It is unlikely that Arsène Wenger had a great deal of input into this aspect of the stadium design, although he would probably have been in favour of creating more space between the touchline and the stands to allow for his substitutes to warm up properly and lessen the likelihood of injuries that might be caused by chasing a ball running out of play and crashing into advertising hoardings. But if Arsène prefers to watch from the poor viewpoint of the technical area because he can't stand the separation from his players, how does he think the fans feel, with their heroes that much further out of reach?
The change in atmosphere aside, the crowning glory of the Emirates is that the sheer scale of the arena creates a striking impression. Perhaps this reflects its unusual setting. Suddenly, emerging out of the capital city's concrete jungle, Simon Inglis's matchless 21st-century stadium rises like a phoenix out of the ashes of an area whose heyday had long passed. Normally you would expect to find a similar structure alongside a major thoroughfare and approach it through soulless walkways. Continental in conception, the location is both traditionally and contemporaneously British in character. Surrounded by terraced houses, cheek by jowl with luxury apartments in the process of construction (some courtesy of Arsenal, the property company) and serviced by multicultural supermarkets and takeaways, the stadium exemplifies football's place in the community in today's urban London. Unfortunately, despite the 60,000 capacity it is still not possible to roll up on matchday and buy a ticket. Only season-ticket holders and members have the right of entry and there are thousands waiting to join them (although locals and owners of one of the newly built Highbury Square flats had the opportunity to jump up the priority list).
For the fortunate thousands able to get in from the start there were four categories of membership: platinum (for those who had bought season tickets in the expensive Club Level middle tier), gold (ordinary season-ticket holders), silver (members who were given the first opportunity to purchase individual match tickets on a game-by-game basis) and red (who could buy any remaining match tickets once the silver membership's four-week preferential period had elapsed). There were 9,000 platinum members, 36,000 gold, 22,000 silver and 80,000 red (the red category â the final one on the registered fan food chain â is the only one open to new comers). In the event that a fixture fails to sell out, only then would non-members get their chance. However, there seemed little likelihood of this ever happening if the experience of the first season was anything to go by and one suspects that only a sustained lack of success will see non-members ever attending in any great numbers. With over 100,000 silver and red members paying £26 and £25 a season respectively just to have the opportunity to buy tickets, the system suited the club just fine.
Naturally the Emirates had teething problems, not least the difficulty of getting away after the final whistle. From the first games, as the clock wound down an expanse of red seats started to become part of the scenery as thousands headed for the exits early in the hope of beating the crush in the streets outside. Although the local council had expected Holloway Road and Drayton Park stations to be upgraded, Transport for London decided that the cost of £70 million was not justified for fewer than 30 matchdays a year, which put excessive pressure on the Arsenal, Finsbury Park and Highbury & Islington stations. Local authority parking restrictions had made it a chore to travel to matches by car, so the by-product for those who did not live within walking distance were inevitable post-match queues to get on the available trains, a situation exacerbated with the authorities themselves on a learning curve, refining their own crowd-control arrangements match by match. “The bottom line,” as Mark Woodward, who travels from Felixstowe by road and rail put it after the first few weeks, “is that different people have different journeys to make, and with no upgrade in the transport infrastructure, coupled with the 20,000 increase in attendance, people are still adjusting to the new realities and the number leaving early has increased.” A few months were needed for the club, police and local authorities to adjust to the new environment. By the time the Emirates opened for a second season, they had all mostly got to grips with the situation, although old habits died hard for many who had become accustomed to beating the full-time exodus.
Inside the stadium there were new experiences to come to terms with too. Gone were the cramped conditions of the old ground, so that there were not only more ways to spend money on food and drink but it could be consumed in a far more agreeable environment, not least on the upper tier concourses which afforded spectacular vistas of London on all sides. The view from the Upper East side also encompassed Highbury, which brought home the remarkable feat of moving just round the corner. Or at least it did, until the flats in Drayton Park were built and most of the old stadium demolished.
In spite of the increase in the number of outlets, with the amount of additional customers many would vacate their seats after 30 minutes to beat the half-time rush, and those who did wait until the interval would find themselves at the back of the queue and unable to return until the second half was already underway. At times it felt less like being at a football match and more like an NFL or baseball game, where spectators seem permanently on the move in and out of their seats regardless of what is occurring on the field of play. Further, because of the larger seats, to let someone by everyone was forced to stand up, thereby blocking the view for up to four rows behind them. It was not surprising then that many long-term season-ticket holders bemoaned the change from Highbury, exasperated by the new breed of so-called fans who seemed to care more about their stomachs and journeys home than supporting the team they had paid so much to see.
Of course, compared to season-ticket holders and ordinary members, on a
per capita
basis there were more important revenue streams coming from different levels of VIPs. One of the main reasons that the directors were desperate to move was the lack of availability for premium seats at Highbury â either for affluent individuals or the corporate market. Where the new arena undoubtedly did not disappoint from the start was in bringing in much more revenue than Highbury ever did. The middle tier of the Emirates has over 9,000 premium seats â 7,000 going to Club Level members paying between £2,500 and £4,750 for their season tickets and 2,000 in 150 hospitality boxes, prices for which range from £65,000 to £150,000 a year (which was probably the cost of a couple of weeks' salary to at least two of the boxholders, Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp). These prices applied for the first two years of the stadium's life so will inevitably increase from the start of the 2008/09 season.
The ring of boxes is broken on the west side behind the directors' box, with the Diamond Club. For a joining membership fee of £25,000, the 84 members (and membership to this elite was by invitation only) were entitled to purchase two season tickets at an annual cost of £12,500 each, which include one of the matchday parking spots in the bowels of the stadium, safe from the attentions of Islington Council's traffic wardens. The area behind the seats has been transformed into a setting exemplifying corporate opulence to a standard unmatched by any other football ground. The marble floor, inlaid wood carvings commemorating past achievements, display cabinets with gleaming trophies, classic photos, repro Highbury clock, leather upholstery and glass tables all combine to give a most luxurious art deco feel to the enclave where the privileged members can enjoy complementary food and drink to a standard worthy of a Michelin star before, during or after the match. “Whilst I can never envisage myself hurling abuse at a ref whilst being enveloped in one of the plush leather armchairs,” says Brian Dawes, who had the opportunity to wander around the Diamond Club on a non-matchday, “it is somehow comforting to know that we've got such a place in our very own stadium, even if the whole concept gives a big two fingers to the hardcore fans supping overpriced beer on the bland lower-tier concourse.”
Directly below the Diamond Club lies the directors' matchday area. It is a world away from the antiquated Highbury boardroom which had to double up as a reception area and could only provide a buffet, a space so confined that there was no way you could avoid the opposing directors and their guests. Now there is no need to fraternise with directors of clubs with which relations are more strained. With a room which can comfortably accommodate 120 people there are allocated tables in the style of a wedding reception (and indeed there is little to suggest that the room is anything more than a spot for an exclusive upmarket do), so there is no need for Peter Hill-Wood to dine alongside Peter Kenyon if he doesn't want to. As in the Diamond Club, the wine flows whilst a sumptuous three-course meal is consumed, with guests often having to make the choice between the dessert course and the kick-off. As on the concourse, why rush when you can polish off the coffee and brandy and see the start on the plasma screens liberally distributed around the room? But of course, you really should go outside eventually and although the directors and their fellow VIPs are naturally located in the best seats imaginable (both in terms of view and comfort) a concession has been made to try to get them on the same wavelength as the fans by not putting in any heating, so on the coldest days they have to make do with a warming Arsenal blanket. (The accoutrements of the old boardroom have been transported across to decorate the new one situated in the turquoise building above the North Bank Bridge known as Highbury House, providing a link with the past, albeit tonally out of keeping with the new surroundings.)
The Club Level members' seats are on the same level as the directors' box, and their perks include free drinks at half time, which invariably sees the entire middle ring almost completely vacated after 45 minutes. As there is no control over the actual amount that can be drunk during the interval, some supporters will commandeer as many as three pints of pre-poured lager to down during the 15 minutes. As beverages have to be consumed on the concourse behind the seats, there are unsurprisingly still a large number of empty places when the second half resumes (reminiscent of the resumption of play after the lunch interval at a Lord's or Oval international cricket match), with many opting to remain on the comfortable concourse to watch the game on monitors while they polish off their drinks. But 10 minutes of a football match is a comparatively greater slice of missed action than half an hour of a day's cricket. If so many are happy to watch a significant part of the action on television, it begs the question as to why they don't opt for the comfort of their own homes on the numerous occasions that Emirates games are broadcast live. Certainly, due to the sheer numbers of thirsty punters involved service is understandably slow, but the thought of missing even a minute with a fantastic view of habitually exhilarating football is a concept that mystifies many in the âcheap' seats. As one of the minority who put football first, Club Level season-ticket holder Stuart Singer shares their dismay. “I also imagine that this display of apparent indifference must be a major wind-up for those who would give their right arm for such a privileged pers pective,” he stated. “Considering Club Level's prominent position, surely the players must also be aware of all the empty seats. This can hardly inspire them to sweat blood for the Arsenal cause.”
Alan Smith concurred that the behaviour “worries everybody. It's that feeling of theatre isn't it? You want to feel that all the fans are dying for the second half to get underway and they're right behind you. As a player, there's nothing worse than seeing empty seats and then, although you're concentrating on the game, you get this perception of people slowly drifting in. I think it does affect players.” The moral appears to be that if you invite in corporate money, you invite in corporate ways. There is no doubt that many in the Club Level are not die-hard Arsenal fans, and some might not even be particularly interested in sport. But a seat at the Emirates is one of the hottest tickets in town.
Corporate hospitality has been prioritised, and has undoubtedly affected the atmosphere, but financially the middle tier is a necessity, with the average premium category season-ticket holder contributing three or four times as much to the club coffers as the standard attendees in the lower and upper tiers. Moreover, when the boxes and Diamond Club are added to the Club Level season tickets the income from the three categories exceeds that of Highbury: fewer than 10,000 people producing an annual matchday turnover of over £35 million. So the 50,000 ordinary fans provide additional revenue (approximately £55 million a year) to that which was ever received before the move from Highbury. In one fell swoop the Emirates went head-to-head with Old Trafford as the biggest revenue-generating club football stadiums in the world â London prices and brand values allowing the club to offset the larger capacities in, for example, Madrid and Milan. Arsenal FC earns a cool £3 million-plus every matchday; a staggering 100% increase over Highbury, overhauling broadcasting as the chief revenue source. Even allowing for whopping interest payments and a substantial rise in operational costs, it would be surprising if the club does not end up with a substantial annual net profit as long as they continue to fill the stadium.
Despite the exorbitant pricing policy and with only the 2005 FA Cup to show for the previous two years' efforts, the entire middle tier with its large number of prestige seats was sold out for the opening season. It clearly demonstrated the club's earning potential and underlined the sheer amount of lost income from the latter years at Highbury. Yet the key question was whether people were paying for the novelty value or was repeat custom likely. And would there be others willing to replace them if they dropped out?