The shimmering promise of the Champions League descended into a nightmare of broken glass and bloody pavement in France last night. Over 100 people were arrested and dozens of police officers injured as violent scenes erupted around a match that was meant to be a celebration of the beautiful game.
For those of us used to counting the cost of a ticket against the weekly shop, this is not just a police blotter. It is a symptom of a society where the pressure cooker is reaching its limit. Weekend leisure? Even the working-class release valve of football is now a flashpoint.
Witnesses described scenes of chaos outside the stadium: charges by riot police, flares arcing through the night sky, and families caught in the crossfire. The authorities blamed 'British hooligans' but the reality on the concrete was more complex. Young men from the banlieues, alienated from the economic miracle that Paris pretends to be, clashed with a security state that sees them as a threat.
One officer, his tunic torn, told reporters: 'We came here to keep order. It became a battlefield. I have never seen such rage.'
But rage does not appear from nowhere. This is the rage of a generation denied decent work, of young people who see no future beyond the gig economy and the zero-hour contract. The violence of the European football elite is a green pitch, a corporate box, a £200 shirt. The violence on the streets is a symptom of a deeper fracture: the gap between those who can afford a ticket and those who can barely afford the bread.
The union leaders in the North of England will be watching. They know that when the state spends more on policing a football match than on youth centres, you are not building a society. You are managing a prison.
The French government will promise roundtables and inquiries. They will blame alcohol, poor policing, and foreign agitators. But the roar of the crowd was not just passion for a team. It was the sound of a people telling the elite that they will not be silenced.
The real economy, the one that counts the cost of a loaf of bread and a pint of milk, must look at France and ask: how long before that rage turns into our high streets?
