Why are football clubs able to ban journalists when they don't like what they report?

Reporters across the UK are constantly fighting against overbearing clubs and their petty behaviour. As freedom of the press is examined in other spheres, we should remember the sports writers who are trying to balance the need to maintain access with the

Imagine the uproar if a group of lobby correspondents were banned from parliament for reporting criticism of the government. Even with government figures feeling increasingly emboldened in threatening media outlets they feel are not toeing the line, they have stopped short of outright bans. Football clubs, however, have no such qualms.

This week, Newcastle United prevented local newspaper reporters from asking questions at a post-match press conference. The club objected to coverage of a protest march against owner Mike Ashley. At Port Vale, the Stoke Sentinel’s reporter has been banned from the press box after asking why 1,000 fans had not received commemorative shirts they had been promised. Earlier this year Crawley Town banned a reporter from the Crawley News because the club did not like two headlines.

The Guardian’s Daniel Taylor was banned from Nottingham Forest in September. The club gave as the reason the fact that he had attended a game but not filed a match report. As Taylor pointed out, it’s common practice for reporters to attend games to circulate with players and officials but not necessarily to file a report, and the Guardian is not banned from 30 or 40 other clubs where this goes on. Forest’s ban also applies to the Observer, and Taylor alleges that a local freelance and the Nottingham Evening Post have also been ostracised for being to close to the previous board.

And of course there’s former Manchester United manager Alex Ferguson, now benefitting from blanket coverage of his book in all media outlets, who infamously would not speak to the BBC for seven years after the broadcaster aired a documentary in which critical questions were asked about his son. Ferguson was also caught on microphone at a Manchester United press conference in 2011 saying “we’ll get him. Ban him on Friday” after a reporter asked a question he disapproved of.

None of this is new. In 1997 I wrote a piece for When Saturday Comes magazine about journalists’ freedom to write being attacked by football clubs. That year, the magazine ran story after story about clubs banning the press. I wrote:

“Let’s be clear about what many senior football figures object to. It’s not dirt being dished or controversy being created, but awkward questions, rational criticism – anything, in fact, that fails to market the club.”

But the problem is not just the football clubs and a game that long ago lost its sense of perspective when assessing its own importance.

Much of the media has seemed happy enough to go along with a state of affairs where the line between journalism and PR has become blurred. Big football, it is clear, wants to make money from everything it does. And football brings the audiences that enables media big and small to make money. Amidst the blanket coverage by Sky, for example, there’s rarely a difficult question to disturb the hype – unless it’s on one of the many personality-driven spats regularly confected into an issue of significance.

For local papers, standing up to clubs that will always be bigger brands is undoubtedly difficult. In many towns outside Britain’s big cities, the local club is the biggest story and the loss of access could be the difference between survival and failure. Bigger media has more clout, but too often chooses not to challenge a game that provides it with vital audience and income.

The question of whether or not the relationship between football and those who report it is too close is one that has been chewed over at length within the trade. A discussion of just that point, based on Raymond Boyle’s excellent article in the British Journalism Review that asks if sports reporters are “too close to the circus”, used to form part of the course programme in my brief spell teaching journalism. Channel 4’s Alex Thomson, in a hard-hitting blog post, asks why the hell so many journalists put up with it, and when football clubs “are going to grow up”.

It’s a complex issue. Someone would inevitably say the Murdoch-owned media would never raise tricky questions because of Sky’s involvement with the game, then be forced to reconsider when the journalism of the Times’s excellent football section was pointed out. Media, both big and small, does ask the difficult questions – particularly writers such as David Conn in the Guardian and Tariq Panja for Bloomberg. But there is a constant battle, and the further down the food chain you are, the harder it is to win that battle.

The questions all this raises go far beyond sport. As the NUJ’s northern organiser Chris Morley, a consistent and steadfast campaigner, said of the Newcastle ban: “This is a denial of freedom of the media and expression and an attempt by powerful people at the club to take retribution for coverage they did not like. . . worst of all it is an attack on their own supporters in the north-east who look to their local paper to report on their favourite football club.” The club’s subsequent decision to ban the official Newcastle United Supporters Trust from its fans’ forum shows how right Morley is to make the connection between the media and the public.

Alex Thomson has a point when he says journalists should do more to assert themselves against sport’s vested interests. But it’s also true that across the country, week in, week out, journalists who earn salaries far short of the popular conception of the handsomely-renumerated hack fight the battle against overbearing clubs and their petty behaviour, balancing the need to maintain access with the need to question and inform. They do so honestly and professionally, and they can never afford to drop their guard.

In a week in which we are hearing much about the things journalists should not have done, and about the need for the power of the press to be reined in, this seems worth mentioning.

 

 

Alex Ferguson infamously would not speak to the BBC for seven years after the broadcaster aired a documentary in which critical questions were asked about his son. Photo: Getty

Martin Cloake is a writer and editor based in London. You can follow him on Twitter at @MartinCloake.

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Inside Big Ben: why the world’s most famous clock will soon lose its bong

Every now and then, even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care.

London is soon going to lose one of its most familiar sounds when the world-famous Big Ben falls silent for repairs. The “bonging” chimes that have marked the passing of time for Londoners since 1859 will fall silent for months beginning in 2017 as part of a three-year £29m conservation project.

Of course, “Big Ben” is the nickname of the Great Bell and the bell itself is not in bad shape – even though it does have a huge crack in it.

The bell weighs nearly 14 tonnes and it cracked in 1859 when it was first bonged with a hammer that was way too heavy.

The crack was never repaired. Instead the bell was rotated one eighth of a turn and a lighter (200kg) hammer was installed. The cracked bell has a characteristic sound which we have all grown to love.

Big Ben strikes. UK Parliament.

Instead, it is the Elizabeth Tower (1859) and the clock mechanism (1854), designed by Denison and Airy, that need attention.

Any building or machine needs regular maintenance – we paint our doors and windows when they need it and we repair or replace our cars quite routinely. It is convenient to choose a day when we’re out of the house to paint the doors, or when we don’t need the car to repair the brakes. But a clock just doesn’t stop – especially not a clock as iconic as the Great Clock at the Palace of Westminster.

Repairs to the tower are long overdue. There is corrosion damage to the cast iron roof and to the belfry structure which keeps the bells in place. There is water damage to the masonry and condensation problems will be addressed, too. There are plumbing and electrical works to be done for a lift to be installed in one of the ventilation shafts, toilet facilities and the fitting of low-energy lighting.

Marvel of engineering

The clock mechanism itself is remarkable. In its 162-year history it has only had one major breakdown. In 1976 the speed regulator for the chimes broke and the mechanism sped up to destruction. The resulting damage took months to repair.

The weights that drive the clock are, like the bells and hammers, unimaginably huge. The “drive train” that keeps the pendulum swinging and that turns the hands is driven by a weight of about 100kg. Two other weights that ring the bells are each over a tonne. If any of these weights falls out of control (as in the 1976 incident), they could do a lot of damage.

The pendulum suspension spring is especially critical because it holds up the huge pendulum bob which weighs 321kg. The swinging pendulum releases the “escapement” every two seconds which then turns the hands on the clock’s four faces. If you look very closely, you will see that the minute hand doesn’t move smoothly but it sits still most of the time, only moving on each tick by 1.5cm.

The pendulum swings back and forth 21,600 times a day. That’s nearly 8m times a year, bending the pendulum spring. Like any metal, it has the potential to suffer from fatigue. The pendulum needs to be lifted out of the clock so that the spring can be closely inspected.

The clock derives its remarkable accuracy in part from the temperature compensation which is built into the construction of the pendulum. This was yet another of John Harrison’s genius ideas (you probably know him from longitude fame). He came up with the solution of using metals of differing temperature expansion coefficient so that the pendulum doesn’t change in length as the temperature changes with the seasons.

In the Westminster clock, the pendulum shaft is made of concentric tubes of steel and zinc. A similar construction is described for the clock in Trinity College Cambridge and near perfect temperature compensation can be achieved. But zinc is a ductile metal and the tube deforms with time under the heavy load of the 321kg pendulum bob. This “creeping” will cause the temperature compensation to jam up and become less effective.

So stopping the clock will also be a good opportunity to dismantle the pendulum completely and to check that the zinc tube is sliding freely. This in itself is a few days' work.

What makes it tick

But the truly clever bit of this clock is the escapement. All clocks have one - it’s what makes the clock tick, quite literally. Denison developed his new gravity escapement especially for the Westminster clock. It decouples the driving force of the falling weight from the periodic force that maintains the motion of the pendulum. To this day, the best tower clocks in England use the gravity escapement leading to remarkable accuracy – better even than that of your quartz crystal wrist watch.

In Denison’s gravity escapement, the “tick” is the impact of the “legs” of the escapement colliding with hardened steel seats. Each collision causes microscopic damage which, accumulated over millions of collisions per year, causes wear and tear affecting the accuracy of the clock. It is impossible to inspect the escapement without stopping the clock. Part of the maintenance proposed during this stoppage is a thorough overhaul of the escapement and the other workings of the clock.

The Westminster clock is a remarkable icon for London and for England. For more than 150 years it has reminded us of each hour, tirelessly. That’s what I love about clocks – they seem to carry on without a fuss. But every now and then even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care. After this period of pampering, “Big Ben” ought to be set for another 100 or so years of trouble-free running.

The Conversation

Hugh Hunt is a Reader in Engineering Dynamics and Vibration at the University of Cambridge.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.