The joy of no success

The teams I support have never won anything or been truly successful, I often hope it stays that way

I met the announcement of this season’s EFL fixtures with next to no fanfare. A tenth-straight season in the same division for my club where we will be lucky to survive bore no great desire to discover in which order teams will be lining up to take three points. The only aspect I paid attention to was the break provided by the World Cup, a welcome distraction, not that my national team qualified, but then they haven’t done so for twenty years, so I’m well-used to enjoying the party despite their traditional RSVP “no”.

None of the above should be much of a surprise, for my club has never won a major trophy, nor even made a final, and they have spent a whole three seasons in the top flight. For my national team, the last eight of a tournament has been the limit. Before you reach for the tiny violins, though, I have at least seen all three top flight escapades and seen my country in a couple of knockout stage matches, which is more than many can say.

Perhaps, that is not enough “success” to deter you from a quick screech of the fiddle. Success, in any walk of life, is difficult enough to gauge and in footballing terms it is nigh on impossible. One fan’s success is another’s failure. It depends largely on your own side’s achievements; you might only be able to dream of three seasons in your respective top tier, or you might be reading this barely aware that other tiers exist, questioning why one would even bother spending time and money on such a dismal prospect.

One thing about our team’s successes does seem to be clear – to me at least; what happens when a team’s period of success comes to an end, or even gives the merest hint that the best has already come and gone, and how that warps our beliefs and expectations. Let me tell you, it’s not pleasant.

In the recent international break, England’s recent results were a little below expectations. As someone born and raised in England, but not an England fan, I try not to get caught up in the circus constantly surrounding The Three Lions, but recently my avoidance tactics failed me once attentions turned towards the termination of the tenure of Gareth Southgate.

While half of those offering their two cents were clamouring for the likes of Graham Potter of Graham Potter’s Brighton and using phrases like “tactically inept” to describe the incumbent, the other half chorused something along the lines of, “What? Sack the very same Gareth Southgate who took the team to a joint-best World Cup finish on foreign soil, then a maiden European Championship final? You’re joking!”

I counted myself among the latter. Interestingly, using friends and fellow fans I’m in WhatsApp etc. groups with for my survey, I noticed a correlation with few anomalies; fans of clubs from England’s “top six” generally wanted Southgate out, while supporters of those from outside the hallowed half dozen were happy for his previous record to keep him in the hot seat until after Qatar, at least.

While those findings aren’t quite worthy of being presented to the Office for National Statistics, they showed that if success for you is rare, the more likely you are to be patient when mediocrity is restored, but when used to lifting silverware at the top table, any suggestion that the brandy and cigars are running out calls for an ejector seat. England may not have recent silverware, but it is his own success that Southgate is now being judged harshly against, despite achieving far more than the supposed great gaffers that came before him.

It’s at times like these that I am forever grateful I don’t support a so-called big club, because it appears that being a fan of one creates only two possible states of mind: the normality of winning, or the despair of not winning quite so regularly. While winning (so I’m told) never gets boring, both states seem at odds with why we enjoy football. Support my team on the other hand and the culture of low expectations means any win manifests joy and fosters hope of what is to come, even if very little is to come, the chance to dream is – in my mind – much more intrinsically linked with why we turn up every Saturday. No success – it’s much more fun.

I remember when this idea really resonated with me. In October 2010, after one win in their first eight league matches under Roy Hodgson, Liverpool found themselves 19th in the Premier League. A caller to a radio phone-in and fan of England’s most successful club, European champions just five years earlier, used his airtime to say that relegation for Liverpool should be welcomed, allowing for a complete overhaul of the club and a fresh start, because the team (still with a spine of Reina, Carragher, Gerrard and Torres) had “fallen so far”. Delusion alert. So unfamiliar was this poor little fan with bottom halves of tables, let alone relegation zones, that at the first sign of trouble – before the clocks went back – he wanted his club to go on some mythical great reset that he believed was the done thing in the Championship. Fellow fans texted in in agreement! Three matches later they were in the top half, they finished sixth, higher than they had twelve months earlier. But the damage was done, no matter how great Liverpool had been for decades, two months of poor form could not be stomached; the baby had to be thrown out with the bath water.
Fast forward three seasons to David Moyes’ time at Manchester United, where a colleague at the time said we should “give credit” to United fans for sticking with the club and not running off to support Chelsea and the like. My goodness, they remained faithful to a club who – after winning countless trophies – dropped a whole six places in the English football pyramid, and they managed not to jump ship to a direct rival! What incredible loyalty! I’m welling up! Let me tell this one to nearby Oldham and Macclesfield fans.

On the flipside, let’s take Leicester and Wigan. Does Leicester’s monumental title win in 2016 mean more to their fans than Manchester City’s triumph in May ever will? Does Wigan’s 2013 FA Cup success hold a greater place in their hearts than Liverpool’s two cup wins this season do in theirs? “Yes” are the answers. Case closed. Bask in the glory of one major trophy ever, or look at two trophies from a possible four in four months as somewhat of a failure? I’m with the Latics on this one, every time.

Leicester, however, are a great example of how this rot of success – now infesting the England discourse – can set in. Just a few months after their Foinavon-esque ascent, when the prospect of relegation looked possible, manager Claudio Ranieri was sacked. Twenty-four months prior, when relegation looked not possible but almost certain, Nigel Pearson was not treated so harshly by the no-trophies-for-twenty-something-years Foxes, allowing him to build the foundations of the title triumph under Ranieri. It may have, with hindsight, been the correct decision, but the bitterness of the move smacked of faux-elitism.

I take no umbridge with those lucky enough to have good reason to support one of the elites, through geography or family connection, etc. It is those for whom it really was a choice, let’s call them by name, Glory Hunters, that I’m taking aim at and, in a way, feel sorry for. Over the years, particularly during my formative ones but also later, I have often been asked why I don’t simply support Successful Team X or Y instead of my floundering local side. While I can forgive the youths for such a childish (it’s in the name, I suppose) question, being asked this by adults really does wrangle. What does it mean to “support”? Essentially, to give assistance to those who need it. This, on a micro level, is something I do when turning up to a relegation six-pointer, or paying a meaningful contribution to watch a local non-league team. Throwing this away to “support” mega-rich franchises by celebrating trophy lifts from the comfort of my sofa would be the equivalent of withdrawing your monthly donation to a charity tackling world poverty and instead cheering on a hedge fund manager doing a reading of the accounts over Zoom.

Do I dream of seeing my team in a cup final, or my nation reaching the last four of a major tournament? Of course I do, because of what great a deal they would mean to me. But, if neither ever happen, I will be perfectly content, never having to worry about the normalisation of success, or the hangover its termination induces. I will have enough purely from the hope that support brings, because if you have hope, you have everything… including success.