Happy Clapper Manifesto

Let the love in at the football

In 2019, Portman Road, infamously, "happy clapped" the worst Ipswich Town in history to relegation. "Because every little thing, is gonna be alright" we sang as Paul Lambert and his charges toured the pitch to take our applause. The meaning of that moment stuck with a lot of people as a symbol of what was wrong with Ipswich Town Football Club. A club with a cozy fanbase, that would happily clap any old dross. Where there was no pressure to excel, an acceptance of mediocrity, a culture where players could lie back and make some easy money. Comfortable.

I think there's an underlying theory of football fandom where pressure forms diamonds. The more demanding the supporters, the less tolerant of failure, the readier we all are criticise, berate and abuse, the better off we'll be. The only thing to enjoy at the football is the winning and anything else deserves constant invective, lest you inadvertently be seen to accept failure.

You could discern a few fruits of the theory during yesterday’s 4-3 defeat to Leeds. The gents next to me (and few others besides) reckoned Wes Burns, Vas Hladky and Harry Clarke were all "fucking shit". Massimo Luongo earned similar at some point. I was surprised that Kayden Jackson and Freddie Ladapo didn't get the same, but I suppose by the time you've spent an hour demanding Burns' substitution you can't logically gripe too much at the other players available to occupy his slot. The introduction of Omari Hutchinson and new signing Brandon Williams was even a prompt for the manager to get some flack, for believing in Hutchinson (written off after 4 brief cameos) and for introducing Williams too early.

I have to confess this sort of behaviour rather bothers me. I should let it go because it will always be there, but I can’t. Obviously, there's the context. This Ipswich team and these Ipswich players haven't lost a league game for 8 months and even that took place in fog so thick the away fans were spared seeing the goal we actually lost to. Home fans haven't seen us lose since Lincoln City somehow managed to erect a forcefield around the North Stand goal last October. Perhaps a bit of leeway for the lads wouldn't go amiss?

It was a tough afternoon and plenty of our players found their individual battles too much to handle. You felt for Harry Clarke in particular, with Colombia international Luis Sinisterra stationed permanently 10 metres off his right shoulder, too high and wide to get tight to without leaving a chasm between him and his centre half, but just too good on the dribble to defend him once the ball got to his feet in space. "Just show him down the line, you idiot". I’m sure that never occurred to him.

Burns getting a good look at their three different Left Backs (Byram, Drameh and Shackleton) was the price Leeds paid for leaving their wantaway Colombian star up front in a very stretched 4-2-4, a gamble they got away with for the most part. Wes got the movement right but might need to get used to opposition defenders who can actually catch up to him. Five chances created and three shots still doesn't feel like a "fucking shit" performance to me, even if there were a few exasperating moments.

The specific individuals targeted, in the specific context, were a bit puzzling, but the general strategy for watching your football team puzzles me more. If the last 2 years should have taught us anything about football, then surely it is the futility of "tough love" (though it often seems more like "tough hate"). Nothing marked the reign of Paul Cook more than his tendency to throw his players to the wolves. He loved an unguarded comment about effort, application and desire. Catch Cook on the wrong day and he'd be chucking barbs about pub players and competition winners around, when he wasn't exiling players to the bomb squad. No manager ever gave more encouragement to the "always be abusing" brigade, who seem to hate no-one more than the footballers they pay to watch.

Football has changed. You barely catch McKenna criticising the players in public. The central message is always "bravery" and to get bravery you need belief. Every bit of man management in the club seems directed towards this idea. The players need to be driven, but they also need that love, that encouragement, to see how good they can be. This is entirely consistent with what you see happening at elite clubs - you watch Guardiola or Arteta or Klopp, the mantra is positive. Even when they're giving out a bollocking, the subtext is "you are so much better than this". It is all about an environment where you are secure enough to succeed. Comfortable.

Now, the people in the stands aren't the manager, it's not actually our responsibility to get the players in the right head space to play well. They probably won't hear you calling them "fucking shit" anyway, although I'd definitely contend that a home crowd has an energy that the players can discern. Ultimately, we pay our money, we can enjoy the game however we want, you don't have to care or believe that you're helping or hindering what's going on the pitch, although it strikes me as a strange attitude towards supporting your club.

I also just wonder if it is the best way to enjoy the football. As I hurtle into middle age and more than a quarter century as a match going fan, I recognise that I've done my fair share of hating. You get to that point of exasperation as a football fan where you probably curse your own players more than the referee and the opposition combined. You pick your sacrificial lamb, the guy responsible for all our woes, and every touch seems calculated to offend you personally. You land on some irrational targets over the years. I'm sorry, Jonas Knudsen, it wasn't you, it was me.

But as the lousy Lambert era blurred into Cook's stuttering stint, I found myself getting more zen when it came to the players. The more I assumed that they were mainly decent professionals doing whatever they could to maximise their abilities in the most competitive field imaginable, the less I assumed they were "stealing a wage", the less my life filled with misery and rage when I went to the football. The more I wanted them to succeed and believed in their ability, the less rancid the vibe seemed around Portman Road. In short, the more happily I clapped, the more I actually enjoyed the experience of going to the football and the better I felt about the world. With hindsight, that "Three Little Birds" in 2019 started to feel less like weakness and more like resilience. We chose to keep believing in our club rather than succumb to anger and despair.

So I suppose that makes me a happy clapper now. Maybe you can't be one too. You just can't make your peace with the worst of Wes Burns' crosses or Kayden Jackson's first touches. But perhaps now is good time to try. We have a likeable team, with no doubts over their effort and credit for a wonderful season in their pockets. The finger doesn't need to hover quite so close to the trigger when it comes to giving them grief. It doesn't need to be the first place you go. As we inevitably start to lose more games in a tougher division, we can stop ourselves going back to the place where the first instinct in to get on people’s backs. You don’t need to utter every curse or throw every criticism.

Our players will make a whole bunch more mistakes before we're done this season, but if you stick with them through as much as you can, I promise it'll be better for them and, more importantly, better for you.

Ps. Wes will prove you wrong.