Ticker tape and tickets in — Terrace Edition

Graham Kenworthy lives in a small village outside Barnsley and Head of PE at a secondary school located at the site of the famous football scene in the film ‘Kes’. Yes that Kes ye big rotten bastards ye!

Here’s his life in football photographs. We’ll let him explain.

I’ve been watching matches live since September 1970 when my grandad took me to my first game as a wide-eyed seven year-old.

The venue was Elland Road and the match, Leeds United v Chelsea ended 1-0, with an Allan Clarke goal. Since then I’ve seen thousands of games, in numerous countries, at every level imaginable.

As to my images, I started taking pictures at games in 1998, when I began taking trips abroad to football. Initially, this was to serve as a memory and merely to supplement the scenic touristy shots of cities and monuments.

It’s grown somewhat since those days, aided by getting a digital camera in 2006, giving me the chance to take many more shots. Most of the pictures in this small collection were taken with very basic digital models, a few were from a Sony DSC-HX50V which is the nearest I’ve had to a ‘proper’ camera. These days I almost always just use my phone primarily for speed and convenience.

As for the images themselves, I’ve picked shots which are not necessarily my best ones but are favourites for varying reasons.

First up is old picture from my pre-digital days. It was taken before a Barcelona v AC Milan game in 2004 and shows a huge Catalan flag, billowing down from the top tier of the Camp Nou. I love the sheer enormity of it, the shape it makes, the feel of movement and how the colours rip through the scene. I only took the one picture as it came down and to have captured it so perfectly was very satisfying.

My next three all come from the same fixture and I make no excuse for doing so. That match, from April 2011, was the Avellaneda Derby between Racing and Independiente in Argentina.

It was, quite simply, the most intense and electrifying atmosphere at any game I have ever been to. From start to finish there was incessant noise of an incredible decibel level, pyrotechnics of all descriptions filled the arena with coloured smoke, enormous banner after banner were unfurled, the ground literally moved under the weight of thousands of bouncing fans, there was the insanity of goal celebration avalanches and a monumental ticker tape welcome for the home side.

The three pictures I’ve chosen start with the initial scene as we (I did the trip with my son Matthew, aged 20 then) entered the packed stadium. The glorious sunlight picks out the sky blue and white of the home fans, shadows give shape and you can almost feel the atmosphere. Cutting through the midst of it is a vendor, his drinks precariously held in one hand with his red shirt vividly standing out and you can see his mouth open trying to be heard above the cacophony.

©Graham Kenworthy. Racing Club de Avellaneda.

Picture three (picture two features on the cover of this story) from the Racing game is looking down onto La Guardia Imperial, the Racing Barra Bravas, their fanatical followers. Massive banners have unfurled, smoke bombs are going off, the whole scene is a sea of light blue and white lit up by the glorious sunlight. I love the sheer scale of it all, how tiny the fans look as they stand upon the barriers, how much there is to see and admire of the passion and vibrancy of these amazing supporters.

Any visit to Argentina would not be the same without a visit to La Bombonera to see Boca Juniors and what a game we saw there, a 3-3 draw v Tigre.

The picture I have chosen again sums up the craziness of the fans but in a much more sedate way. Grounds there are simply awash with flags and banners in the most outrageous places, the edges of precipitous stands, on roofs, up fences; but how on earth did they get there?

Watching this fan return from placing his personal homage you realise that risking life and limb is part of the ritual. Here he is edging his way back, cat-like, along the barbed-wire clad fence, above a huge drop to the terrace below, having proudly deposited his offering to La Boca, behind him he’s oblivious to the vast stadium awash with yellow and blue waiting for the game to commence.

©Graham Kenworthy. Club Atlético Boca Juniors.

From the insanity of Argentinian, football the next photograph I’ve included is vastly different but still contains the blue and yellow colours and a fan presumably just as passionate. It is a very basic image and one that would be commonplace at innumerable grounds around the country every weekend.

What I like is it’s simplicity, a Leek Town fan tucking into his pre-match pie, scarf around his neck, flat cap perched atop his head, years of watching the ups and downs of his team etched into his face. Behind the sign stating ‘No football boots in the clubhouse’ is another characteristic typical of the level. All in all, I feel it just epitomises semi-professional football.

Taking things down several tiers, to the Craven & District League and the sadly now defunct Embsay FC, brings us to the next choice.

Shots after the game can often sum up the nature of the level, players on shoulders removing netting or, as is the case here, dragging corner flags as they trudge, tiredly back to the dressing room, this time up a steep slope of a Yorkshire Dale. Again it is a very simple image but I feel it embraces the ‘less is more’ aspect of grassroots football perfectly.

From the gentle nature of that picture, it’s on to the almost demonic pyrotechnics at the Bucharest Derby. We’d gone to that game expecting a torrid atmosphere but for about 20 minutes it was as quiet as a Premier League, prawn sandwich fest.

Then, suddenly the home (Dinamo) fans ignited, they burst into sound, which was almost guttural, brought out banners and lit-up flares. I love this as it captures so much going on, despite the intensity and apparent aggressive nature, there is also something quite ethereal about the shot.

From the heat of that and the noise and the colour the next picture is a million miles removed. The substitutes bench for Easington, at the very edge of the East Coast out by Spurn Point, back when they were ridiculously in the Central Midlands League, shivering, hands in pockets or up sleeves, in the corrugated iron, rusting, dugout.

Even without words I feel this picture evokes a feeling of bitter cold, dejection and yet, somehow, the steely determination needed to play non-league football.

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