Imagine a world where football stadiums leap from humble wooden huts to gleaming, spaceship-like marvels that could star in a sci-fi blockbuster – and yet, they still pulse with the raw emotion of the game that unites millions. But here's where it gets intriguing: how did these arenas evolve to reflect not just sports, but society's deepest passions and controversies?
Picture Bill Shankly, the iconic Liverpool manager so adored that a hotel now bears his name, who quipped that football isn't just life and death – it's far more vital. It's no surprise he's a star in Home Ground, a vibrant new exhibit exploring the design and cultural heartbeat of football venues. There he is, basking in the cheers of a devoted throng, in a display celebrating the transformation of the Kop from a wild, standing-only terrace into a calm, seated section.
Nestled in Liverpool, a city steeped in football's romantic allure, this show delves into the past and future of these grounds. Just across the Mersey, Everton's shiny new home, the 52,000-seat Hill Dickinson Stadium, perfectly illustrates how football has shifted from soggy pitches, woolly hats, and heavy leather balls to luxurious, immersive spectacles. Wealthy fans now enjoy VIP suites and gourmet meals, much like a night at the opera – but is this evolution a triumph or a betrayal of the game's working-class roots? And this is the part most people miss: how these changes highlight the growing divide between elite experiences and everyday fandom.
The exhibit bursts with drawings, models, photos, and artifacts, starting its timeline with a 1906 blueprint of Anfield by Scottish architect Archibald Leitch. The massive 132-step terrace at the Kop end got its name from the brutal South African battle of Spion Kop. Inspired by his factory and warehouse designs, Leitch became the master builder of early UK stadiums, erecting over 20, including Chelsea's Stamford Bridge, Arsenal's Highbury, and Rangers' Ibrox. He even crafted Everton's Goodison Park, still home to their women's team, and the first in Britain with seating on all sides – a feat that improved safety and views for spectators.
While England pioneered football, it was Europe that innovated stadium architecture. In Florence, Fiorentina commissioned modernist Pier Luigi Nervi to create a stunning reinforced concrete structure – that's a strong, flexible material made by mixing concrete with steel rods, allowing curves and strength like no other. It showcased how architecture could bend to the game's needs. Meanwhile, in Rotterdam, Feyenoord's 1937 stadium embodied the Dutch Nieuwe Bouwen movement's focus on practicality, using a light steel frame to lift the upper seats, giving fans an unobstructed sightline – revolutionary at the time, as it prioritized visibility over tradition.
The exhibit cleverly uses custom football scarves in bright green to mark sections, like one for Italia 90. Here, Alberto Burri's poster imagines a match in Rome's Colosseum, linking ancient arenas to modern ones. Italy spared no expense, pouring billions into upgrades, such as Renzo Piano's sunken Bari stadium with whale-like ribs – imagine a structure that mimics nature for both beauty and support. And towering over it all is a scale model of Milan's San Siro, where a new roof with red trusses and spiral towers creates an optical illusion as fans descend, making the structure seem to twist. Yet, after decades of debate, this iconic venue is slated for replacement – a controversial move that pits nostalgia against progress. Is tearing down history worth the shiny new future?
Surprisingly, even Archie Leitch's legacy lives on in unexpected ways. Swiss architects Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron, avid football fans, have designed wildly creative modern stadiums. Bayern Munich's Allianz Arena, made from thousands of inflatable cushions with LED lights, shifts colors like a living chameleon. In Portugal's Braga, Eduardo Souto de Moura turned a limestone quarry into a natural bowl, where deflected shots bounce off cliffs. These arenas often feel otherworldly, looming over neighborhoods like giant ships, echoing poet Philip Larkin's imagery. But size isn't everything; Scotland's Gala Fairydean, with its origami-like concrete stand for just 750 fans, proves smaller can be just as ingenious.
A turning point came after the Hillsborough disaster, when laws mandated all-seater stadiums to prevent tragedies. Nearly 40 years later, its shadow lingers, as seen in the push for accountability. Before that, the 1985 Bradford fire claimed 56 lives in seconds, exposing how authorities viewed fans as expendable and stadiums as crumbling hazards. These events marked a dark chapter, forcing reforms that prioritized safety – but at what cost to the atmosphere? Were standing terraces a thrilling risk, or a necessary relic?
Looking ahead, stadiums are embracing sustainability and adaptability. Tottenham's ground features a movable pitch for concerts or American football, while Forest Green Rovers, under manager Robbie Savage, aims to build the world's first all-timber arena with Zaha Hadid Architects – using wood for eco-friendliness in a community park. They're hailed as the 'greenest team' by FIFA, showing success doesn't mean sacrificing the planet. The women's game is also reshaping venues, like Kansas City's purpose-built stadium with family-focused designs, proving football isn't just for men.
Architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner once noted that a simple bike shed is a building, but a cathedral is architecture. For years, football grounds leaned toward the shed, but they've blossomed into cathedrals of excitement. What do you think – should stadiums prioritize tradition, innovation, or sustainability? Do you agree that commercialization has gone too far, or is it the natural evolution of the sport? Share your thoughts in the comments; I'd love to hear debates on this!
Home Ground: The Architecture of Football runs at RIBA North and Tate Liverpool from October 15 to January 25.
