It’s more than just razzmatazz at Wrexham... they have one inspirational idea that should be copied by every other club
Just when there seemed no room for anything but noise in the all- consuming world of football — no still, small place for those who might struggle with the game’s sound and fury — an introduction to Gate 12 at Wrexham’s ground, and what lay beyond it, told me otherwise last Friday. It was profoundly affecting.
the gate, and the area of seating to which it leads, is the vision of a woman I first encountered a year or so back, when writing a book about the transformation of Wrexham — both club and town — after the arrival of Rob McElhenney and Ryan Reynolds as owners.
I called the book Tinseltown, though Kerry Evans’ work began long before Hollywood descended, at a time when the club could not afford to pay her a wage as its first disability liaison officer, or fund away travel for fans who, like Evans, were in a wheelchair. she raised the money herself.
Attending a match, and experiencing what it is to be a football fan, is an even greater challenge for those on the autistic spectrum who need order, routine, their own space and may find anything unexpected terrifying.
these are the ones for whom the 120- seat section, established by Evans, has become a weekly sanctuary, making Wrexham’s Racecourse Ground one of Britain’s outstanding environments for those with autism, and other physical challenges, to watch football.
the stories their parents quietly related to me were a reminder of what football can bring to the lives of those with challenges, if the game will only let them in.
In 15 years of reporting sport, I don’t recall a more moving experience than hearing Helen Docking, a mother, describe the effect of being able to attend a match with her 16-year-old son, Deian, who had retreated into himself, unable to form relationships, unable to communicate with others and on the margins of an education system from which she has had to remove him.
‘It takes its toll on us all,’ Helen says, not far from tears. ‘We’ve tried everything to get him back to school, but the matches are the only time he leaves the house. We’re not judged when we come here. We’ve not found this kind of support in the education system.’
SHE, and other parents, do not need much to make football matches viable for their children, simply the same seat each time in this autismfriendly zone, the familiar faces of the same stewards — Amy and Nicky — and their acute understanding of what makes such children different.
At half-time, stewards bring refreshments to these young supporters in their seats, because heading into the concourse can be an ordeal for them. Gate 12, a designated quiet entrance, has no turnstile contraption to contend with. that helps, too.
Another mother, sue, is always among the first here at 1pm with her autistic son, because the experience of walking into the stadium is not traumatic when it’s empty. she relates how the football sessions Evans organises for some of the group have given her son another form of access to the game.
some here still find the matchday noise too much and a small sensory room inside the stand, with multi-coloured lighting which can be calming, often helps. An eight-year-old lays out across two seats and rests her head on her mother’s lap, with one of the stress- relieving ‘weighted blankets’ that the facility provides laid across her.
It’s not just the young who find refuge. Ann Burden’s deteriorating mental health led her to give up her job as a shop assistant and hand back the season ticket she’d had since childhood. ‘they suggested I talk to Kerry,’ she relates. ‘the stand has given me a piece of my life back.’
McElHENNEy and Reynolds offered to invest in an expansion of the facility, assigning Evans a larger section of stand for her zone. ‘thanks, but we don’t need that,’ she told them. ‘ If the section’s too big, it will lose the intimacy we need.’
she is the gatekeeper of her little area, through whom all requests to use it and become a part of it must go. she knows each of the individuals sitting here as Wrexham kick off against Mansfield — theo smith, Noah Jones, Idris Parry-tabeart and many more, with their myriad challenges and needs.
she is at the hub of the place all afternoon, nipping off only briefly at half-time, in her motorised chair, to check on those in the designated wheelchair area for visiting fans located in front of the away end, which McElhenney and Reynolds have had built. Few clubs afford visitors with disabilities such a welcome.
‘she’s our social worker as well as the organiser of all this,’ says another mother, Becky Parrytabeart, describing how the place has become a ‘magic switch’ for Idris, who struggled to cope for more than five minutes in a general part of the ground.
When Wrexham’s Paul Mullin — who himself has an autistic son, Albi, and has been a huge champion of the cause — scores in front of us to send Wrexham ahead, our section of stand erupts, the environment enabling those here to feel what football fans feel.
After Wrexham have won the game 2-0, Gate 12 is opened for those in our zone to leave. they will experience more challenges than most before they are next here, for the visit of Crawley on tuesday night, but these two or three hours have offered something indefinably special.
‘Win or lose, he loves it,’ says Helen, setting off for home with Deian. ‘I can see it in his face.’