On a recent visit to the National football Museum in Manchester I saw a display which asked “Is Football art?” . I pressed the “Yes” button as had 74% of everybody else who had interacted. I presumed images of Cryuff turns, a Cantona dink, Bobby Moore’s tackle, rushed to people’s minds.
I thought of the pieces of art that stand every day, getting battered by wind or pelted with rain. I thought of how these make people feel , how any adult jumps around like a five year old when passing one on a train, how however mad, sad, angry we are made to feel within them –it’s never their fault. I thought of Damp concrete, corrugated plastic, chipped bricks, of how most of the time nothing happens in them. And how apart from the memories they store for us, the occasional high, the companionship of family, friends, belonging, believing, dreaming – they offer something else – an ability to create, to build, to dream.
This chance to imagine, to construct, in just a few seconds, unconscious in the mind, conscious in Lego bricks.
Being a fan of Non league football the potential to create is bountiful, the canvases in some cases so beautifully blank, the impossible is all the more possible. I walk in to Salford City’s home ground on Kersal Lane and gasp to catch breath, I drive past Old Trafford and sigh – its already been done.
Would the cows at Colwyn Bay mind moving if we just built straight up the hill? Should Harrogate Town have a car park under the pitch? Would the residents of Altrincham object to a 40,000 seater stadium complete with removable helicopter landing pad?
In real life improbable, with Lego bricks, two or three lost hours and a frown from the other half when they get home from work.