How I totally messed up, became a Cottager and tips for taking your kids to an English football match (soccer game)
Learn from mistakes.
It’s more than a good personal mantra, it is part of the reason that we started this travel blog. Mrs. AK and I have been traveling to Europe for 25 years, and we want others to not just learn from, but avoid the mistakes that we’ve made.
In this post, I’ll tell you about a doozy of a mistake that I made. One which set in motion a series of events that would include frustration, cursing, arguing in public, dirty looks from locals, an education on London police authority, and implied accusations of bribery.
This all started with my hope (and excitement) to see an English Premier League game. If you are a soccer (football) fan, attending a Premier League match is likely on your bucket list. Even if you prefer soccer to be called “soccer” and the only real football is the American type played on Sundays as the Good Lord intended, you would still have a great time.
I say this because there are few cultural happenings quite like a soccer match. Whether it is Club or Country, soccer fandom can bring out unfettered joy and the depth of downcast emotion—often in a single 90-minute timeframe.
The first time I ever attended a soccer match overseas was going to an unimportant game in Rome of Lazio versus Parma. The stadium was about half full, but you’d have thought that the very fate of the Italian soul was at stake. That will be another post entirely, but I’ll tell you this—imagine seeing the fire department spraying water on the track surrounding the field before the game. You ask why they are doing that and the dude standing next to you explains that it is to help make sure the fireworks that THE FANS are about to throw onto the field (pitch) don’t set the whole stadium on fire. You suddenly realize that shit is about to go down. Seconds later, the stands erupt as THOUSANDS of fireworks with the size or fury of road flares magically appear in everyone's hands and are thrown down to the field.
Remember…this is for an “unimportant” game.
Yes, the English are famously not Italian in their personality and passion. But the one thing that will crack those stoic stiff uppers of an Englishman is a match featuring his or her club.
So as we are planning our time in London, I put “attend a Premier match” at the top of my list.
My excitement was quickly dashed when I realized that there was only one Premier League game scheduled in London while we were in town…and that game was a London Derby which is the nickname given to the annual clashes between rival London clubs. In this case, it was Chelsea versus Arsenal. And you know that game is not going to be cheap.
For context, this is like going to see Bears/Packers or Red Sox/Yankees. Sure, you could find seats, but you will pay a hefty premium just to get into the park. In this case, the premium was nosebleed seats at the top of the O2 Arena for 300 pounds per person. Yep, POUNDS.
So I’m looking at $500 per person for a view that might as well be at blimp level. Considering that I spent less than $500 per flight round trip, I knew in my head there was no way Mrs. AK would be down with that type of investment.
I was bemoaning the king’s ransom (sorry, Dad pun) being demanded for pitiful seats to see two mid-table (mediocre/average) teams play in a decidedly unromantically soccer-ish environment to a British friend a few weeks before our trip.
“Ah…then you should go see Fulham play,” was his simple reply. "Fulham football with kids is right fun."
To be honest, I am not sure I had ever heard of Fulham. I think I googled “Fulum” because that’s what the name sounded like to my American ears.
Unless you “follow the Prem” then you might not have heard of Fulham Football Club, but I soon found out that they are the oldest professional football club in London. They were founded in 1879 — just a few years after the great Chicago Fire and the end of Reconstruction. Their stadium was built in 1896 and has the badass name of “Craven Cottage.” I was suddenly intrigued.
And they have never won the Premier League in their 150+ year history — which made the Cubs’ fan in me feel an immediate heart tug of empathy.
In 2019, Fulham was in the English League, which is one step down from the Premier League but they have been up and down between the two leagues over the years. So while not officially the Premier League, the experience for fans is still amazing.
Plus, looking online, seats were about 1/10th the price at 30 pounds each — and there were tons available. I should have booked five seats immediately.
But I didn’t.
I was dumb. To be honest, I’m not sure why I didn’t book. Maybe I thought better seats would open up. Or maybe prices would come down. Whatever my thought process at the time, it was flawed and I had no idea the miserable hassle I was creating.
The Saturday of the match, we spent the morning wandering through St. James Park on to Buckingham Palace. The Queen was not in residence. We snapped a bunch of pictures in front of the gates and then I beckoned a taxi.
It was one of those black, classically London jobs with the jump seats and the delightfully grumpy driver. He gave me a knowing smile when I said, “Craven Cottage, please.” I’m guessing he thought it was funny that an American didn’t know better than to go see an English League team that was pretty much straight garbage that year.
The match was scheduled for 3 pm and we planned to grab tickets and then find a spot nearby for lunch. Fulham FC is in the borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, situated in West London right on the Thames so we figured there would be no lack of charming spots to grab a bite to eat.
The taxi deposited us directly in front of the stadium. Craven Cottage is an unassuming low-slung brick building. In fact, you might mistake it for an old factory if you didn’t know any better.
Entering the ticket office, I asked for five seats.
“Are you a registered fan?” the clerk asked.
I came to find out that there is an entire process enacted by the London Police in the name of crowd control. When there is a rivalry game and the tickets are not sold out, walk-up tickets are only sold to “registered fans.” Fulham fans are called "Cottagers" which probably sounds more like a fan of artisanal cottage cheese than soccer. In any case, I wasn't a Cottager in my heart (yet) or in the eyes of the fan database managed by the Fulham brass.
“It’s a measure to ensure that hooligans don’t take over,” the clerk told me in a matter-of-fact tone.
That’s odd, I thought and left the ticket office. I figured I would just buy tickets on the street. Surely there were scalpers for a popular match.
Within minutes, I saw a guy flashing tickets. He and his buddy had that look I’ve seen a thousand times outside of Wrigley Field. That look that says, “I’m selling.”
Approaching him, I said, “Selling any extras?”
“Uh oy?” the guy asked.
“Are you selling any tickets?” I clarified.
The two Cottagers looked at me like I had a third eye coming out of my forehead. Then shook their heads and walked away.
Finding a friendlier-looking bloke, I asked him if people sell tickets on the street. He explained that it was highly unlikely. “You won’t find that here,” he explained.
I cursed under my breath and explained to Mrs. AK that we might have an issue.
“Why didn’t you buy them before?” she asked with a delightfully accusatory tone.
“I don’t know. I just didn’t”
I’ll spare you the details…but a public argument followed. During this verbal berating, I spied a different entrance that read, “VIP and PRESS” and hatched a new plan.
Entering with confidence, I asked the person behind the desk if it would be possible to buy tickets. I explained that I was not a registered fan but was hoping to take my kids to a game. The attendant was sympathetic and explained that there was nothing to be done. I dropped the fact that I was a travel blogger and former reporter hoping that maybe I could get in as a member of the press.
While I was trying to smooth talk my way in, the woman sparked an idea. “I could see if we could get you into a hospitality suite.”
Awesome, I thought to myself. A skybox for a football match. The kids will think I’m a baller.
“That could work. How much will it cost?” I asked.
“It would be 75 pounds each,” she replied. “Let me check with some managers. It will take me a few minutes.”
Sweet. A suite. Things were turning up. I exited the booth to tell Mrs. AK that I had an angle on tickets.
After about 20 minutes, I went back to the VIP entrance to see if the attendant was able to make arrangements for us.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot accommodate you.” I was crushed.
“What is the issue?” I asked.
“The suites are set up for a certain number of persons. The catering manager says that there will not be enough food and drink for your family.”
“Oh, that’s ok. We won’t eat.”
“I’m sorry, they will not allow it.”
I pleaded my case for a few more minutes but to no avail.
Exiting again, I told Mrs. AK what they said and received that I can’t believe how bad you messed up stare.
More frustration and a bit of one-sided arguing ensued. By now, locals were staring at the Americans who were having a row.
The kids were standing there just staring at us. Our middle one was wearing a Fulham ski cap (because of course he buys a ski cap in August) and then inspiration struck yet again.
Hoping that a mixture of pity and cuteness might work, I scooped up our three-year-old in my arms and took the middle one by the hand, and re-entered the VIP area.
There was a different attendant at the counter, and I launched into my plea.
“Hi. My family is here on holiday from Chicago, and my kids have been dreaming to see a football match.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but unless you are a registered fan, we cannot sell you tickets because of the police order to prevent fans from the other team and hooligans from gaining entry.”
Stonewalled again.
“I understand that, but clearly I’m not a fan of Nottingham Forest,” I said pulling my son
closer to me to show off his newly purchased Fulham cap. “I just want to take my kids to see an English football match. Is there any other way? I’d gladly pay whatever the price.”
Then a different attendant came around the counter to interrupt me.
“Sir, I see what you are doing here.”
I froze. Did it sound like I was offering a bribe to get into the game? Was I? Would I? Is she going to call the police on me? Suddenly, my mistake in planning felt like it was ballooning into a potentially criminal mess.
“I see that you are very much wanting to attend this match, but as my colleague said, we are on a restricted sale and you cannot purchase tickets.”
I waited for a shoe to drop. Surely they wouldn’t call the police on a dad with two cute kids in tow. Mrs. AK is going to kill me now. She’ll fly home with the kids while I’m in a British jail.
“You cannot purchase tickets. However, we do set aside a limited number of seats for special occasions.”
I stared at her almost not understanding what she was saying.
“We would like you to have them with our compliments.”
So I’m not going to jail. Cool. Wait…we are also getting into the match!
“Oh my…thank you!” I shouted.
“It’s our pleasure. The seats are not great, but you’ll be in.”
“Thank you so much. I could hug you!” I said suddenly wondering if hugging a stranger would be entirely out of bounds. Instead, I went to my middle son. “Run outside to Mom. Tell her to get your brother and go to the gift shop. Buy anything you want.”
I was elated. I went from fail dad to hero dad in the blink of an eye.
Joining the rest of the family in the gift shop, I bought a Fulham baseball hat. My older son picked out a jersey, and my daughter fell in love with a plush dog wearing a Fulham kit.
Soon we were in line to enter the stadium, and I finally took a moment to take in the industrial beauty of Craven Cottage. The red brick exterior resembles a series of row houses or a light industry factory. White timber and trims throughout give it a very proper feel. This isn’t steel and glass modernity. You know that you are stepping into something special as you squeeze through the turnstiles that were designed when humans weren’t quite as tall…or wide.
Climbing up the gangways, we emerged at the top of the seating area with the great green pitch laid out before us. It was a sunny day with a crystal blue sky and a plush carpet of green spreading across the pitch and right up to the stands. Everything seemed so close…even the stands that were 100 meters away on the other end.
Walking down the rows, we found our seats in the corner end about ten rows up from the field. The attendant was right, these seats were not choice — it was difficult to see the play on the other end, but when it was in our zone you felt close enough to see the beads of sweat running down their faces.
We’ll never forget the first corner kick. To see these amazing athletes playing the beautiful game with a majesty of motion and power was to witness athleticism elevated to an art.
Shortly after, there was a foul called on Fulham near our seats. My younger son (age 9) reacted with all of the persecuted frustration of a 50-year-old fan whose team consistently gets ALL the bad calls from the refs.
English football fans have a tremendous pride of place. Fandom for your club is very local. You are not just a fan of the local team. The local team represents your community. It’s as much a part of your neighborhood AND personal identity as your favorite pub and your favorite uncle. It’s all part of the mesh that makes you excited to return home from a hard day at the office or a long time on the road. It makes seeing the fans in their favorite element that much more meaningful. You suddenly feel like you are part of a family.
When Fulham finally scored in the second half, it was like being transported to the eye of a hurricane. Fans screamed, yelled, and stomped their feet. You could feel the stadium shaking from the rafters. It was an explosion of joy, unlike anything we’ve ever experienced. I’ve seen crowds at the World Series or Super Bowl that were subdued in comparison.
Outside of that score, the crowd chants and songs were wildly entertaining. The standard and most repeated was simply, “Come on Fulham!” The chant of “We Hate Chelsea” was also entertaining if a bit misplaced.
Nottingham Forest ended up pushing in a second goal late to take the match to the great disappointment of everyone in attendance… especially my nine-year-old.
After the game, we walked down to the first row and snapped some pictures a single step away from the pitch with the Craven Cottage sign in the background. Definite Christmas card material and capturing memories that won’t soon fade.
If you end up going to a Fulham match, be sure to buy your tickets online well in advance. And if you fancy a pint and a bite to eat before or after the match, check out the Crabtree Pub. It has great views of the Thames and an amazing outdoor garden space that is perfect for families to enjoy an afternoon while the kids don’t have to be moored to their seats. It’s one of our favorite spots in all of London.
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