A curious trend has emerged on football social media in recent weeks. Highlights of obscure Premier League players from the 2000s—referred to as ‘Barclaysmen’—have resurfaced, accompanied by the indie and rock anthems of that era. It’s not the superstars of that time like Didier Drogba, Fernando Torres, or Wayne Rooney being featured, but players like Kenwyne Jones, celebrating with acrobatic backflips as The Libertines play in the background.

This nostalgic trend highlights a growing disconnect between older fans and the modern game, dominated by the tactical brilliance of Pep Guardiola’s Manchester City. In a Premier League often accused of sacrificing spontaneity and unpredictability for clinical precision, players like Rory Delap, who was once famous for his long throw-ins, seem to have no place. The top tier of English football today feels more like a European Super League, flooded with state-backed clubs and foreign investment. Amid this transformation, one league remains as the last bastion of the spirit of English football’s past: the Championship.

In many ways, the Championship has become the true heir to what fans long for when they reminisce about the old ‘Barclays era’ of football. The absence of VAR and the continued presence of clubs from former industrial towns—teams like Sunderland, Blackburn, and Stoke—give the Championship an authenticity that the Premier League has lost. These clubs bring a sense of rawness and community identity that seems out of place in today’s increasingly corporate and sanitized football landscape. However, this attachment to ‘proper football’ isn’t just rooted in nostalgia.

The Championship is also fiercely competitive and unpredictable. Each season brings high stakes, with last year’s relegation battle involving nine teams, separated by a mere four points in the closing weeks of the campaign. This unpredictable nature is part of its appeal, which has been reflected in record-breaking attendance figures, with a cumulative 12,723,678 fans attending games last season—the highest ever for a second-tier competition. The spectacle reached a peak when the Championship play-off final between Leeds United and Southampton drew a bigger crowd than even the FA Cup final.

This surge in domestic interest has led to a massive influx of financial wealth into the league. The Championship now ranks as the ninth richest division in European football, and it is also the wealthiest non-first-division league globally. But with success comes a looming danger—the Championship is at risk of becoming a victim of its own prosperity. As the Premier League’s global popularity grew, it attracted a string of investors seeking to share in its riches, including Russian oligarchs, Gulf state financiers, and American private equity firms. While foreign ownership is not inherently problematic, it has left many clubs detached from their local roots, transformed into mere financial assets in larger geopolitical and economic games. Now, the Championship faces a similar trajectory as its top-flight counterpart. The same unsavory characters that circled the Premier League are beginning to emerge within the Championship’s ranks.

Take, for instance, Birmingham City and Reading, both of which are owned by Chinese billionaires with reputations as ‘vulture investors’—people who profit by buying up distressed assets. Reading’s owner, Dai Yongge, has drawn intense criticism from fans, leading to protests, abandoned games, and even the English Football League (EFL) demanding the sale of the club. Sunderland’s minority owner, Juan Sartori, adds a different kind of controversy to the league. A businessman and politician from Uruguay, Sartori is currently embroiled in a legal case in the UK, with claimants accusing him of making false statements about the safety and profitability of an investment, only to buy their shares at a lower price.

This legal battle is just one episode in a series of controversies surrounding Sartori. In his business dealings, Sartori has been accused of orchestrating insider deals at his former agricultural company and falsely claiming to have attended Harvard. His political career, marked by a failed presidential bid and his election as Uruguay’s youngest senator, has not been free from scandal either, as demonstrated when his press chief resigned dramatically, accusing Sartori of “selling smoke” and spreading lies.

As the Premier League continues to move into a realm dominated by mega-money and corporate interests, the Championship feels like the final refuge for fans who long for the grit, passion, and unpredictability that once defined English football. In the Championship, clubs still rooted in their communities battle it out, and the drama often extends to the final moments of the season. But the increasing financial power of the Championship comes with the real threat that it could follow the Premier League’s path, becoming a playground for opportunistic investors and global capital. If the heart and soul of English football is to survive, it’s time for fans to rally around the Championship, defending it before it too loses its way.