baser instincts. It gives us a way to embrace our tribal nature without it spilling into something more destructive—though, even when it does spill over, it’s a reminder of just how strong that instinct is.

Maybe all of the above is why football has become the prime stage for social lecturing. Every match now seems to come with a cause—a reminder of what to believe, what cause to support, and where to stand on the latest issue. It’s always the football fans being lectured to, as if the inherent tribalism (and of course the class of the fan) of the sport makes them the perfect target for mass messaging. Recently, the Premier League even announced it would ban player celebrations that mocked the other team or their fans. Ludicrous nonsense—this is what football is all about! It’s about beating the other tribe, doing it vicariously through your champions on the pitch. Attempts like these to sanitise and tame the sport are part of a wider effort to socially engineer the football fan, to smooth out the rough edges and make the crowd more palatable to modern sensibilities.

Initiatives like "Kick It Out" and the "No Room for Racism Action Plan" aim to address discrimination and promote inclusivity, with strict penalties for offenders. The FA's "Respect" campaign targets abusive behaviour towards referees, seeking to foster a more civil environment on and off the pitch. These efforts represent a broader trend of re-educating football fans—an attempt to reshape the passionate, sometimes chaotic culture that’s intrinsic to the game.

Rugby fans? They don’t get the nearly the same sermons, perhaps the middle classes don’t need re-educated, refined or put in their place. Rugby teaches us discipline and respect, while football taps into something primal, giving us a space—safe or not—to be the tribal creatures we are at heart.

By the time we reached the edge of the forest, the storm’s devastation felt a little less heavy. In fact there was something awesome about what the recent gale had done, all this devastation, all this power, trees snapped like twigs, and men hadn’t done it, for a change it wasn’t human carnage, just the wind. Also as I saw all the fallen trees I couldn’t help but think of all the potentially free fuel from them for next year :-)

So when I got home I lit the fire and pondered the positive aspects of the tribal nature of footy.