This week I watched Baller League. At 10.30pm on a Monday night I am in a weird sporting purgatory. There are at most a couple hundred spectators left in the Copper Box Arena. The raucous music blasts defiantly against the vapid atmosphere which only thousands of empty seats can create. This must be over soon, surely.
“And it is STILL NOT OVER,” the commentator booms. Shit.
Baller League describes itself as the ‘new era of football’ encompassing a ‘high-energy, fast-paced professional football league redefining the game with elite talent, thrilling matchups and an electrifying fan experience.’
The six-a-side matches are played like any regular game of football, with VAR checks and refereeing vanishing spray even making their way across to these shorter-form games. There are a few twists to keep things supposedly interesting. Instead of taking corner kicks, the number of corners are counted and if a team wins three then a penalty – a free one-on-one with the goalkeeper – is awarded.
There is also a set of ‘gamechanger’ rules which come into play for three minutes at the end of each 15-minute half. These help provide plenty of chances for extra goals and surprises, as well as a chance to push more advertising and promotional content onto the audience.
Each of the 12 teams involved in the league is managed by a celebrity and face off in a round-robin style tournament over the course of 11 weeks. The top four sides then compete in a semi-final and final in week 12 to decide the ultimate champion.
Arriving at the Copper Box Arena, the target audience is evident immediately. Determined to catch a glimpse, sneak a selfie or even speak to their favourite YouTuber or Twitch streamer, young teenagers, children and disgruntled accompanying parents form the majority of the queue to enter the 5,000-seater venue built for the 2012 Olympics.
The actual concept of Baller League is not entirely awful. Tickets are modestly priced at around £15, the influencers put on a good show for the cameras and, when full, the crowd can offer a more genuine atmosphere compared to Baller League’s endless gush of Nando’s-sponsored entertainment.
Niko Omilana’s NDL FC even had a quasi-ultras section. Dressed all in yellow, the small section sang songs, had a trumpet and even started chanting ‘wanker’ at the referee, who for some reason has vanishing spray, to provide a partisan presence fitting of a sporting contest.
The wheels begin to fall off Baller League when it gets past the halfway point. If there were half the games, half the forced fun activities and half the silly gamechanger rules, it could potentially live up to its high-energy, fast-paced description.
Unfortunately, once the crowd has seen the likes of KSI, Angry Ginge and Sharky, the football is not good enough or entertaining enough to keep them, or anyone else, interested.
You can only watch 35-year-old Martyn Waghorn, who helped Derby win promotion to the Championship just last year, miss so many one-on-ones against a former academy goalkeeper before you start to feel like you are going insane. Even former Arsenal prodigies Jay Emmanuel-Thomas and Henri Lansbury, 34 and 35 years old respectively, look hapless and lethargic – and they are meant to be the better players.
The crowd is rather nonplussed about former footballing stars, although I am shocked and made to feel incredibly old at 24 when a group of boys say that they have never heard of Jens Lehmann and Robert Pires, Arsenal Invincibles and co-managers of N5 FC.
Given the content creators, media companies and funding involved in Baller League, it is unsurprising that its branding, production and match operation is pretty slick. Yet, despite being dressed up in fancy wrapping, it is impossible to legitimise a comical standard of sport.
Every game is broadcast live on Sky Sports, but it is difficult to understand why. On this very same night, Manchester United and Bournemouth drew in an eight-goal thriller on Sky’s flagship Monday Night Football show. Why would anyone sitting at home be watching Baller League over that?
The Premier League action is finished when the sixth and final game of the night, kicking off 20 minutes later than its scheduled time of 10pm, finally arrives. Out walks Arsenal and Lionesses star Chloe Kelly’s Clutch FC and former Chelsea and England defender John Terry’s 26ers to a few tired claps from a weary, shrinking crowd.
When the 13th goal of the game goes in, the music keeps blaring and the poor commentator is still trying to whip up excitement, I begin to feel jealous of the dead horse taking this flogging.
Just when I think my suffering is through, the referee awards a penalty after the final whistle. Not even Terry, sporting a Louis Vuitton scarf as ridiculous as the entire event, can take pleasure in a chance for his side and his goalkeeper taking the penalty to add a tenth goal.
Who knows what Terry and Kelly, who have both won the Champions League, must be thinking when they see the 26ers goalkeeper trot up to take and miss the late penalty in an empty arena in Stratford. Does no one have anything better to do? Myself included.
The game ends. It is 11.07pm and after almost six hours, Baller League week eight grinds to its tedious conclusion. It is finally over and I don’t think I will be going back.
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Jack McRae writes... 