The Football Tourism Paradox
Is it possible to authentically experience another football culture?
As I write, I’m in the afterglow of a glorious week of Italian football tourism. I’m cramped in a delayed train at Florence Santa Maria Novella, in the midst of a mammoth return rail journey towards the UK from Naples.
The purpose of this trip – asides an opportunity for increasingly rare quality family time and to take a small break before I embark on the last month of my PhD – has been to manifest my long distance obsession with Italian football.
Specifically, I’m here to tick off some iconic stadium visits off my bucket list. To that end, I’ve snaffled tickets to see Roma beat Parma at the Olimpico, and Napoli play out an entertaining draw with Como at the Maradona.
It’s thus been a week of ultras and tifos, giant flags and whistles, cold beers in pop-up bars and craning over running tracks in grand, crumbling stately homes of calcio. It’s the stuff of football hipster dreams. And I couldn’t be happier.
But as I whittle away the never ending train journey home by writing reflections on my time in Italy - one small episode remains at the forefront of my mind.
It was a miniscule moment, but one that has sparked some serious thinking about the very nature of football tourism itself.
It’s around quarter to six in Rome. The Olimpico is filling up, the atmosphere is building, and the Curva Sud are belting out what seems like Roma’s seventh pre-match ballad of the evening.
We’re sat in the Tribuna Tevere in the midst of a noticeably diverse and international crowd. Far from being embedded within a block of Romanisti as I have envisioned, we are surrounded by fellow travellers. There is barely a word of Italian being spoken. Thus far I have picked up some Dutch, German, French, Arabic and – of course – plenty of English.
This international crowd provides the crucial context for our tale.
Sat immediately to the left of my parents is a solitary young Italian supporter, of no more than 16 or 17 years old. Decked out entirely in the rouge and gold of Roma and belting out every single pre-match anthem with gusto, there could be no doubting the credentials of this young Roman. Given the way that he kept craning towards the Curva Sud, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that his regular seat was somewhere in among the ultras.
However, as the young man’s pre-match excitement reached its zenith, there came a tap on the shoulder from behind. It’s courtesy of an Italian speaking American sat with a group of international exchange students.
As the youngster turned around, she told him bluntly “sedere!” – sit down – before gesturing that her view of the pitch was being blocked by his fidgety excitement.
The young supporter immediately withdrew into himself like a scolded puppy, standing only for the belting pre-match rendition of “Roma, Roma, Roma” and for a disallowed goal just before half time. He disappeared as quickly as possible at half time and never re-appeared. I presume he left our section for richer climes where he could authentically enjoy the second half without fear of tourist recrimination.
As a lifelong matchgoing supporter who earns a meager crust studying cultures of football support, it was a moment that jarred with me.
Here was a group of tourists, palpably unfamiliar with the rites and rituals of the Olimpico, actively impinging on the right of a young Romanista to express himself.
This was an encapsulation of why – at least in an English context – the term “tourist” remains an insult. This group of exchange students had in their own small way prevented the production of the very kind of “authentic” atmosphere that inevitably drew them to the Olimpico.
On reflection, this moment manifested a strange tension and anxiety I felt for the entire time I was on the trip.
Here I was, an outsider to the incredibly football cultures I was travelling to see. On the one hand, I was desperately craving the experience of authenticity, of being part of it.
I wanted to bask in the glow of the Curva Sud, bellow out the names of goalscorers with the rest of the crowd, hold my scarf above my head and sing along to the pre-match club anthem.
But on the other hand, I was hyper-aware of the possibility of my very presence impinging on the spectacle in front of me. My limited Italian undercut my ability to converse with genuine Romanisti. The touristy nature of the crowd in my immediate surrounds emphasised our more transactional nature with the experience.
On reflection, it’s fair to say I could never truly shake a sense of uncomfortability at not truly knowing the peculiarities of the culture attached to this grand old club.
Against these bubbling thoughts, bearing witness to this relatively benign interaction seemed to encapsulate my ongoing misgivings about the ethics of sports tourism.
As such, as the rather drab game proceeded I found myself distracted by a lingering question: is it possible to engage in football tourism without fundamentally detracting from the very experience I’m going to see?
As a heritage scholar who spends his days focussed on themes of authenticity, community representation and protecting the sanctity of football cultures to their communities, there is a strong temptation to skewer the institution of football tourism.
Indeed, my experiences researching football cultures across the North-East of England for my PhD has illuminated some of the potentially distortive impacts of football tourism on the game. As I have interviewed supporters of teams like Newcastle, the impact of football tourism on atmospheres, ticket prices and the ability for local fans to access stadia is undoubtedly significant – especially in elite football.
It’s a problem best summarised in the excellent words of Jonathan Wilson, as a “paradox”.1 Wilson’s argument is simple. By travelling to witness the supporter culture and atmosphere at one of the world’s great footballing cathedrals as a tourist, you are – by definition – actively impinging and undermining the spectacle you seek to enjoy.
But as intellectually watertight as this argument is, I also sense that this sort of cultural protectionism represents the thin end of a slightly sinister nativist wedge.
Here, I find the logical endpoints of this anti-tourism thinking particularly worrying. Implicit within strong critiques of football tourism tends to be a model of cultural property which envisions football clubs – or culture in general – of sole property of a narrowly defined community attached to them.
That not only risks alienating new, more diverse audiences from the game, it also robs us all of the unique mind-opening, soul-enriching joy of experiencing other footballing cultures, and the opportunity to use football as a means to explore the world.
I suppose the answer to the anxieties outlined above is one of mutual responsibility.
As a football tourist, I feel it is important to engage with the football cultures in a way that impinges on the atmosphere and expressions of the locals as little as possible. That’s not just a matter of cultural respect, but also a measure to ensure that one can experience the joy of football travel as authentically as possible.
Conversely, there is also a high degree of responsibility incumbent on clubs themselves. There have been numerous examples – at least in English football – of clubs pursuing tourist markets at the expense of the local communities who have sustained clubs for over a century.
Whilst the economic imperative for chasing tourists is obvious – tourists generally spend far more money on tickets, club merchandise and match day experiences than loyal supporters – clubs need to better understand the risk of throwing the baby out of with the bathwater.
Though I look back on my experiences in both Rome and Naples with huge fondness, there is no doubt in my mind that both the sheer number and the behaviour of the tourists at the Olimpico detracted from the experience for everyone. In short, it not only resulted in the local Romanisti not being able to engage with their own club on their own terms, but undermined the authentic experience I sought at the ground.
Ultimately, as I reflect on my week in Italy, it has re-affirmed by opinion that football tourism is both an inevitable and deeply enriching cultural phenomenon. However, it remains a delicate balancing act.
As much as it has the potential to provide a portal to incredible new cities, cultures and people, it also has the power to undermine and distort football as we know it.
It is only with a mutual commitment to regulate behaviour and tourist numbers from supporters, tourists, clubs and leagues alike that both football culture and the tourism industry around it can be truly authentic.
Wilson, J. [2025] ‘Football. What is it?’ Wilson’s World. Available at: Football: what is it? - by Jonathan Wilson.
This is quite possibly the best, most well-thought-out explanation of my sentiments regarding this idea of sports/football tourism. That delicate balance is constantly on display especially in bigger leagues (but also in some smaller ones too). And in my own experience, when I traveled to Liverpool for four matches over a nine day period. At Anfield I was surrounded by non-locals (the first match I even had a guy ask me where Mo Salah was from), but at Goodison, I was sat among local fans who had been going to matches in that section for years. I was an interloper. But at Prenton Park, folks were just happy that someone not from the Wirral had an interest in their tiny club. Finding where those competing ideas are balanced, well that's a tough act. Thank you for sharing, this was a wonderful piece, giving me many things to think about as I do my own footballing tourism. (And basketball too).
Some of my best calcio experiences have been at Serie C matches, in the curva, where I am (almost certainly) the only British person present. The key is to respect the space, be humble, and be prepared to get involved in the creation of the atmosphere. You're not there to observe, but to participate. Visitors will have a much richer experience at this level than when merely watching on front the sidelines at the biggest grounds. But, of course, still go and see the true cathedrals at least once!