After a great deal of umming and ahing I bite the bullet and click. Tickets purchased. Not next to each other but they seem pretty close although you can’t really tell from a stadium plan. The match is not for a couple of weeks but already the worry kicks in.
First concern – the planning. It’s a 3pm kick off, so what time will I need to leave the house? It takes about 45 minutes, but will there be traffic? I had a puncture last month, could that happen again? And should I leave earlier just in case? Where will I park? I usually leave the car by the Science Park but that has become so popular in recent years that it can be difficult to find a space. Jump on Google Earth (why though, you’ve looked before?) and see if there are any side streets nearby. Decide that there really is nowhere else to park and simply opt to leave even earlier to secure a space. Recall the time I tried to park elsewhere and spent the entire game stressing about whether the car would be safe, clamped or if I would forget how to walk back to it.
Next concern – if ’m not sat next to my son, who will be, and who will I be next to? That will be awkward. What happens if they try to talk to me? What happens if they are really loud, and they expect me to sing (which I never do) and then ask me why I bother coming? This has happened.
What if the person next to me is a man and is there without children? That always makes it worse. A single man. For me men can be intimidating and even threatening, and sometimes I just want to get away. To be sat immediately beside a lone, adult man for the best part of two hours would be extremely challenging.
Not all, but some of the nights in the run up to the game are spent mithering about the potential “match day experience”. It’s silly how something that I want to do and something that I enjoy can create such negative feelings.
Match day finally arrives. I check and double check everything from tickets to mobile phone. I have filled the car (just in case the stadium has relocated 250 miles further away) and we’re off. The traffic is already building up and thankfully I manage to park on the end of the road where I always do. Another couple of minutes and I would have melted under a lava of panic.
Walking to the stadium I start to feel relieved as so many of my worries are proven unfounded. Except then...new ones arrive. What if the scanner on the turnstiles cannot read the barcode on my ticket? What will happen when the security guard checks me and places his hands on my arms and legs? I hate being touched and sometimes unwanted contact can feel like a burn. What happens if I cannot find the correct entrance? It used to be easy when I had the same seat week in, week out but nowadays we have to get seats wherever we can.
Finally in the stadium I start to familiarise myself with the location of the seat. How far am I from the pitch? Where are the steps and exits, and how many people could be either side of me? The music kicks in over the PA system and it’s loud! I can cope with this until I hear multiple conversations as the fans start to pour in. Then a phone goes off, some fans jeer as the opposition come on to the pitch to warm up and you can hear the players kicking balls into the hoardings. It’s the “all at once” which autistic people struggle to process.
Kick-off is almost upon us when six large speakers get wheeled on to the pitch. They turn out not to be speakers but are gas containers which ignite, firing huge flames into the air. You can feel the heat from them in the stands and each time a flame rockets upwards I can feel my heart racing. Then for some unknown reason there are fireworks! Without warning there are explosions and flashes around and above the stadium. I thought this was a football match not a rock concert?
The reason I enjoy going to a match is because I can switch off for 90 minutes and my attention is focused on the game. I’ve worked out that I’m not really that bothered who wins. I just like being able to sit and savour an hour and a half of entertainment and hopefully excitement. It’s just that sometimes that can be tricky. If there are fans around me shouting, I cannot relax and am unable to focus on the game. However, my biggest gripe would be the digital advertising boards which start flashing and moving at various times throughout the match. I cannot look at the pitch when these are on, and I cannot see how the players are not distracted by them.
There are ways to improve match days for autistic fans, and clubs are finally starting to take steps to support them. Some clubs provide autism packs containing headphones or flares, fidget toys and a plan of the stadium. Some will allow supporters to visit before the day of the match so they can see where they will be seated. Removing some of the unknown is so helpful. Some stadia have sensory rooms where neuro-diverse individuals can go should they feel overwhelmed.
The trouble is that the clubs are not promoting the support they can provide, and it relies on a fan declaring that they are neuro-diverse and having to be proactive upon arrival at the stadium. A lot of autistic people would lack the confidence to this. Also, from personal experience, it seems that most of the clubs’ efforts to be more autism friendly are aimed at children. As much as I would like to retreat to a sensory room, it’s not something I feel comfortable doing as I haven’t visited it before and don’t know what to expect inside. If it were full of children, I think that would feel very strange. Personally, the autism packs I have seen would do nothing to enhance my match day experience and this is the crux of the issue. Clubs need to know their fans and their individual needs.
Here is my dream match day (Wolves are you listening?) .... There is an area of a stand where I know I can get a ticket whenever I am able to go. I accept that tickets will be on a first come first served basis, just as the tickets in the family area are. This new area is assigned to those with sensory and anxiety issues so that all fans in this area understand and appreciate what we could all be feeling. I can arrive well in advance of or just a few minutes before kick-off and am shown to my seat (this reduces the worry that I won’t be able to find my seat or that I am sat in the wrong place). I would be told if there were to be any flames or fireworks when I arrive, and if there are, I can leave my seat to return to the concourse until they are finished. No one would complain about having to stand up when I leave and return to my seat.
Arriving at the stadium I know exactly which entrance to head for. I will hand my coat and bag to the security staff to be examined and they might scan me with a machine, but they won’t physically touch me as they are aware of my condition.
The match kicks off and there is no pressure to sing or chant. The people around me are not on their phones. At no point during the game am I sent dizzy by moving and flashing hoardings as there are none opposite me. (They could still work on the other three sides of the stadium). If I were to start feeling strange or bad, then I could access a quiet room to collect my thoughts and recharge. I would have seen this room before so that I know its location and what it is like inside.
These things would help me so much and I am sure a lot of individuals with anxiety issues and sensory issues (not just those on the spectrum) would find these ideas appealing. However, there are bound to be many other strategies which other people with ASC could suggest which would support them too. We are all unique and football should be accessible to everyone. Clubs and fans must work together to ensure that the game can be enjoyed by all.
#football #autisminfootball #autisticfan #football #soccer #aspergers #autismawareness #autismacceptance #thisisautism #lifeonthespectrum #wolverhamptonwanderers #adultautism
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