For best English soccer atmosphere, steer toward the smaller grounds

Give me Chelsea when I want to have a nice soccer day in London; Stamford Bridge is in a very swank area of West London, with lots of nice restaurants and upscale pubs and such.

And I’ve been to Old Trafford. It’s a massive and storied ground, but it’s still a bit large to really jingle my keys.

But if you truly crave a heavy load of foam-at-the-mouth passion, I think you have to wander past the featured items in the English Soccer window, so to speak. You need to dig a little deeper, burrow into the real underbelly of the game.

Over the last few days, I saw Arsenal at the Emirates Stadium, Queens Park Rangers at Loftus Road and Fulham at Craven Cottage.

It was my third trip to Craven Cotttage, which is just a short walk from Stamford Bridge and also sits in a fashionable area of London. While I enjoy the grounds (and the fact that so many Americans have found a home there on the cold banks of the Thames), it’s a fairly tame venue. Perhaps it’s because the team hasn’t always been tip-top, largely undecorated and easily overshadowed by the Blues down the road. Or maybe it’s just that it tends to be more of a “family ground.” Whatever reason, games come and go and I don’t always sense the desperation in the air, the smell and feel of “we live or die with this team.”

(On the other hand, the Sunderland fans who made the long trip from northern England over the weekend were up to the job. The chants of “We’re on our way! We’re on our way!” burst loud and often from the Putney End, where visitors sit at Craven Cottage.)

I’ve heard more of that at West Ham on a couple of trips into East, East, East London, as they say. And I’ve gotten that feel of fervor to an extent when I visited White Hart Lane (Tottenham) in previous years. I’ve damn sure it at Selhurst Park, the home to Crystal Palace in distinctly working class South London. And I got the chill and the feel on a visit to Anfield, and also across the city park at Everton’s Goodison on another trip.

I sure felt it in Sunderland about three years back on a visit to Stadium of Light. (Although that was in the middle of a relegation battle against Wigan, so the stakes were enormous and the fans had an extra nervy jump. I wrote an entire 2,000 word piece for American Way around that one.)

Friday night at Loftus Road started along working class Uxbridge Road, where you pass a dandy variety of ethnic food before arrival near the stadium. The pub where we stopped (sorry, I can’t remember the name) was a real man’s man place, where one group saw us quietly having our beers and not joining their songs. So they launched the good natured chant “Are you Watford in disguise? Are you Watford in disguise?” It was definitely not a place where you wanted to be Watford in disguise or Watford anything else.

The spectator’s at the cozy ground (the pitch is small and the fans are practically breathing on players) were mostly fan’s fans, too. A little too much so when Watford midfielder Stephen McGinn was cut by something thrown from the stands while celebrating a goal. (Passion is passion … but that’s just sorry.)

My friend who lives in London has made a suggestion that we all go one year and only sit in the visitors sections. For sure, that’s where the “real” fans are. That’s the domain of the man (and occasional woman) who builds his or her weekend around trips to the match. They make naughty wordsmithing an art and they pour it all out for their team. In short, they may not be the sort you want dating your daughter, but they absolutely bring the stadiums to life.