Attachment to sporting clubs is one of our deepest and most emotionally charged forms of prejudice. Throughout any given season, and from one season to the next, our hopes rise and fall with the fortunes of “our” team; tenacious legends, narratives, and rivalries are born; imaginary bonds with players and coaches, and real bonds with fellow fans are forged; traditions are established that safe-guard the “essence” of the team despite the generational change and churn.
“Real” fans look with justified disdain on late-comers who jump opportunistically on a team’s recent success, but who did not tarry through the club’s “dark years”. And it’s not unusual for a sense of extended “family” to grow up around teams. But what about those moments when a devotee decides she can no longer support her team? When her loyalty goes elsewhere? Has she betrayed her team?
To put it another way — how can clubs betray their fans? In an age of increased athlete empowerment and mobility, how are fans to respond to the constant ‘churn’ of high-profile players? Or the allure of capital, which nearly gave rise to a European football superleague? What about when a club’s culture becomes toxic, or star players act with a kind of grotesque and immoral impunity? Or when a club seems to abandon a team ethos in order to win?