From Dockworkers to Oil States

What the Premier League teaches us about community in a globalized world.

This year's season of the Premier League (England’s top tier of club soccer) is nearing its midpoint, and millions of supporters gather each week in pubs, living rooms, and internet forums, engaging in what might be my personal favorite demonstration of modern community. The relationship between Premier League teams (or clubs, as they’re usually called) and their supporter communities is a fascinating one, and one that has evolved dramatically over the decades.

Most Premier League clubs began as expressions of hyper-local identity—works teams, church groups, or neighborhood associations that gave working-class communities a focal point for collective pride. Manchester United emerged from railway workers, Arsenal from munitions factory employees, West Ham from Thames Ironworks. These weren't entertainment brands; they were organic extensions of the communities that created them, with supporters who inherited their allegiances like family names and gathered on terraces that served as extensions of the local pub or factory floor.

Today's landscape is almost unrecognizable. Clubs are owned by nation-states, oligarchs, and investment consortiums who view them as global assets rather than community institutions. A teenager in Seoul may feel more connected to Liverpool than someone who grew up in Merseyside but can no longer afford match tickets. Fan communities increasingly exist in digital spaces that span continents but may never share physical proximity, creating what we might call "imagined communities" in Benedict Anderson's sense—bound together by shared symbols and rituals rather than geography or kinship.

Community persists, but it’s different now. I find myself supporting Tottenham Hotspur not because of geography, family tradition, or class solidarity, but because I like their new coach and I’m drawn to their "vibe". I may be willing to wake up at 5 AM to watch them play on the other side of the world, but will I still if Thomas Frank leaves after one season? And how much pride can I really feel when they win if my connection to them represents only my current preference and not some deeply engrained characteristic like birthplace or family tradition?

Even as these clubs go global, they seem desperate to recreate the magic of the thing they are moving away from. They want endless resources and global reach without losing a shared identity that was made meaningful by limited resources and localized reach. These clubs have brands that are built on shared history, but can the brand remain as strong when the shared history is lost? If, for example, support is based largely on preference and vibes, it will likely fluctuate with the performance of the team. In such a world, do the losers of today stand any chance of rebuilding momentum tomorrow? How will this change the way clubs compete, invest, and grow? And what will this mean for the dyed-in-the-wool supporters that do still hold to that shared history? Only time will tell. In the meantime, “Come on you Spurs!"