Silence in the Stands

He screamed and swore at his boy – what would you do?

Becky Parry

Despite a long history of supporting Sheffield United, I must admit that I rarely go to matches these days. My ability to enjoy spending time with loud crowds of mostly men has declined with age. But the Boxing Day home match has, for the last few years, become a family tradition and this year we were riding high. What could go wrong?

We were late into the match because of some issues with the turnstiles. I was disappointed to miss the first rendition of ‘Greasy Chip Butty.’ Still, we were in and the initial signs on the pitch were not terrible. Early on in the match, a small child’s voice could be heard from the seats behind, piping up with exaggerated comments about the referee. Nothing unusual about that, but there was something off about the way this boy was trying to get the attention of his dad.

Then, in a nice moment when SUFC fans were showing their appreciation of John Egan, this lad, not more than 8, turned round to his dad and did that thing kids do i.e. tap them repeatedly to ask what was going on. I can’t easily describe what happened next, because the tirade from this parent was so disproportionate. He screamed and swore at his boy, telling him to ‘fucking shut up,’ then ground down on him even more because he looked like he was going to cry. I was shocked to hear how abusive and belittling a parent could be in a public space.

The rest of the match passed in a bit of a blur. I was there, but not there. I felt a dilemma – should I say something? I was not alone in noticing and not speaking up. It became clear that the child was used to this sort of outburst as he quietened down and his dad switched to swearing at the players. I remained silent, but this moment is haunting me. In the past, I’ve regularly sat near dads and grandads grumpily trying to watch the match with children and grandchildren who have absolutely no interest, but this was way beyond that.

I was shocked to hear how abusive and belittling a parent could be in a public space.

Before you assume I am some light-weight, it’s worth knowing I was brought up in a family of big swearers, though swears were mainly directed at things, not people. I also ran a boys’ football club and have seen some pretty awful parental behaviour at matches. This felt worse. Maybe it was the proximity to Christmas or the glimpse I had of this child’s face as he spent the second half trying to win back the approval of his parent. I keep wondering what I might have said, in the moment, if I had been brave enough to speak up. And let’s face it: we all know what would have happened if I had.

Weeks on I keep wondering what it is about football that seems to make this kind of behaviour acceptable. Research tells that abuse of women (wives and girlfriends of football fans) goes up by 38 per cent when our national team loses. More shocking is the fact that this abuse still goes up by 26 per cent when they win.

Tensions run high at football matches, but for me this is rarely entirely to do with the action on the pitch. Emotional outbursts at football matches are often a proxy for things in life left unsaid, unspoken injustices, and hurtful rejections. This is no bad thing: swearing at a football match is not unlike shouting at the ocean and it should be cathartic. Men are often taught not to express their feelings, so emotions spill out in other ways, but what happens when these emotions are directed at those we are supposed to love and care for?

Abuse of women goes up by 38 per cent when a team loses. This abuse still goes up by 26 per cent when a team wins.

If you are reading this (I know of some ‘football dads’ who might be) thinking I am being over-sensitive, I want you to ask yourself how you would feel if someone shouted at your child like this in any other context. I used to ask this while watching angry dads at our kids’ Sunday League matches – would you tell your own or someone else’s child they were shit from the audience during their school play?

Shouting abusive language directly at a small child in any context is indefensible. It doesn’t toughen them up – it might well damage and dehumanise them and it definitely heightens the likelihood that they will behave in the same way in the future. The Kick It Out campaign has some excellent resources to support the football community in dealing with prejudice, but, sadly, I now think this needs to include a focus on the abuse of children.

Over thirty thousand people, mostly men, gather at football matches weekly, in grounds up and down the country. It’s not hard to imagine a strong media campaign that could reach these fans, raising awareness about the difference between enjoyable sweary football chants and child abuse. Maybe SUFC can, again, be at the forefront of challenging injustice. I’d love to think that by speaking up in The Pinch I make amends for my silence in the stands.