Scotland's Thirsty Soccer Fans Still Can't Drink at Matches

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

When they travel abroad, fans of the Scottish national football (a.k.a. soccer) team have the best reputation in the world for drinking herculean amounts of booze while maintaining their good humor. Local police cheerfully pose for pictures with sozzled, kilt-wearing groups of Tartan Army members, smiling as they are draped in a saltire or lion rampant. Bar and nightclub owners actively encourage them into their premises. Whether in Trafalgar Square or the Grand Place, Zagreb or Vilnius, people trust them to drink beer without feeling the need to glass anybody with their empty vessels afterwards.

It's a different matter when Scottish fans go to support their local club team. Typically clad in jeans, trainers and windbreakers, they look much the same as any other supporters in the UK. The pantomime nationalism is gone and with it any assumption that they're nice people.

Many of the stadiums they call home wouldn't look out of place in the lower-end of the English Premier League or Championship. The concourses at Tynecastle have the same smell of piss and pies as they do at Oakwell or Selhurst Park. But club fans in Scotland are treated differently to those in England and Wales in one important aspect: They can't buy alcohol at grounds. Visit Carlisle United and you can choose to wash down your hot dog with a plastic pint glass of weak lager, while across the border at Dundee United you can order nothing stronger than a Bovril.

The only way around the ban is to stump up the extra cash required for a hospitality seat, which allows you access to corporate suites with no view of the pitch where drink can be sold before and after the game. Obviously not everyone can afford to do that, and it's hardly a proper match day experience anyway.

On Saturday I decided to test opinion among supporters about the ban by visiting several bars in the vicinity of Easter Road, home of perennially underachieving Edinburgh side Hibernian, on Saturday. They were at home to Falkirk, one of the second tier's better-supported teams, and it seemed a sensible location—there are more boozers within walking distance of the ground than any other in Scotland.

I started off in Middleton's, a traditional bar that occupies the entire ground floor of one of Edinburgh's seemingly endless tenements. Jim and Gordon, two Hibs fans in their 50s, could well remember the days when it was accepted practice to drink a a six-pack of McEwen's Export while you stood on an uncovered terrace in whatever pre-war hovel your club had the nerve to call a stadium. "Older guys would have a wee half bottle in their pocket, it was a common thing," said Gordon. "Then in the 70s, that's when fans started throwing cans at each other."

Neither was fussed about the ban. I asked how they would feel if the ban was scrapped. "It would depend on how it was done—no one would want to go back to how it was before," said Jim.

The ban on the sale or consumption of alcohol at Scottish stadiums was introduced when Jim and Gordon were young men. Margaret Thatcher's first Tory Government cracked down in the wake of the infamous 1980 Scottish Cup final, when a typically bad-tempered Old Firm match was settled by a late extra-time winner for Celtic. Fans of both sides invaded the pitch at full-time and the violence that followed was broadcast live into living rooms across the country. But that was 35 years ago and the game has changed immeasurably on and off the park, while this restrictive law has not.

The booze ban might well have carried on in perpetuity if plain talking Cockney and celebrity sports promoter Barry Hearn hadn't been invited to address Scottish Football Association bosses at Hampden Park last month. "If you worked for me, you'd be sacked," he reportedly announced in an unflinching speech about the state of the Scottish game.

"You have so much good in Scottish football, so many positive things, but you don't sell yourself. You don't do enough for yourselves. I'm seeing too much self-pity."

He added: "It's archaic in today's world for a customer not to be able to buy an alcoholic beverage at a function or a sporting event." The booze-ban, he said, is "obscene. It's actually insulting for people who go to a football match. And don't say 'I served a beer and there was trouble' because it's your job to make sure there is no trouble. People will be people, but the customer experience is all part and parcel of why your gates are dropping."

Days later, newly elected Scottish Labour leader Jim Murphy—himself a teetotaller—announced his support for the limited sale of alcohol at grounds on a trial basis. "Our sport in Scotland is stuck in a class mentality that says if you're middle class and want to go to rugby you can drink," he said. "I don't think we want people drinking from 9 AM to 3 PM, but I'm interested in trialling people being allowed to drink in the stadium for maybe an hour before the game."

Even Scottish Tory leader Ruth Davidson is open to a new approach. "It's essential we have a pilot scheme to see if alcohol can be brought back to Scottish football on a permanent basis," she said. "If we don't, we are telling fans they have to be treated differently from supporters across the rest of the UK and Europe."

While you might expect an SNP Government to favour scrapping a piece of Thatcherite legislation, it shows little interest in doing so. "Decisions on the matter are informed by Police Scotland," said a spokeswoman. "Police Scotland have previously confirmed they are not at this stage minded to seek a relaxation of the controls on alcohol at football."

Back in Middlelton's, Neil, a 39-year-old originally from the south coast of England, found the ban ridiculous. "Portsmouth fans can get sold beer in the Brighton away end," he said. "You can drink everywhere else in Scotland, so why not at football?

Ken, an Edinburgh native, agreed. "It's discriminating against a particular sport if you can drink at games down south and at the rugby, but not at football."

Fifty yards down the road, the Four in Hand was almost full by 2:15 PM. The half-dozen bar staff on duty, including landlord Paul Kane—a former Hibs player—were working flat out. The atmosphere was lively but far from boisterous. Jon Henry was watching the Liverpool game on TV with his brother Ric, drinking cokes as part of a self-imposed dry January. "There are numerous positives to lifting the ban," he said. "It would offer greater convenience for supporters and a considerable boost to clubs' finances. Scottish football needs to catch up with the world's best leagues in its match day offering."

With kick-off fast approaching, there was just time to visit Tamsons Bar for a chat with staff on how they would react to having another competitor nearby. "Lifting the ban wouldn't have any particular impact on us," said Kate, who was still busily pouring pints at 2:55 PM alongside bar manager Sonia. "This is a meeting place for people to socialize. Plus, price-wise, we would always be cheaper than anything sold at the ground." Several Hibs fans propping up the bar murmured in agreement.

As I made my way back to the stadium, a sleet storm blowed around me. People shivered and put their hoods up as they queued to enter the ground. It was clear that it will take more than just scrapping the booze ban to boost attendances in the depths of a Scottish winter. That said, I can't think of any other football fans who are more deserving of a beer jacket to help them through games, and surely they should to be treated the same as English fans.

Follow Chris McCall on Twitter.