One of the biggest regrets of my life is selling my 1991 Sampdoria home jersey to a mate for a fiver (original copies of this shirt now go for over €200 on ebay). But football jerseys have a worth far beyond how much they retail for or the cloth they are cut from. Club football shirts have huge socio-political significance. They can be highly effective “means of cultural expression” and these seemingly innocuous jerseys can “reflect the social values, financial struggles, and political ideologies of the day”. At least these are the arguments put forward by the football and data writer Joey D’Urso in his entertaining, wide-ranging “More Than A Shirt”.
“More than a Shirt” might be considered a companion piece to Miguel Delaney’s recent “States of Play” in that both titles cover the terrain of sportswashing and football’s entanglement with geopolitical forces. Where D’Urso parts company with Delaney is his use of football shirts “as a tool to explain the world around us”. Having crossed five continents as part of his research, D’Urso presents 22 jerseys that – he believes – illustrate the conflicting identities and culture wars of our times, and the economic and political forces reshaping our world.
And the examples that D’Urso outlines are extensive and intriguing. He starts with Schalke’s shirt sponsorship with Gazprom as a representation of Germany’s disastrous energy dependence on Putin’s Russia. He details the far from obvious instances of Envigado FC of Colombia (whose shirt bares the face of Pablo Escobar, the notorious international drug carter leader) and FC Goa of India, the latter being an example of football is increasingly being corrupted by online gambling.
D’Urso investigates Barcelona’s shirt ‘sponsorship’ with the Qatar Foundation, and how the once-venerated Barca jersey, “rather than being a vessel for the interests of Catalan identity … became a vessel for the interests of Qatar, funded by its enormous gas reserves”. Similarly, he explores Newcastle United’s green-and-white away kit – which conveniently happen to be the colours of the Saudi Arabian flag – and how that proud working-class institution from the north-east of England “is now a tool in projecting Saudi power”. Novelly, D’Urso also uses the case of a jersey that wasn’t commercially available – Mary Earps’s England goalkeeper jersey – to consider the strength of the women’s game and how the controversy over Earps’s kit “symbolises the fight for women’s football kit to be taken seriously”.
“More Than A Shirt” is remarkably eye opening on the extent of the rogues’ gallery – from autocratic petro-chemical states, the legal and illegal gambling sectors, drug dealers, and crypto-bullshitters – seeking to bleed football dry for their own nefarious ends. Occasionally, one or two of D’Urso’s arguments doesn’t connect (his attempt to link the French National shirt to France’s post-colonial challenges appears tenuous), but he is clear-sighted on explaining concepts like ‘white-labelling’ in an accessible way. That he largely succeeds in his mission of showing how football can help us “better understand the world around us beyond football” is a credit to his astuteness as a political and economic analyst, but also down to the fact that he is a football fan who understands the joy and beauty of the game in its purest form.
One caveat: if Joey D’Urso wanted an example of how football shirts could be a force for good, he need only have cited my own beloved Bohemian F.C. of Dublin, who have given over their own jerseys for causes ranging from refugee rights, trade unionism, and Palestine solidarity. If D’Urso is planning a second edition or sequel, he might consider including ‘The Bohs’. Or, indeed, that 1991 Sampdoria home jersey.