Wrexham AFC

I've been avoiding doing Wrexham for a while now. Perhaps the documentary (of which I am a fan) and the intense hype and following from the States made me nervous to foray into their Holywood waters - but - what we do have here, undeniably, is a team and town of grit and tradition. I can vouch for that - I took my kids down to see the Racecourse during our summer holidays and we popped into the Turf pub. I can assure you, that it has not been gentrified. Not a bit. It's still as rough as a cat's tongue.

So, let’s #GetTheBadgeIn for The Red Dragons

@Wrexham_AFC

🔴🐉— a club steeped in pride, pain, passion, and only very recently, a dash of Hollywood sparkle.

Founded (depending on who you ask) in 1872, 1873, or even 1864, Wrexham AFC are Wales’ oldest football club and one of the oldest in the world. The club’s beginnings can be traced to a meeting at the Turf Hotel, where members of the local cricket club decided to form a football team to keep themselves busy in the off season. That same Turf pub still overlooks the Racecourse Ground. Deadpool has done shots there.

They’ve played at the Racecourse Ground ever since — a hallowed turf that hosted Wales’ first ever international football match in 1876 (Wales lost to Scotland) and is one of the oldest international stadiums still in use. From there, Wrexham helped form the Football Association of Wales and won the first ever Welsh Cup.

The badge worn today dates to a 1973 fan competition. It features two red dragons, claws wrapped around a football. Dragons, after all, have prowled Welsh legends since the time of the Romans - more on which later.

Above them on the badge are the three white ostrich feathers of the Prince of Wales, accompanied by the German motto Ich Dien — “I serve”. This heraldic symbol was first associated with Edward of Woodstock, better known as the Black Prince, son of Edward III, following his victory at the Battle of Crécy in 1346. According to legend, he adopted the feathers and motto from the blind King John of Bohemia , whose bravery he admired. John went into battle at Crecy at age 50 having been blind for a decade already, and was, astonishingly, killed (Crecy/Crazy - same same).

Though now deeply associated with the title Prince of Wales, the symbol is not of Welsh origin but rather a marker of conquest — bestowed upon the English heir after Edward I’s brutal subjugation of Wales in the 13th century. The feathers are a reminder of monarchy and imperial authority.

In contrast, the two red dragons on the Wrexham badge — the Y Ddraig Goch — are older, and more undeniably Welsh. They come from ancient mythology, Roman legionary standards, and the legends of Merlin and King Vortigern, in which the red dragon of the Britons defeats the white dragon of the invading Saxons (who were German, remember). If the feathers represent the crown, then the dragons represent the resistance.

That tension — between English rule and Welsh identity — runs deep in Wrexham’s veins. It’s even present in the name. Some linguists trace Wrexham to “Wryhtel’s ham”, a Saxon personal name meaning “Wryhtel’s homestead.” Others suggest the root comes from Rex (Latin for king) and ham (Old English for a meadow or settlement), which would make it “King’s Meadow”. Whatever the case, Wrexham’s name blends Celtic, Saxon, and Roman influences, much like the wider history of Wales itself — a borderland shaped by invasion, migration, and resistance. And throughout this layered past, one constant endured: work.

And no one worked harder than Wrexham’s miners. Situated on the edge of the North Wales Coalfield, the town became an industrial hub from the 18th century onward. The surrounding countryside was laced with deep-shaft collieries — including the Bersham, Hafod, and most tragically, Gresford Colliery. Coal from Wrexham fuelled the furnaces of Britain, powering the age of steam, the railways, and the industrial cities. But the price of progress was often paid in tragedy. On 22 September 1934, the town was devastated by one of the worst mining disasters in British history. At 2:08 a.m., an explosion tore through the Dennis section of Gresford pit. 266 men and boys lost their lives. The exact cause remains unknown, though it was likely a combination of methane gas and poor ventilation. Only 11 bodies were recovered; the rest still lie entombed. A memorial, one of the old mine wheels, now stands, and each year, Wrexham remembers.

That shared suffering, solidarity, and strength never left the terraces. It’s why the community clung to its football club when it was hanging by a thread — falling through the leagues, abandoned by owners, and on the brink of collapse. And it’s perhaps why the town’s Hollywood fairytale, led by Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney, struck such a chord. The Disney+ documentary showed the state of Wrexham (and modern Britain as a whole): empty high streets, mining memorials, loyal fans, and the grit of a town that refuses to be forgotten. It told the story of a place rising from the ashes of industry, proud of its past and hopeful for its future.

A story of grief, grit — and giddy, dragon-fuelled hope.