English football has always mirrored the passions, conflicts, identities and inequalities of the age. After the golden 1960s, the decay of the 1970s and ensuing disasters of the 1980s came the cap-sleeved, rebounding self-confidence of the 1990s. The 21st century so far has taken in globalisation and wanton commercialism. After that rabid, often reckless push for continued growth, society and the game alight on the uncertainties that encapsulated 2025.
To catch the 20 Premier League clubs in live action this season, and this writer completed the full set on Tuesday witnessing Arsenal’s second-half demolition of Aston Villa, has been a study in that uncertainty. From the grumbling of fans, to the ever-fragile egos of managers, to players slugging through the gristle of 90 minutes of hard-pressing slog, a leading question comes to mind: is anyone actually still enjoying this?
Perhaps Sunderland and lately Leeds, in bucking the trend of promoted clubs sinking back down, can say they are. “Well-run” paragon clubs such as Brighton and Bournemouth have hit glass ceilings. From the disappointments of Liverpool’s rebuild to ailing projects at Manchester United and Chelsea down to the death spiral played out at Molineux, just about nobody is happy nowadays. Even within Crystal Palace’s 2025 annus mirabilis came a regrettable schism in the support base. If falling out over chants of “stop the boats” isn’t a reflection of modern times, then what is?
Being paid for a frequent fix of a lifelong addiction is a true privilege, though there are complications. Aesthetics cast to the margins in the drive for efficiency leads to misgivings. Following developments in the wider world, using the same tools found in business and tech, off-the-cuff improvisational football has been consumed by the playbook. Some artistry remains, from the timeless grace of Adam Wharton to the explosive speed and dribbling of Jérémy Doku, but creativity has undoubtedly been a victim of analytics.
Rumours that at least two clubs make team selections using artificial intelligence seem all too credible when watching preordained, overly rehearsed football. That injury-time goals are at an all-time high at least suggests physical fatigue is one aspect the wonks have not got control of. For now, at least.
The inexorable rise of set pieces is the most obvious indicator of analytics’ influence. It was 15 years ago that Sir Alex Ferguson mischievously said the corners of Charlie Adam, then of Blackpool, were “worth £10m in themselves”. What might Adam’s valuation be now? There are suspicions Antoine Semenyo, probably headed for Manchester City, was coveted by many clubs because of his long throws rather than the artistry that has decorated Bournemouth. Pep Guardiola’s City still exhibit the flair with which the Catalan revolutionised the game. In Rayan Cherki, he is indulging what now passes for a maverick, but Guardiola has always kept with the times. Erling Haaland, these days a mature member of City’s leadership group, has been smoothed into the player who best fits 2025’s Premier League paradigm: physical prowess matched with man-machine productivity.
Set pieces were long the confine of managers on limited resources playing the margins. Now that everyone pursues that edge, to be inefficient in the discipline is ruinous. Aaron Briggs, departing Liverpool this week, has carried the can for Arne Slot’s set-piece failings, a warning to Nicolas Jover and Austin MacPhee that their profession is a numbers game. You are only as good as your last zonal/man-marking hybrid strategy. Gotta win the second balls, fellas.
In the stadiums, javelin-like long launches from players such as Semenyo and Brentford’s Michael Kayode, the latter current best-in-class, almost certainly carrying a valuation to match, have become high spots for fans fed on crumbs. Arsenal’s opener against Villa via a Gabriel Magalhães header from a Bukayo Saka corner was a comfort blanket. From there, after their first half of angst, fans and team reunified as the dominant side of early season reasserted themselves.
In the Premier League’s stands, the transformation of crowds from supporters to customers continues. Customer complaints are rife, itself a reflection of cash not stretching as far as it used to in wider society. Tottenham Hotspur Stadium was built as a monument to a customer experience designed to keep the tills ringing, one to which visitors to the 2026 World Cup will be exposed, but its comfortable seats often house seething wells of discontent easily matching the insurrection accompanying Wolves down the plughole.
Meanwhile, information, reliable or otherwise, at the touch of a keypad gives rise to a cultural flattening. The consensus among fans continues to reject vehemently video assistant refereeing, while actual referees’ pariah status is a given, whatever their performances, names taken viciously in vain, professionalism and probity questioned after almost any decision, especially now throw-ins. Meanwhile, terrace anthems quickly lose exclusivity; Liverpool fans’ inventive use of Dean Martin’s Sway for Federico Chiesa was repurposed across the country within days.
Compared with the past, bar those ever-audible groans, the majority of fans dutifully play their role as backdrop to a product sold to the world. Any shared consciousness is yet to coalesce in a general strike against ticket prices, clubs exploiting loyalty while making eyes at passing trade happy to lavish on merch. Can it be ruled out? If modern football still holds a mirror to the world beyond its touchlines, then an age of protest may soon follow.
