Behind the Great Firewall, the Beautiful Game is Far From Dead
A reflection on football in Beijing
Before I arrived in Beijing, journalists were signaling the end of soccer in China. Tariq Panja, a writer for The Athletic and The New York Times, wrote a brilliantly researched article detailing the sport’s rise and fall. As a football nut, I was left apprehensive that the game would be on its last legs.
Boy, was everyone wrong.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t issues with the sport in China. Those problems are manifold and aren’t too dissimilar to what we find in the US. Most notably, the fact that it remains a predominantly upper-middle-class sport. But the game itself isn’t dead.
Our first taste came early in our stay when the newly crowned World Cup Champions played a friendly against Australia at the brand-new Beijing Workers’ Stadium. It was a sellout crowd, and the day before, folks stood in line for hours just to get a picture with Leo Messi at the Four Seasons.
Fans weren’t immune to the skyrocketing ticket prices, either. Local social media platforms were filled with Chinese soccer fans complaining about the steep barrier to entry. One went so far as to say, “For 4,800, will Messi carry us on his back while he plays?”
But Messi is Messi. Except for the opening match of the Club World Cup, he sees sellout crowds everywhere.
The true test was the domestic league. I went to seven Beijing Guoan matches, and almost all had over 45,000 fans. That’s more than double what D.C. United draws. They often play in front of a half-filled stadium (19,500 capacity). Sure, Beijing is a city of 23 million and the stadium sits right in the city center, but for a sport supposedly on the decline, filling a ground that big for every home match is impressive.
And from what I’m told, it wasn’t just Beijing Guoan. Other clubs in the Chinese Super League draw this sort of attention, too.
The atmosphere was almost always boisterous, bordering on vitriolic—far more intense than the MLS games I’ve attended. While there were choreographed chants led by a well-organized ultra section in the north curve, plenty of fans took their cues from the match itself.
Displeasure with match officials often spilled over into vulgar obscenities that would find direct analogues in stadiums across the UK. Except in Beijing, if it goes on too long, club officials would try to drown them out with rock music or take to the PA system to threaten match bans. I was told later that Guoan fans are noted as some of the most passionate—and vulgar—in the league.
When I ventured out to catch Liverpool matches at Paddy’s, a local Irish Bar, it was almost always packed. The crowd was usually a 70/30 split between expats and locals. The beer was good—though not always cheap, thanks to the “laowai” premium. And the food menu was filled with the sorts of fare one could find at sports bars across America. Even if I liked to describe it as the Chinese version of the Mos Eisley Cantina, it was a home away from home for many of us.
There is even a dedicated Liverpool bar elsewhere in the city. I wrote about it for the Liverpool Echo, which prompted a flurry of friend requests on WeChat from Liverpool fans across China, inviting me to watch matches. While I couldn’t take them up on the offers, it showed how deep the fandom runs.
I didn’t make it to other cities, something I regret, so my observations are geared toward Beijing. But I think the capital cities can be amalgamations of the country they represent; trends and tastes there can offer insight into the rest of the nation.
While the national team may be in perpetual crisis, the game itself has plenty of fans. The death of football behind the Great Firewall isn’t happening anytime soon.
The narrative says Chinese football is dead. The fans say otherwise.
If you found this perspective interesting, please share it with a friend who loves the global game.
Thanks for bringing to story to us! Really enjoyed it!
Awesome breakdown of your experience in Beijing!