National Football Museum - Manchester, UK

22nd February 2014 - Free (joined by Kez Casey and Will Sanderson)

Two selfies, one love

Football (or soccer if you’re American or one of those weird Brits who prefers American sport) is the world’s national game. It can be played with a tin can amid the favelas of Rio or before half the world in Soccer City’s arena of television cameras, prawn sandwiches and vuvuzelas. It’s not called ‘the beautiful game’ for nothing, although nothing’s how it feels when you’re watching your beloved team draw nil-nil at Luton in the pouring rain as you eat a tepid, grey pie that set you back six quid. 

England has an especially close relationship with the game. It was invented here and, until the rest of the world became familiar with the rules, we were really quite good at it. The Urbis building in Manchester was chosen in 2012 as the nation’s arca of the nation’s game, but, at the end of the day, does it give 110%?

I’ve been accused of swearing too much in these blogs, which is fair. So, for the duration of this article, I’ll be replacing all profanity with the italicised names of footballing giants. 

Kez is the one in the middle.

Kick-off was at noon, with the Three Lions (Kez Casey, Will Sanderson and myself) playing away from home in the glorious city of Manchester, a city that looks better in the rain (fortunately). The museum’s free but has lots of activities that cost within, like the increasingly common phenomenon of micro-transactions in video games. The girl behind the counter started by asking us the teams we support and proceeded to know more about our cherished clubs (Leeds Utd, Man Utd and Bradford City, respectively) than we did. She was passionate, funny and told us where to find things like the old Leeds City F.C., George Best and the Bradford City Fire. It’s interactions like these that set the tone for a visiting experience and, because of this attendant, we made it to the main hall in a Brooking good mood. 

My team on the right and a black me on the left

Just a really lovely jumper

The main vista boasts a court with many of the afore mentioned pay-to-play activities. Not to be spoilsports, we queued to lift the Premier League trophy, the pleasure of which was a fiver between us. A bit steep, but the rewards were clear (see bottom). I asked the attendant (perhaps naively) if this was the real trophy to which she replied, “Yes, it’s an official replica”. Hmm...

Before we headed to the first level of the museum proper, a voting machine posited the question: is football art? To which we answered: no... because it’s a sport. Although it’s a position that 76% of you stupid Van Bastens disagree with, so what do I know. There was a lacklustre Picasso sculpture a goalmouth away from the machine so I reckon some of the voting public had been derrenbrowned. 

George, where did it all go wrong?

Far be it from me to suggest football fans are thick as Shittu, but the museum clearly knows its audience, as is evident in the lack of text - which is no bad thing. The Football Museum has the imagination to show the excitement, fluidity and spirit of the game through strictly visual means. Other museums, please take note - a museum is not complete when there is no more text to add, but when there is no more text to take away. 

So, this museum focuses on the interactive, with quizzes, videos, displays, and activities in abundance. But, Nick Barmby! there’s no order to the collection whatsoever. In one cabinet you’re looking at a shirt from the Huddersfield team of the 50s, the next is a clip of Gazza being overbearing and unfunny. If you’re bored of one thing, you only have to walk the length of a six-yard box to find something notably different. It all goes to present football as being ultimately fun. It could have been so snooty and reverential, but every era’s represented as an exciting place to be. Bill Shankly said, “Football’s not a matter of life and death, it’s way more important than that”. Well, it isn’t. Football’s a gas, and so’s this museum. 

It really isn't

The beach ball a Scouse kid threw
onto the pitch, only for the football 
to hit it and bounce in the 
Liverpool goal.
Hahahaha.

All the eras are covered: the pompous elegance of the amateur Victorians in all their rigidity; the clod-ridden, Somme-esque ordeal of the inter-war years; the 60s and 70s being all sexy and hairy; the 80s’ and 90s’ tacky, moustachioed 1-0 thrillers; and the modern-day spendthrifts with their whitened teeth and pencil-beards. A real heart-sinker was a board detailing the initial FA ruling that players were not to be paid for playing, the same week Wayne Rooney became richer than Croesus. Thanks, Murdoch. Your presence in the game makes me want to smash myself in the face with a cricket bat that has a badly printed-out picture of Andy Gray and Richard Keys' faces taped to it.  

An IMAX-style film called “Our Beautiful Game” (will anyone rid me of this turbulent moniker!?) really cut the mustard and made me ache for a kick-about, an itch the Football Museum is more than happy to scratch (at a cost). There are skill, passing, and goalkeeping games and, most importantly, a hall for penalty shoot-outs. Will (the best player among us) went first, scoring a monster goal, missing, and then scoring. 2 for 3. Then came Kez in his £100 suede shoes and garnered the same score despite one of his goals bouncing off the sidewall and still counting (a load of Djemba Djemba if you ask me). Then came I, the young pretender. I got a brace as well, despite my ‘saved’ goal easily beating the keeper. It was fun, I suppose, but over too quickly and quite expensive (around £7 for the lot of us). I spent my money on penalty shootouts, kick-up challenges and interactive commentary, the rest I just squandered!

Maradona's shirt. Good lord!

Some of the exhibits were pretty astounding, like Maradona’s infamous “Hand of God” shirt, whilst some not so much: Willie Cunningham’s knee cartilage isn’t my idea of a good time but then, I don’t support Preston North End. If Peter Beagrie’s knee gammage was on display I might have found it difficult to walk. 

There was a highlight reel of the World Cups which, apart from Italia 90, were nice to look over until we got to Qatar 2022. I don’t know how you could have the “best-bits” of a competition that hasn’t even happened yet. Unless you showed a CCTV video of Sepp Blatter under a bridge taking a brown envelope from a man in a mac. 

There were some things that seemed missing like any mention of Brian Deane or reportage on John Barnes’s brick suit (something I swear he wore when presenting on Channel 5 but can’t find any evidence since the event) but I suppose these things may only reside behind the glass of the museum in our dreams. 

The QPR player of the year sword.
That means Trevor Sinclair owns a sword.

Just the Three Lions enjoying a
Saturday afternoon.

Maybe Chris Rock was right when he said, “rather a hotdog with a hero than haute cuisine with a fool," but to rule out the merits of this museum on the grounds of good company would be gauche. I think the NFM is a triumph of modern museums. It’s interactive, accessible, fun and informative. It even achieves that much coveted accolade of being good regardless of its subject matter. Take a bow, sons (and daughters). 3 points. 

If the Football Museum’s taught me anything it’s that you've got to hold and give, but do it at the right time. You can be slow or fast, but you must get to the line. They'll always hit you and hurt you, defend and attack. There’s only one way to beat them, get 'round the back.

And if some of you don’t get that gag, you’re probably a set of Kuntz. 

p.s. Here’s Kez doing his bit for football commentary.