The sports stadium is a part of the fabric of a city. Any municipality worth its salt has a sporting complex but a stadium or an arena that supports top-flight athletics is something that many urban centers pursue for prestige. One of the marks of a megacity is the number of stadiums and arenas: one is not enough and the more there are the greater the prestige and the more diverse the sporting interests. The very size of modern stadiums speaks to the popularity and centrality – and, of course, the economic possibilities – of sport.
The modern sports stadium has evolved from Hellenic and Hellenistic models. Sports stadiums were often large in antiquity, demonstrating that the popularity of sport and its ability to bring people together in one place is not a modern phenomenon. Like seemingly much else, this central sporting landmark did not exist in feudal Western Europe. One could certainly argue that the dourness and backwardness of medieval Europe are connected to the lack of proper sporting complexes.
The tradition of the large stadium may have bypassed some eras but there is a traceable lineage back to those ancient archetypes. I recently visited Afrodisias and marveled at the size of the stadion. The grandeur continued into the Roman age, best exemplified by the Colosseum in Rome and later the Hippodrome of Constantinople. The modern stadium, which arose in the United Kingdom in the mid-19th century, built off the antique example.
A curious and wonderful ability of the stadium is its ability to evoke history and nostalgia and a sense of connection rare for a building. This is unsurprising: after all, a team playing in their own stadium is called the “home” side and invariably a team does better in their own stadium than on their travels. But, like much else in our globalized and corporatized world, the emotional attachment to and the local character of the stadium is disappearing.
Some might scoff at my disregard towards globalization but there is no doubt that money is at the heart of the degradation of the emotional connection to the abode of a sports team. It is the sponsorship of stadiums that is ruining the experience. It attacks one of the important elements of any unique entity, whether it is a person or a pet or a building: its name.
Where there was once a Meadowlands, there is now a MetLife Stadium. The Palace of Auburn Hills, a wonderful name in its own right and carved in history by lending its name to one of the most notorious brawls in NBA history, has given way to Little Caesars Arena. The Britannia stadium evokes empire and King Arthur and patriotism with its name; the Bet365 Stadium evokes internet ads.
In the United States, the process of converting stadium names to advertisement opportunities is almost complete. There are some holdouts: Lambeau Field is one of the few in the NFL, which has two complexes sponsored by Mercedes-Benz. In major league baseball, some of the most iconic stadiums have kept their names and, therefore, their history and their mystique: Fenway Park, Yankees Stadium, Camden Yards, Dodgers Stadium, and Wrigley Field. But they reside in the same league as Globe Life Field, Minute Maid Park, and T-Mobile Park.
I feel that the greatest loss has been in the NBA. The league has had some of the greatest names in stadium history: the Boston Garden with its iconic surface; the Great Western Forum and the glamour of its celebrity clientele; The Spectrum and The Omni; the Alamodome, a brilliant appropriation of local history; and the Salt Palace. Now they have been replaced by anodyne and suburban names like the Staples Center, two stadiums sponsored by American Airlines, and the Wells Fargo Center. Rocket Mortgage Field House and the Smoothie King Center are examples of the ridiculous. Thankfully, perhaps the most iconic arena in the United States retains its name: Madison Square Garden, whose sobriquet as the “Mecca of Basketball,” says much about how important these structures are to the general consciousness that we would nickname one after the holiest site of one of the world’s largest religions.
In European football, the trend toward corporate stadium names has begun but hasn’t reached the pernicious depths of the American sporting system. In Italy, while the biggest club, Juventus, has succumbed to the riches of the insurance company, Allianz, most stadiums have eschewed sponsorship. Saints and other human personages are the most common sources for stadium monikers. Spain too has maintained the nostalgia and history of their complexes: the Camp Nou, the Santigao Bernabeu, San Mames, and the Mestalla evoke a certain sense of tradition. Sponsors are finding traction difficult. Stadiums that have sponsored names, like the Wanda Metropolitano or the Reale Arena, remain known more commonly as the Metropolitano and the Anoeta.
Oddly, Germany, where fan ownership is the common model, is the league with the most commercial infiltration of these sacred temples of sport. Allianz apparently has an outsized budget for advertising as they sponsor not only Juventus in Serie A but also the Bundesliga’s premier team, Bayern Munich. Meanwhile, Westfalenstadion is now known as Signal Iduna Park, which to be fair has a certain mystery because it’s not a well-known company, at least outside of Germany (it turns out to be another insurance company). Elsewhere, energy firms and automobile manufacturers have stamped their names on stadiums, besides the more obvious Red Bull Stadium and Bayer Arena, which take the names of corporations who are majority owners of German sides.
It is in England – and the rest of the United Kingdom, as well as Ireland – where we can see the last, best hope for the retention of the nostalgic, evocative stadium name. But the signs are worrying. Sponsorship has taken over some of the biggest parks in the land and the high-risk financial tightropes of the English football structure will surely to smaller clubs turning to commercial interests for an injection of funds. After all, what’s in a name?
The Emirates and the Etihad, named after airlines owned by emirates fueled by petro-dollars and international finance, are among the six largest stadiums in the country, though the peculiarities of the definite article in the English language can make the names palatable. The Emirates and the Etihad sometimes lead you to forget they are drawn from commercial companies. Same with the King Power (Leceister City) and the Amex (Brighton). Sadly, there is no such luck for Bet365 Stadium. The unimaginatively named Tottenham Hotspur Stadium is surely just counting minutes until a sponsorship comes around; my bet is on Amazon.
But these examples are relatively rare. English stadiums have done a remarkable job preserving their history. 14 of the largest 35 stadiums opened in the 19th century. They have been since renovated, of course, but they remain on the same site and with the same name. Another four opened over a hundred years ago. It’s just absolutely remarkable and it shows a persistent aversion to building newer and bigger in the far suburbs – really highlighting the integration with the community even as these clubs become highly globalized brands.
The names of English stadiums are also fantastic and they retain their local aura. Of the 50 largest stadiums, ten have the word Park in them, bringing to mind a kick-around with your friends after work or on the weekend. St. James Park in Tyneside and Goodison Park in Liverpool are notable examples. Parks are also very popular in Scotland, gracing the names of 11 of the largest 15 stadiums in the country.
Seven are named after streets, with five Roads and two Lanes. Grounds like Vicarage Road evoke not modern monstrosities of steel and concrete but the world of Miss Marple. Two recently closed stadiums were also named after streets, Manchester City’s Maine Road and Tottenham’s legendarily monikered White Hart Lane.
Saint names and person names are popular with the latter being particularly interesting. The sources of these names are obscure. Their renown is specific to a particular locale at a particular point in time. Wolverhampton’s Molineux comes from the Molineux House, built in the mid-18th century by a local merchant named Benjamin Molineux. Bramall Lane takes its name from a road named after the Bramall family, who were file and graver manufacturers. The wonderful Craven Cottage is an actual cottage built in 1780 by the sixth Baron Craven.
There is also a beautiful trend towards bucolic names, perhaps a nod to the importance of the countryside in British life. Some tend towards the idyllic and somewhat generic, like the Riverside or the Valley, whereas others are more daring, as if springing from the pens of great British writers of the past: the Hawthorns and the Turf Moor, which brings to mind Wuthering Heights or the Hound of the Baskervilles.
My favorites may be the ones names after local place names or landmarks. These aren’t necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing or imaginative but they highlight the local roots of football. Even some of the biggest clubs in English football, those that appear at the top of the money lists, are anchored to their neighborhoods through their stadium names: Old Trafford, Anfield, Stamford Bridge.
One worries if they will go the way of Highbury, which brings to mind the gallantry and chivalry of the court of King Arthur. I’m sure Arsenal fans still refer to their home turf as Highbury and I wouldn’t blame them. Legendary stadiums depend on their names: Ebbets Field in Brooklyn retains its place in baseball history over 60 years after it held its final game. Would we say the same were it called Conedison Park? The names of places are important and the names of stadiums form the final frontier in our most beautiful game’s battle against complete and utter commercialization. Here’s to fewer Allianz Stadiums and to more Stadiums of Light.