Mahyar Arefi discusses this ‘loss of place’ in his paper, ‘Non‐place and placelessness as narratives of loss: Rethinking the notion of place’ (2007) mentioning that: “concurrent with the ‘devaluation’ and ‘commodification’ of place, sense of place has experienced a drastic change.” (Arefi, 2007 : 183). Arefi here argues the meaning of ‘place’ has gone from being something that is “unconscious” and therefore natural and instinctive, to being something that is consciously created and then ultimately to something that is “manufactured” artificially. ‘Sense of place’ is a phenomena that should have sufficient “rootedness”, however, the manufactured attempts have “contributed to the emergence of ‘placelessness’, while ‘placeness’, embedded in rootedness, connotes belonging, envisions fate” and “embodies will and volition” (Arefi, 2007 : 183). ‘Placelessness’, in this sense, ultimately symbolises a loss of meaning (Relph, 1976; Houston, 1978; Hayden, 1995) and a separation of the spectator, the stadium and the club.

Aside from the emotional manifestation within stadia, feelings of topophilia can be provoked via external means. In the case of Newcastle United FC’s stadium, St. James’ Park, the stadium, in lying in the centre of the city of Newcastle has become as much of cultural icon as it has a sporting one. Having visited the stadium myself, it is easy to see how it has such an effect on the local community. Due its sheer size and scale and the fact that is located at the highest point in the area, the building casts both a literal and metaphorical shadow over the city and can be seen from all around. When travelling to the city itself, the stadium is one of the first distinguishable symbols of the city that can be seen. Subsequently, even for those who aren’t fans, the form of the stadium has become a symbol for the city and indeed ‘home’. It is commonly used as a reference point by locals, who upon speaking to, claim that “everyone in Newcastle knows where the stadium is”.

The stadium as a cultural artefact here is also induced by the fact that Newcastle is a ‘one club city’, by which I mean that no other professional football team plays in the area — the nearest team of similar standing being Sunderland, their rivals. St. James’ Park it seems is part of the everyday life of the area. Being constantly aware of its presence only immerses locals into football fandom and as a result, football has become a major cultural aspect of the city. This effect is multiplied on match-days when the city is swamped in Newcastle fans on a mass pilgrimage to the ground. During the game, the streets are eerily empty and city life is a shadow of what was a mere few hours ago. Despite the stadiums best efforts to contain the noise via the implementation of a fully enclosed arena, the roars and cheers of the crowd can be heard all over the city — everyone here is aware Newcastle United are playing on ‘match day’.

St. James’ Park’s status as a symbol, is also aided by its unusual form. This phenomena has subsequently been emulated by other recent builds such as Wembley in the attempt for stadia design to induce feelings of topophilia via the use of semiotics. Indeed, if executed well, perceived beauty can lead to community satisfaction (Widgery, 1982) with aesthetic qualities having just as much substance as “social support or social belonging” (White, 1985 & Florida et al. 2009).

A defining feature of stadia in Britain is the visible tectonic structure. In Newcastle, the cantilevered design is what elevates the building above the rest of the city, the skyline being punctuated by its white “spiders legs” as the locals call it. This visibility of the structure however, isn’t a new phenomena. In Leitch’s early utilitarian-style designs, the use of pillars was widely implemented with apparent disregard to the disruption of the fans view (although no other feasible engineering solution existed at the time). Though it may be cost effective to not hide the stadia’s structural system, this aesthetic choice may work in the designs favour echoing the ethos of Carles Vallhonrat (1988: 133) who argues that façade’s “mask” buildings “without regard for the nature of the frame as a structural concept”. Following this notion, spectators can take solace in being able view the structure of a stadium, being assured that the structure is clearly safe and secure. If anything, these qualities evoke a a sense of “good order” which reflect “courage and self control” (Plato, 1966: 57) — “what we search for in a work of architecture is not in the end so far in what we search for in a friend” (de Botton, 2007: 88). Moreover, the impression of safety can also instil a sense of ‘homeliness’, which can lead to stadia acting as not only a “physical, but also psychological sanctuary” (de Botton, 2007: 10) with it becoming a “guardian of identity” (de Botton, 2007: 11).

However, in the same way that stadia have attempted to procure an increased sense of ‘atmosphere’ via artificial methods, tectonic structuralism may also have a similar effect. “The one technical innovation that has affected our art” Vallhonrat (1988: 131) argues “is the size of the increments with which we build.” Here Vallhonrat is suggesting that structures and have the capability to overwhelm and dispel the sense of safety amongst fans as he goes on to say that “this development has brought about a change in our sense of scale, for the sizes have changed in relation to our customary cultural sense of good measure” (Vallhonrat, 1988: 131).