Luton’s Kenilworth Road is crumbling but deserves a Premier League chance

S hortly before 8pm last Tuesday, a remarkable act of transfiguration took place at Kenilworth Road. At that precise moment, Luton’s cramped and crumbling old stadium, with a capacity barely above 10,000, became a raging, roaring, hot-headed monster. The noise barely stopped for the next 90 minutes, at which point Luton’s players had seen off Sunderland and were heading to a playoff final at Wembley – and the jokes and sneers about their old ground had resurfaced again on social media.

Does Kenilworth Road deserve to grace the Premier League? If Luton can get past Coventry on Saturday, the only answer is a punchy and unqualified yes. Sure it is no looker. Unlike Craven Cottage, also built in 1905, it will never attract the love of the blue plaque heritage brigade. The wooden main stand is so tight in places that you have to duck your head when you go to the toilet, while the away fans’ entrance in the Oak Road End looks down on residents’ gardens. Yet give me it over any soulless, out-of-town ground any day.

Now Luton face their biggest sliding doors moment since being relegated on the eve of the Premier League in 1992. This, however, isn’t just a story of Luton Town but of Luton the town, too. For decades it has been a put‑down, a punchbag, a punchline to an easy joke. It is a perennial visitor to books like Crap Towns II and lists of the most awful places in the country. As someone who was born and raised in Luton, I know it has plenty of rough edges. But scratch a little deeper, amid its struggles and chronic lack of investment, and you find hope that Saturday could really transform the town as well as the club.

It boils down to football economics 101. Promotion to the Premier League remains the most valuable prize