Toronto is buzzing again. For the first time in thirty-two years, the Blue Jays are heading back to the World Series – and they’ve just made an incredible start! Winning their first game 11 - 4, helped in large part by Canadian born Vladimir Guerrero Jr, who signed a jaw-dropping $500 million contract with the club. His father, Vladimir Guerrero Sr, spent his own career chasing a ring with the Montreal Expos — Canada’s lost team. The son now vows to win that title and hand the ring to his father. But. Before we go any further – who exactly are the Blue Jays? Why are they one of the most iconic baseball teams in the world? And what even is a Blue Jay? Let’s do this year’s World Series contenders the honour – and #GetTheBadgeIn.   The Blue Jays appeared back in 1976. Toronto was awarded a Major League Baseball expansion franchise and it needed a name. The City turned to its citizens and asked for ideas - thousands of entries poured in. The winning name, Blue Jays, delivered on representing the city’s identity in a number of different ways: the connection ran through birds, beer and tradition. Let’s take each in turn. The blue jay is no ordinary bird. Common across eastern Canada, it’s intelligent, noisy, social, and fiercely territorial — a tiny bundle of personality in cobalt and white. Scientists say its feathers aren’t even blue; they only appear that way because of light refraction. In a sense, it’s a trick of the light — dazzling, clever, adaptable. These birds are also builders - blue jays hoard and plant acorns, helping new forests grow. That quiet symbolism of growth and community made them the perfect emblem for a young Canadian franchise trying to plant roots in the world’s biggest baseball league. Then there’s the Labatt Blue connection — an undeniable nod to one of Canada’s most famous brewing houses. Founded in London, Ontario, in 1847 by John Kinder Labatt, the company grew from a small provincial brewery into a national giant. By the 1950s its pale lager, Labatt Blue, was the best-selling beer in Canada, and its blue label had become as familiar as the maple leaf. The connection? Labatt was the Blue Jays’ first owner, and the overlap between the beer’s colour and the team’s kit was hardly an accident. The inclusion of the red maple leaf in the logo – identical to the icon on the Labbat Blue beer can – cemented the connection. It also helped that Toronto’s other big clubs — the Maple Leafs in hockey, the Argonauts in football — were already draped in blue. The Blue Jays simply extended that identity. Toronto is blue. Toronto as a city was perfect for the new team. By the 1970s it was shifting from a regional capital to a global metropolis — a place of art, business, and bold growth. The Blue Jays’ arrival gave the city a team to match its confidence, and with it, a sense of identity distinct from Montreal, Vancouver, or New York. The franchise became a national symbol — Canada’s only MLB team, a shared flag for a whole country of fans. Every home run, every World Series appearance, carried that sense of national pride. The victories of 1992 and 1993 defined an era. Now, in 2025, the Blue Jays have landed once again in the top game of the sport.

Situated between Southampton and Portsmouth on the English south coast – upstream of a creek (Fareham Creek) – this town could not have anything but a rich heritage given its location. The football team is also proving itself to have some deep wells of support in the local area – in the Isthmian League South Central so far this year they have the third highest attendance – this is despite a slightly rocky start to the season. Their badge immediately drew my attention on Twitter because of the two red roses sitting either side of the crossed keys and sword. Red roses are usually seen ‘up north’ in Lancashire – Southampton FC have a white rose embedded in their badge – so how did a red rose, two in fact, get onto the south coast? Well, there is an easy answer for one – and an interesting connection for the other. So, without further ado, let’s do the #Creeksiders the honour and #GetTheBadgeIn – because they have a beauty based on the town’s coat of arms. Let’s start with that ship. As you would expect, Fareham has long had a strong maritime connection. In medieval times, ships loaded with Hampshire grain sailed to France and returned with wine. Imports such as coal, salt, and hides arrived at Fareham’s quays, while exports included timber, leather, bricks, pottery, and grain. In the late 18th century, shipbuilding thrived in Fareham – and while smaller boats were, and still are, constructed at Fareham – its role was mostly to ship out the vast amounts of timber needed for the Royal Navy, building its ships during the 18th and 19th centuries in Portsmouth. Fareham sits in the middle of some large forests and estates, making it an excellent source of this vital ingredient that powered Britain’s rise. The town today boasts some beautiful Georgian architecture and houses built at around the same time as the top brass of the Royal Navy and their families moved into the area – far enough away from the busy dockyards to be idyllic but close enough to oversee operations. The ship in gold is striking against the black background. According to the Fareham Town Council website, that is by design, as the black itself has deep-rooted meanings. Fareham has notched up some impressive industrial innovations in its time, and this black, the colour of coal and industry, is meant to represent that. In the 1780s Henry Cort introduced a new method of smelting iron, known, funnily enough, today as the Cort process. He found that by taking low-quality and ‘crumbly’ pig iron and placing it into a coal-fired ‘reverberatory furnace’ (which means the fuel is burnt in one chamber which heats the roof of the chamber in which the metal is placed) you could turn it into wrought iron. Wrought iron was of high quality and could be fashioned into railway tracks or used for shipbuilding. However, the story goes a bit deeper. Cort, while responsible for introducing the process to England, did not actually invent it himself (despite holding the patent). He learned of the method from his cousin, who traded with the slave island of Jamaica. There, a group of black metalworkers had devised this new method, which Cort’s cousin witnessed when visiting the island. So, thanks to Cort – and those innovative Jamaican slaves – Fareham was able to keep up with the changes in shipbuilding and once again become the source of the Royal Navy’s essential materials, from timber to iron. However, Fareham’s exports and innovations did not stop there and were not confined to developing for export either. Looking inward, the new building boom triggered by the Industrial Revolution required large amounts of bricks. Again, to the rescue came Fareham. Bursledon brickworks and others in the area took advantage of the area’s naturally high-quality clay and began producing en masse. There was plenty of clay at the new Bursledon site, along with excellent transport links by rail and river. At first, the clay was dug by hand from deep pits, some nearly 40 feet deep, located close to the factory. It was then moved using small railway wagons. As the nearest pits were exhausted and the digging moved further away, this method became less practical. In the 1930s, mechanical diggers were introduced, and eventually, the clay was transported to the works by an overhead cable system from more distant pits. The bricks made from the local clay soon became known as ‘Fareham red brick’ and were used in many buildings – notably, the Royal Albert Hall in London was built with them and still retains its iconic Fareham red brick look today. Moving up in the badge, we have the crossed keys and sword. This represents the church that sits at the centre of Fareham – the Church of St Peter and St Paul. St Peter is often referred to with the symbols of the crossed keys (which is why so many pubs are called that too), as he was the holder of the keys of Heaven. St Paul, who wrote much of the Bible, is historically referred to as the sword of Christ – but in his case, his ‘sword’ was his pen. The crossed keys and sword symbolism crops up a lot in England and is also on the school badge of Cranleigh private school in Surrey, which is not a million miles away from Fareham and has its own church of the same name. So then, finally, to the red roses which sparked my interest in the first place… The red roses are indeed those of Lancaster – but in a rather roundabout way. Hampshire also has the red rose symbol on its flag because it is connected through John of Gaunt to Lancaster. John was the fourth son of Edward III and rose to become one of the most powerful men in England (but never king). He was titled ‘Duke of Lancaster’ and was the OG ‘Lancastrian’ (one of the houses that would tear England apart during the Wars of the Roses). However, despite holding significant lands in the north, he also held estates in Hampshire – hence the red rose also appearing down south. So, there you have it. Warships, iron, red bricks, and red roses – the powerhouse behind the Royal Navy and the Industrial Revolution. There’s a lot going on with these #Creeksiders.

Bayer 04 Leverkusen: The Factory Team that Perfected the Formula In 2024, Under Xabi Alonso, Bayer Leverkusen , the club claimed its first ever Bundesliga title, ending Bayern Munich’s 11-year dominance and completing a domestic double with the DFB-Pokal. They did it with style: unbeaten through the entire league campaign, and setting a European record of 48 matches without defeat before finally falling in the Europa League final to Atalanta. For a club once nicknamed “Neverkusen” for its screw ups, it was redemption.   To understand Bayer Leverkusen’s success, you have to go back to the origins of the town and the company whose name the club still proudly wears – so let’s do just that – and #GetTheBadgeIn for these newly rejuvenated German giants.   Leverkusen lies on the eastern bank of the Rhine in North Rhine-Westphalia, midway between Cologne and Düsseldorf. Today it’s part of the dense Rhine-Ruhr industrial region, but for centuries it was a scattering of quiet villages. The area is crossed by the Wupper and Dhünn rivers which helped get the regions exports to market.   But the story of modern Leverkusen is not about the beating of hammers or the drilling of coal mines like other German industrial teams such as Borussia Dortmund. Their industrial revolution was altogether more refined one. A world of flasks, beakers, Bunsen burners and lab coats.   It all began in the mid-19th century when the chemist Carl Leverkus established a dye factory at Wiesdorf in 1861. He produced artificial ultramarine blue (the natural version was an extremely expensive and rare colouring that came from rocks mined mostly in Afghanistan!) and named the settlement around his factory Leverkusen, after his family’s home in Lennep. When the Bayer company later purchased the site in 1891, they kept the name – but it applied only to the district where the workers lived – when they made the football team they took that name. But by 1930, the surrounding villages merged into one municipality and they named the entire region Leverkusen, recognising the town’s dependence on Bayer’s presence. So, in an unusual twist, the football club would bear the city’s name before the city itself officially existed.   The company that gave the town — and club — its identity was founded earlier still. In 1863, a dye salesman named Friedrich Bayer and his partner Johann Friedrich Weskott, a master dyer, opened a small dyestuffs workshop in Barmen.   By the late 19th century, Bayer’s laboratories had turned their attention to pharmaceuticals. In 1899, they trademarked Aspirin, based on acetylsalicylic acid — one of the most widely used medicines in history. A few years earlier, they had also introduced heroin, at the time marketed as a cough suppressant and supposedly non-addictive alternative to morphine. The later product didn’t catch on (well, it did…) but the former one began all world conquering (and legal).   Bayer’s “cross” logo was registered in 1904 and soon stamped on every aspirin tablet — four intersecting letters that became one of the world’s most recognisable symbols. The illuminated version still shines over Leverkusen today.   In 1925, Bayer joined several firms to form IG Farben, then the world’s largest chemical company. Within it, scientists such as Gerhard Domagk discovered Prontosil, the first widely used antibacterial drug and a forerunner of modern antibiotics. After the Second World War, IG Farben was dissolved because of its wartime role, and Bayer re-emerged in 1951 as Farbenfabriken Bayer AG, rebuilding rapidly in West Germany as the Allies sought to rebuild Germany at speed as a bulwark against the Russians.   In the post-war decades, Bayer has diversified into polymers, crop science, biotechnology and consumer healthcare. The firm remains one of the world’s largest pharmaceutical groups, even after difficult mergers such as the 2016 acquisition of Monsanto. From a single dye workshop to a global science powerhouse, its trajectory mirrors the rise of industrial Germany itself.   Against this industrial backdrop came a simple idea from the factory floor. On 27 November 1903, a worker named Wilhelm Hauschild, supported by whopping 180 other colleagues, wrote to the company directors requesting permission to start a sports club. Bayer agreed, and on 1 July 1904 the Turn- und Spielverein Bayer 04 Leverkusen was founded. 04 for the year in which it was founded.   At first, it promoted gymnastics and general fitness, but on 31 May 1907 a football department was formally created. The footballers soon split and formed their own branch in 1928 as Sportvereinigung Bayer 04 Leverkusen, taking with them handball, boxing and athletics, while the gymnasts continued separately.   Through the 1930s the team played in regional leagues, earning promotion to the second tier in 1936 — the same year the club first wore the Bayer Cross on its shirts. Post-war, Bayer 04 appeared in the Oberliga West in 1951.   The link between company and club runs deep - Bayer provided facilities, funding and community support, and the club in turn became a social pillar for thousands of employees. Over time it grew into one of Germany’s largest multi-sport associations.   Leverkusen’s modern identity is most visible at the BayArena, the club’s home since 1958. Originally the Ulrich-Haberland-Stadion, it has been steadily expanded and modernised, most notably between 2007 and 2009. The stadium’s defining feature is its circular roof, a light, cable-supported structure 215 metres across made from translucent polycarbonate — a material produced by Bayer itself.   With a capacity of around 30,000, the BayArena reflects both practicality and precision. It is compact, symmetrical and designed to shelter every seat from the rain — an engineer’s solution to comfort rather than grandeur. The glowing roof ring above the stands gives it a distinctive, almost scientific aesthetic, a stadium that could only belong to a pharmaceutical factory club.   Bayer Leverkusen’s rise under Xabi Alonso was absolutely staggering. His calm leadership and modern pressing style turned a struggling side into a record breakers.   Their unbeaten 2023-24 campaign was not built on spectacle alone, but on intelligent design — players interlocking like the gears of a laboratory machine. They won the Bundesliga by a margin rarely seen, finished the domestic season undefeated, and for the first time, truly fulfilled the promise of being Germany’s “Werkself” — the Factory Eleven.   Every badge tells a story, and Bayer Leverkusen’s brings its history full circle. At the centre stands the Bayer Cross, symbol of the company and the city’s industrial birth. Flanking it are two red lions, taken directly from the coat of arms of Leverkusen. The lions represent the old regional nobility, but in the context of the club they also suggest strength, courage and guardianship — protecting the proud emblem of science that made the town possible.   The old protects the new. I quite like that symbolism.   The illuminated Bayer Cross still shines over the Rhine, a beacon of invention. Beneath it, the red and black of Leverkusen continue to represent what can happen when human curiosity, industry and teamwork share the same formula.

They did it. They blimmin’ went and did it. Thursday just gone, October 9th 2025, The Ipswich Witches (@ipswichspeedway) finally broke a 26-year wait to reclaim British speedway’s biggest prize. In front of a bumper Foxhall crowd, the Witches edged out the Leicester Lions 46–43 on the night and 93–86 on aggregate to win their first Premiership title since 1998. Former world champion Jason Doyle top-scored with 10 points, sealing the club’s 11th major trophy since its foundation in 1950. For team boss Ritchie Hawkins, who took charge when Ipswich sat bottom of the second division, it was the culmination of a decade’s persistence. “There’s massive expectation here,” he told BBC Radio Suffolk. “Every week we have the best crowds in the country and the best supporters.” For those of you who may not know what on earth I am talking about this is Speedway. Four riders. Four laps. Dirt Track. One Gear. No Brakes. Steering? Sort of. They call it broadsiding – jumping and cutting into the dirt to get leverage to propel them forwards – and ahead of their rivals. 2 riders in each team. 3 points or first, 2 for second and 1 for third. 15 heats. On the straights, they can reach speeds of up to 70 mph, kicking up a haze of shale (coating nearby spectators) and noise that defines a summer night at Foxhall and can be heard all across Ipswich. The sport began in Australia in the early 1920s, spreading rapidly to Britain in 1928 when promoter Johnnie Hoskins and a group of riders introduced it at High Beech in Essex. By the 1930s, speedway had swept across northern Europe, with Britain, Poland, Sweden, and Denmark becoming its modern strongholds. Speedway came to Ipswich in the post-war reconstruction boom. Foxhall Stadium was purpose-built for the sport in 1950, and after a few postponed meetings the track opened officially on 14 May 1951 when Ipswich faced Yarmouth in a challenge match. The club joined the Southern League the following year and adopted the nickname “Witches” – more on which in a second. Through the decades, Ipswich have been one of the most iconic teams in British speedway. Their crisp black jackets with fluorescent yellow trim stand out from a mile away and are by the far the best dressed Speedway team in England. They dominated the 1970s and 1980s, winning league titles in 1975, 1976, and 1984, and adding a string of Knockout Cups. The Louis family became synonymous with the club: John Louis, an Ipswich native and former England international, led the team to success in the 1970s before later managing the national side. His son picked up the family tradition and Chris Louis starred through the 1990s, helping Ipswich to a famous treble in 1998 alongside Tony Rickardsson, Tomasz Gollob, and Scott Nicholls. Today Chris promotes the club with team manager Hawkins, continuing a family legacy that stretches back half a century. So then, on to the badge and that name… The Witches. Ipswich and the surrounding East Anglia countryside was one of the most active centres of witch trials in seventeenth-century England, a time when fear, religion, and politics collided to spook the people into vigilante populist nonsense...(hmm). In an age of poor harvests, plague, and civil war, belief in the Devil’s work ran deep. It was here, in 1645, that two figures—Matthew Hopkins, the self-proclaimed Witchfinder General, and a local woman named Mary Lakeland, also called Mother Lakeland—crossed paths in one of the darkest episodes in Suffolk’s story. Hopkins, a lawyer’s son from just across the Essex border in picturesque Manningtree, claimed he had been sent by God to uncover the Devil’s subversion of the good lady (and some men) folk of England. With his assistant John Stearne, he toured towns across Essex, Suffolk, and Norfolk, charging local authorities for each “investigation.” The pair used brutal methods—sleep deprivation, endless questioning, and the so-called swimming test where suspects were bound and thrown into water. Dozens were hanged after dubious trials and more than a hundred in total would die. Let’s not get bogged down into the economics of Hopkin’s trade… there is a sort of inevitability to finding someone guilty when you’re being paid to do so… A bit like how that feller in Scooby Doo always dresses up as a ghost to lower house prices… Ipswich, wealthy from exporting cloth out into Europe, was high on Hopkin’s list of potential markets. In August 1645, five women from the town were accused of witchcraft. Records show Hopkins and his agents were involved and received payment from the town council (I strangely suspect this would probably go down better on local Facebook comment threads than some of the more innocent things the Council tries to do today…) One of those accused, Mary Lackland (or Lakeland – different accounts use different spelling), faced a fate even worse than hanging. Mary Lackland was an elderly widow of a barber. She fit the stereotype of a witch—outspoken, eccentric, old, poor, and alone… on reflection, and if that’s the criteria, I rather fear for my wife once I’m gone. But I digress, Mark Lackland confessed (under some significant ‘pressure’ from Hopkin’s men) to making a pact with the Devil and to commanding animal “familiars” who harmed neighbours that had crossed her – in particular a dog (I mean come on… what are the odds of a dog hanging around…) Among the charges, she was accused of killing her own husband by witchcraft—a crime defined not only as witchcraft but as petty treason (love that concept…). It was this that sealed her fate. While most convicted witches were hanged, those guilty of petty treason were burned at the stake. On 9 September 1645, Mary Lakeland was taken from Ipswich Gaol to Rushmere Heath, just beyond the town. There she was tied to a stake and burned alive. I imagine if this happened today the kids riding the Route 66 bus that drives past the heath probably wouldn’t even look up from their phones to notice. Mary’s death marked the last execution for witchcraft in Ipswich, and one of the last burnings in England. Why did the good subjects of Ipswich get wrapped up such hysteria? And without even a vital meme promoting such nonsense in sight? The mid-1600s were years of turmoil: civil war between king and parliament, economic hardship, bloody French pirates periodically raiding the coastline and stealing ice creams from the promenades, disease, and religious extremism. Witchcraft offered a simple answer to complex fears. Misfortune could be blamed on neighbours rather than nature. Women—especially widows or healers—were easy targets. They were such simple minded fools back then, imagine if we simply blamed all our problems on one grou…. Oh. However, Hopkins himself died only two years after all of this, in 1647 – supposedly of of tuberculosis, aged 27. Was this curse? Did Lackland have the last laugh? Do the Ipswich Witches still live on? They do indeed. Although some may feel that they can probably be better seen in the Town today on a Friday night falling out of Vokda Revs – the true Witches – have gone from fire to floodlights and settled in Foxhall woods. A symbol that once evoked fear and division, that badge now unites. The Foxhall crowds that roar on the Witches every summer celebrate resilience, not superstition; determination, not persecution. The broomsticks are steel frames now, broadsiding around that track to glory. The Ipswich Witches have been around for centuries. Come on you Witches. Let’s win it again next year.

Farnham. A historic market town in Surrey, England. Good connections to London. A creative arts university and a castle. Oh, and a football team. A football team owned by a young marketing entrepreneur, and Farnham local, Harry Hugo. I recently heard his excellent interview on The Price of Football Podcast and thought I couldn't possibly go for long without turning my attentions to this club with a fantastic looking badge – one that has both a castle and beer barrels on it – what’s not to like? The team itself has been doing fantastically well of late - as you would expect of any team at the lower levels that have received significant investment. They have been promoted twice in a row as champions and have started strongly this season in the Southern League Premier. One more promotion takes them into National League South and they can begin to eye up the big, big boys in the EFL. So, Farnham then. Cracking badge. What can it teach us? Let's start with those beer barrels shall we? Farnham Town FC began in 1906 when the local brewry team Farnham Bungs merged with another, Farnham Star, to make the current team. Farnham’s connection to brewing goes way, way back. Hop growing began here in 1597, when a Mr Bignell introduced the crop from Suffolk (woo!). By the 1670s, there were over 300 acres of hopyards surrounding the town. The local soil and sheltered landscape proved perfect for growing, and by the eighteenth century, hop kilns and drying houses filled the valleys around Farnham. In the 1750s, a local landowner, Peckham Williams, bred a new variety — the White Bine Grape Hop. Its pale bine and clustered cones set it apart from rivals, and it quickly became known as the Farnham Whitebine. It was cultivated from a single cutting, carefully maintained for generations, and eventually spread to Kent and Worcestershire under new names — Canterbury Whitebine and Mathon Whitebine. Farnham growers picked the hops singly by hand, removed damaged leaves, and dried them without sulphur (the normal practice) — which helped preserve the taste. The result was a bright, “silky” hop that brewers across Britain paid a premium for. At its height, Farnham had 1,500 acres of land devoted to growing to hops, around 40% of the area’s total arable land. Each year, the hop sacks were stamped with the Farnham bell, a mark of excellence known throughout the trade. The phrase “to bear the bell” — meaning to take first place — was inspired by Farnham’s hops. Central to the Town today, and continuing that heritage, is the Farnham Maltings – a converted malting building that is an arts and community centre. It began life back in 1845 when John Barrett converted the old tanyard buildings beside the river into a brewery. The expansion of the army camp at nearby Aldershot brought booming trade, and by the 1870s, Farnham’s riverside was lined with breweries, maltings, and warehouses. Barrett’s rival, George Trimmer, eventually bought the site in 1890, forming the Farnham United Breweries, which owned over 90 pubs and eight off-licences. Trimmer’s maltsters roasted barley grown in the same fields that once produced the Farnham Whitebine. Malting continued until 1956, but more modern methods made the old ways unprofitable and production came to an end. The buildings were abandoned — and faced demolition. But the local community wasn’t having any of it. Hundreds of years of tradition were not just about to be lost. Within just six weeks, an action committee led by Raymond Krish raised £18,000, while the remaining £12,000 came from the Farnham Trust, through grants and the sale of nine restored cottages — including Tanyard House, one of Farnham’s oldest buildings. They raised the funds needed to buy the site in the centre of the town and form the arts centre that it is today. What might have become a block of flats became instead a centre for community pride and identity – and is a legacy Farnham Town FC carry on their badge today. The second feature of the team’s badge is the castle. Farnham Castle, has watched over the town for nearly nine centuries. Today it doubles as a popular wedding venue, admired for its mix of Norman stonework and Tudor mansions. Built in 1138 by Henri de Blois, Bishop of Winchester and grandson of William the Conqueror, the first castle was torn down by Henry II in 1155 after “The Anarchy”. It soon rose again in stone, complete with a Great Hall, Norman Chapel, and the Shell Keep that still crowns the hill. In 1216, Prince Louis of France seized Farnham and Guildford Castles before the Earl of Pembroke reclaimed them for the Crown. Later bishops lived lavishly — John de Pontoise, visiting in 1223, famously stocked 311 pigs in brine to feed his guests. He certainly brought home the bacon. The Tudor period saw Cardinal Henry Beaufort preside over the trial of Joan of Arc, inspiring the later dedication of St Joan of Arc’s Church in the town. Mary I stayed here before marrying Philip of Spain, and Elizabeth I visited six times, her final stay coming just months before her death. Bishop Richard Fox remodelled the castle in grand style, adding towers, a new south range, and a stairway from the town. Its gardens even supplied white clay used for lawyers’ drinking cups in London. During the Civil War, Parliament’s troops occupied Farnham in 1642, and by 1648 it lay in ruins. Bishop George Morley later restored it, transforming the fortress into a palace with gardens fit for royalty. When King James I visited in 1620, his three-day stay cost more than £2,000, “to the extraordinary contentment of his Majesty.” Beneath these two images on the badge lie two wavy blue lines. I can not find any concrete explanation for them online but I have to assume they refer to the region’s geography: The River Wey, flowing through the town beneath Castle Hill, provided the fresh water essential for brewing, powering early mills and feeding the tanneries and maltings that lined its banks. The surrounding hills and ridges — including others known as the Hog’s Back to Crooksbury Hill and Caesar’s Camp — offered fertile slopes, good drainage, and shelter for the Farnham Whitebine hops, once the finest in England. So, there you have it. The bastion, barracks and breweries. Hills, Hope and hops. Farnham Town FC are on the rise – and they carry a magnificent heritage with them as they do.

The following post is 100% inspired by the superb podcast @_footyheritage. I typed this out while stuck in a traffic jam, listening to their excellent interview with two members of the Kocaelispor fan group. So all the research — minus a little extra online digging for some historical context — is down to those guys. Please, if you like this sort of content, give their podcast a follow. So, without further ado... Kocaelispor — Kocaeli Sports Club — was founded in 1966. The team has worn its iconic green and black kits for nearly six decades and today plays at the 34,829-seat Kocaeli Stadium, competing once again in the Turkish Süper Lig. Known locally as Körfez (“The Gulf”), the club takes its identity from the Gulf of İzmit — the inlet that defines the city’s geography and features on its badge. The three stars recall the three founding clubs that merged to form Kocaelispor, while the sun marks İzmit’s exact position on the map. The name itself refers to the province of Kocaeli, while the city is called İzmit. As a club, they have had moments of glory in the 1990s, briefly breaking the monopoly on Turkish football held by the big three Istanbul teams. Kocaelispor’s best league finish came in 1992–93, when they placed fourth, and they have twice lifted the Turkish Cup — in 1997 and 2002. They have experienced several spells in the top flight, from the early 1980s through to the early 2000s, before financial problems led to successive relegations. After years in the lower divisions, and even the amateur leagues, the club began a fan-led rebuilding process. Successive promotions eventually brought them back to the Süper Lig in 2024–25, ending a sixteen-year absence. İzmit has long been one of Turkey’s main industrial centres. In the early twentieth century, it was known for textiles — producing fez hats, linen, army uniforms, and carpets. Today, it houses major automotive plants (Ford builds all its European Transit vans there) along with Turkey’s largest chemical and oil refineries. İzmit is ideally located for business. Turkey is part of the EU Customs Union, allowing tariff-free exports to the large EU market while still maintaining relatively low costs compared to the rest of Europe. İzmit’s port and rail links make it perfect for building and exporting vehicles into Europe. As a result, İzmit has attracted large numbers of workers from across Turkey, creating a diverse population which may otherwise have little in common — but Kocaelispor offers that population a shared identity and a sense of belonging that extends beyond the workplace. As proof of its central role in the community, we can look at what happened after the devastating 1999 Marmara earthquake. Around 17,000 people lost their lives, and half a million were made homeless. Kocaelispor’s stadium became a temporary hospital and relief centre, turning the club into an essential part of the city’s response. The memory of that tragedy continues to shape how the community sees itself — the fans have been through it all, on and off the pitch. Historically, İzmit was once known as Nicomedia, and under Diocletian it served as the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire. It remained an important seat of power until Constantine founded Nova Roma (Constantinople). Later centuries saw it change hands during the Crusades before becoming part of the Ottoman Empire. The city still carries traces of that past. The Saat Kulesi (Clock Tower), built in 1902 to mark Sultan Abdülhamid II’s 25th year of rule, stands as one of many identical towers across former Ottoman cities such as Sarajevo and Belgrade. Down by the coast, the TCG Gayret — once the USS Eversole, a Korean War destroyer escort — is preserved as a museum ship, linking local industry, national history, and the sea. Kocaelispor’s return to the top division mirrors the endurance of the city itself. It is a club supported by factory workers, engineers, and families who see football as their essential community glue. The green and black of Kocaelispor are woven into İzmit’s industrial fabric. Despite all that it has had to endure, this team and this city always work hard to bounce back.

Bristol City have been part of the English football story since 1894. Formed originally as Bristol South End before turning professional three years later, the club soon established itself at the heart of the city’s sporting life. Their red shirts, their fierce local rivalries, and their long residence at Ashton Gate have all given them a strong sense of identity. But much of that identity has been expressed through the club badge — a symbol that has shifted back and forth between civic pride … and a robin. The city itself offers plenty of inspiration. The name Bristol comes from the Old English Brycgstow — “place at the bridge.” From its earliest days, the settlement grew around a crossing over the River Avon, where the River Frome meets it. By the 12th century, Bristol had gained a royal charter and quickly became a thriving centre of trade. Its sheltered harbour allowed ships to connect with Ireland, France, and Spain, and by the later Middle Ages it was one of England’s busiest ports. That maritime success was written into the city’s coat of arms, which later appeared on the football club’s shirts: a castle and a golden ship standing for a fortified harbour, guarded but open for trade. Unicorns were added in the 16th century to symbolise purity, while the crest of arms holding scales and a serpent represented justice and wisdom. Beneath it all sits the motto Virtute et Industria — “By Virtue and Industry.” Bristol certainly delivered on the industry side of things. For centuries the city prospered on trade, though not all of it virtuous, as its deep involvement in the transatlantic slave trade showed. In the 19th and 20th centuries, its industries turned to shipbuilding, aircraft manufacture, and engineering. Today it is known just as much for creativity, regeneration, and its landmarks, above all Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s Clifton Suspension Bridge. Still sat in the harbour is Brunel’s SS Great Britain, the first iron steamer to cross the Atlantic in 1845. The football club, meanwhile, found its home at Ashton Gate after a merger with Bedminster in 1900. By 1904, the stadium had become permanent, and for more than a century it has staged triumphs and heartbreaks alike. From early promotions to near brushes with the top flight, from cup finals to relegation scraps, Ashton Gate has been where it all played out. Today it holds around 27,000 and is also home to the Bristol Bears rugby side. From the very start, the badge followed the city’s coat of arms. First sewn onto shirts in 1901/02 as City joined the Football League, it reappeared in the 1950s and the 1990s. But in 1949/50, something new fluttered onto the scene: a robin standing proudly on a football. It only lasted a season, but it planted a seed. In the 1970s fans were even invited to design a new crest, and the winning entry featured a robin on a five-bar gate — a nod to Ashton Gate itself. That version never reached the shirts, but the idea was taking root. By 1976 the club made the leap officially. A badge appeared with a robin, a football, and the Clifton Suspension Bridge, and fans embraced it. Later versions came and went — the much-maligned “BC82” of the early 1980s, a happier return of the robin and bridge in the late 80s, and then the full restoration of the coat of arms in 1994. But by the late 2010s, the board recognised that an identity rooted purely in civic symbolism no longer felt right for a club with ambition to match its city. They needed something that fans could truly call their own, something progressive, fierce, and proud. The answer lay in the bird that had long hovered around the club’s identity. In 2019, City unveiled a new robin — stylised and bold, perched on a football, with the letters “B” and “C” hidden cleverly in its outline. The launch was more than a rebrand: it was a statement of intent. The crest was revealed first in a supporters’ pub before being lit up across Bristol’s landmarks. It won awards, it made headlines, and most importantly, it gave the fans an emblem to rally behind. Small yet mighty, flaming-breasted and fierce, the robin was reclaimed as the true face of Bristol City. The choice of nickname had its own curious history. In the early years, fans called them the Garibaldians, after the Italian revolutionary whose followers wore red shirts, as well as the Citizens or simply the Reds. One almost wishes they had stuck with the Garibaldians — Ashton Gate resounding to La Marseillaise would be quite a sight. But instead it was the popular 1920s song When the Red, Red Robin (Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin’ Along) that did the trick. Sung from the terraces, it tied the red shirts to the bird, and from then on City were The Robins. From the fortified arms of a medieval port, through Brunel’s bridge and the terrace songs of the 1920s, to a bold new crest flying proudly on shirts today, Bristol City’s badge is the story of a club and a city finding the symbols that fit them best. With a solid nest in Ashton Gate, the Robins are moving steadily upward through the football pyramid. For a city as important as Bristol, a return to the top flight feels long overdue.

Some NBA teams lean on local history, others on industry, and some — like the Toronto Raptors — on pure pop culture. At first glance, a dinosaur logo for Canada’s only NBA franchise might feel like a gimmick. But behind the badge is a clever story about timing, identity, and how sport builds nations as well as teams. The Raptors were founded in 1995, when the NBA expanded into Canada alongside the Vancouver Grizzlies. The timing was everything. Just two years earlier, Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park had smashed box office records, sparking a worldwide dinosaur craze. A public name-the-team contest produced “Raptors” as the winner, directly inspired by that cultural moment. The original badge featured a snarling red raptor clutching a basketball — more cartoon than crest, but instantly recognisable. In 2015 the team rebranded with a sleeker, more minimalist badge: a black basketball clawed by three raptor talons. The change was part of a wider shift in Toronto’s sporting identity, symbolised by the slogan “We The North” — an assertive, unapologetically Canadian rallying cry. The badge now feels less about a dinosaur and more about defiance, with the scratch marks suggesting both the predator’s power and the battle scars of a city proving it belongs in the NBA elite. To really understand the badge, you need the city behind it. Toronto sits on the northwestern shore of Lake Ontario, on land long inhabited by Indigenous peoples, including the Wendat, the Haudenosaunee, and the Mississaugas of the Credit. The name “Toronto” itself likely comes from an Iroquoian word meaning “place where trees stand in the water.” The French established a trading post here in the 18th century, but it was the British who built the settlement that became modern Toronto. In 1793 Governor John Graves Simcoe founded the town of York as a military and trading centre. In the War of 1812, American forces invaded and burned parts of York, but the settlement was rebuilt and renamed Toronto in 1834, taking its Indigenous name as a mark of distinct identity. Through the 19th and early 20th centuries, Toronto grew into an industrial hub, boosted by railways, shipping, and waves of immigration — first from Britain and Ireland, later from Italy, Portugal, Eastern Europe, and, in the post-war years, from Asia, the Caribbean, and Africa. By the late 20th century, Toronto had become the largest city in Canada, known for its financial district, cultural industries, and extraordinary diversity. Today more than half of its residents were born outside Canada, making it one of the most multicultural cities in the world. The Raptors’ story has grown alongside Toronto’s. The team gained international attention with Vince Carter in the late 1990s, whose dunks put Toronto on the basketball map. In 2019, under Kawhi Leonard, the Raptors won their first NBA Championship, with millions filling the streets for the victory parade. It wasn’t just a sports win — it was a civic celebration, a moment when Toronto and Canada stood proudly on the global sporting stage. So yes, the Raptors’ name began as a slice of 1990s dinosaur mania. But their badge now represents something much bigger: a city with deep Indigenous roots, a colonial past scarred by war, and a modern identity built on diversity, resilience, and ambition. From fur-trading post to global metropolis, Toronto has always reinvented itself — and the Raptors’ clawed crest is the latest chapter in that story.

Some NBA names feel like they belong to their cities. Others, like the Washington Wizards, take a bit more explaining. The musical teams of New Orleans or the bulls of Chicago fit naturally; “Wizards” in America’s capital feels more like marketing than heritage. But that contrast is what makes the Wizards’ badge so interesting. The franchise began life in 1961 as the Chicago Packers, moved through Baltimore as the Bullets, and by 1973 had settled in Washington, D.C. For years the “Bullets” name stuck, but by the 1990s owner Abe Pollin felt it was too closely tied to the city’s struggles with crime and gun violence. After the murder of his friend, Pollin pushed for change. A fan contest produced five finalists — Dragons, Express, Stallions, Sea Dogs, and Wizards — and in 1997 “Wizards” was chosen. It wasn’t about history so much as being family-friendly, memorable, and marketable. The badge, however, tells a much richer story. Built around red, white, and blue, it pulls directly from Washington’s civic symbols and the American flag. The vertical line through the centre represents the Washington Monument, the marble obelisk that dominates the skyline. The round framing and stars echo the Capitol dome, and the entire design is patriotic to the core. In a way, the badge does the heavy lifting: if the name doesn’t root the team in Washington, the imagery certainly does. To really “get the badge in,” you need Washington itself. Founded in 1790, the city was a compromise. After fierce debate between North and South, the Founding Fathers created a purpose-built capital on the banks of the Potomac River, separate from any state. Pierre L’Enfant’s plan laid out wide boulevards, circles, and classical buildings meant to reflect Rome — the architecture of power. But the city grew slowly, and in 1814 during the War of 1812, British troops invaded, torching the Capitol, the Treasury, and even the White House. The sight of the President’s mansion in flames became one of the most dramatic moments in U.S. history. In the centuries since, Washington has become more than a capital. It is the stage for American democracy, protest, and performance: from Lincoln’s funeral procession to Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech at the Lincoln Memorial. Yet it’s also a real city with its own complexities. Its economy is driven by government, lobbying, and law, but also by universities, tourism, and a growing tech sector. At the same time, it struggles with stark inequality — between wealthy neighbourhoods and poorer wards, between the grandeur of its monuments and the everyday realities of its residents. The Wizards’ badge sits right in the middle of that tension. The name may feel whimsical, but the crest ties the team to Washington’s monumental core. Basketball here isn’t just played in any city — it’s played in the capital, in the shadow of the Capitol dome and the Washington Monument. That’s the magic the Wizards’ brand draws on: not spells and sorcery, but the theatre and power of America’s political heart.

Some NBA names fit their cities like a glove. Others, like the Utah Jazz, feel wonderfully offbeat. The musical note on the badge is a perfect nod to the team’s birthplace in New Orleans in 1974, but after the franchise moved west in 1979 it stayed put in Salt Lake City, where the name stuck. Jazz may not have grown up in Utah’s mountains, but the team made the rhythm its own. To understand the crest, you need the city and the state behind it. Salt Lake City was founded in 1847 by Mormon pioneers led by Brigham Young, who arrived after a long trek across the plains. They chose a high desert valley beside the Great Salt Lake — a remnant of an ancient inland sea called Lake Bonneville — and built farms, irrigation canals, and a grid-pattern city that became the centre of their faith. The Transcontinental Railroad soon ran through the territory, linking Utah to the rest of America, while mining, cattle, and later skiing shaped its economy. In the 20th century, Salt Lake grew into a modern hub and even hosted the 2002 Winter Olympics, cementing its global profile. What made Salt Lake remarkable was not just its geography, but its people. From the mid-19th century, tens of thousands of Mormon converts migrated here from abroad. The largest numbers came from the British Isles — especially English mill towns and Welsh mining valleys — where missionaries won thousands of followers. Scandinavia, particularly Denmark, was another stronghold, with whole communities uprooting to cross the Atlantic. Smaller numbers came from Germany, Switzerland, and even the Pacific Islands, joining American converts who trekked west from the Midwest. Many were poor, but the church’s Perpetual Emigrating Fund helped cover travel costs, with the promise they could repay it by working in Utah. Their reasons were powerful: a promise of religious freedom, a chance to escape persecution, and the belief in the “Gathering of Zion” — that God’s people should come together to build a holy community. For struggling industrial workers in Europe, Utah also meant land, work, and a fresh start. That pioneer spirit shaped the state’s character: communal, cooperative, and enduring. Utah’s nickname — the “Beehive State” — reflects this legacy. The beehive was adopted as a symbol of industry, cooperation, and hard work, values the early settlers prized as they carved out lives in an unforgiving desert landscape. Interestingly, the bee as a symbol of industry also appears in Britain — most famously in Manchester, where the worker bee became an emblem during the Industrial Revolution, representing the same ideals of labour, unity, and collective effort. Two very different places, but the same buzzing metaphor for building something bigger than yourself. Against this backdrop, the Jazz kept their musical-note “J” crest from New Orleans, creating one of the quirkiest brand identities in American sport. While the name evokes brass bands and riverboats, the fan base in Salt Lake gave it a new meaning: loyal, disciplined, and loud. In the 1990s, John Stockton and Karl Malone made the team famous with their unstoppable pick-and-roll partnership, pushing Michael Jordan’s Bulls to the brink in consecutive Finals. Their downtown arena became a cauldron, known for some of the noisiest crowds in the league. So the Jazz logo tells a two-part story. It begins in New Orleans’ music halls, but its heart lies beneath the Wasatch peaks in a city built by migrants chasing faith, freedom, and fresh opportunity — a beehive of industry and resilience. It’s a reminder that names travel, crests evolve, and identity grows from the place that embraces it.

Few NBA crests are as instantly recognisable as the Golden State Warriors’. At first glance it looks like a simple, clean image of a bridge, but behind that design is a story of California itself — its rebellious past, its engineering triumphs, and the way basketball grew to become part of its modern identity. The Warriors were born in Philadelphia in 1946, one of the NBA’s founding teams. Their earliest badge leaned heavily on Native American imagery, reflecting the “Warrior” name, though that approach now feels outdated. In 1962 the franchise moved west to San Francisco, before settling in Oakland in 1971. That same year, they adopted the broader title of Golden State Warriors, deliberately representing not just a single city but all of California. The name “Golden State” reaches back to the Gold Rush of 1848–49, when thousands travelled west to seek their fortunes. San Francisco was transformed almost overnight from a small settlement into a booming city. Gold, sunshine, and opportunity became California’s trademarks, and the Warriors’ name continues to echo that legacy. The same spirit of independence is found on California’s state flag, which features a powerful grizzly bear beneath a red star. That design recalls the Bear Flag Revolt of 1846, when a small group of settlers briefly declared California an independent republic before it was absorbed into the United States. Though short-lived, the revolt became a symbol of defiance and frontier pride — qualities woven into the identity of the state, and reflected in the team that carries its nickname. The Warriors’ current badge, introduced in 2010, centres on another defining Californian landmark: the Golden Gate Bridge. Opened in 1937 after four years of construction, it was at the time the longest suspension bridge in the world. Its distinctive “International Orange” colour was chosen to stand out against San Francisco’s fog while blending with the natural landscape. Beyond its practical brilliance, the bridge became a global icon of American engineering and optimism during the Great Depression. On the Warriors’ crest, it symbolises not only San Francisco’s identity but also connection — between the city and the wider Bay Area, and between the team and its state. This backdrop gives extra weight to what the Warriors have achieved on the court. Under Steph Curry, Klay Thompson, and Draymond Green, the team created a dynasty, winning four championships between 2015 and 2022 and revolutionising basketball with their reliance on speed, teamwork, and three-point shooting. They set an NBA record with a 73–9 season in 2015–16, surpassing even Michael Jordan’s Bulls, while their fans at Oracle Arena — nicknamed “Roaracle” — became legendary for the deafening noise that spurred the team on. Taken together, the Warriors’ badge is more than decoration. It’s a snapshot of California’s story: a state built on gold, rebellion, and opportunity; a city that looks outward across the bridge; and a team that redefined its sport on the world stage. The Golden Gate connects the Bay, and the Warriors’ crest connects basketball to the history and identity of the Golden State.

The Sacramento Kings are the NBA’s oldest continuously operating franchise, with roots stretching back more than a century. They began life in 1923 as the Rochester Seagrams, a semi-pro outfit in upstate New York, before turning fully professional as the Rochester Royals in 1945 — a name chosen to signal prestige and excellence. The choice was quickly justified: behind stars like Bob Davies and Bobby Wanzer, the Royals won the 1951 NBA Championship. The club moved to Cincinnati in 1957, keeping the Royals name and adding serious pedigree with Oscar Robertson (drafted in 1960) and later Jerry Lucas. In 1972 another relocation brought the franchise to Kansas City, where a clash with the MLB’s Kansas City Royals forced a rebrand. “Kings” kept the regal theme without the confusion, and for a spell the team split home games as the Kansas City–Omaha Kings, featuring the electric Nate “Tiny” Archibald — the only player to lead the league in scoring and assists in the same season (1972–73). In 1985 the Kings found a permanent home in Sacramento, where the crown finally settled. Sacramento was a fitting landing place for a royal crest. The city was born of the California Gold Rush of 1848–49, when the discovery at Sutter’s Mill sent tens of thousands of “forty-niners” west. Sitting at the confluence of the Sacramento and American Rivers, the town became the logistical heart of the rush — a staging post for steamers, freight, tools and finance heading for the Sierra Nevada. The promise of gold enriched merchants as often as miners, and Sacramento, muddy but booming, was named California’s capital in 1854. It soon became the western terminus of the Pony Express and the starting point of the Central Pacific Railroad, which drove the first transcontinental line eastward from 1863. The region’s story is also older and more complex. Long before the rush, the valley was home to Nisenan (Southern Maidu), Miwok and Patwin peoples, whose fishing, trade and seasonal movement were tied to the river system. Rapid settlement, disease and treaty pressures remade that map within a generation. Even for the new city, the river proved both lifeline and hazard. Floods repeatedly threatened Sacramento, prompting levees, canals and, later, the Yolo Bypass — engineering that let the capital live with water rather than against it. Beyond gold, the area’s identity rests on the land. Sacramento sits in the heart of the Central Valley, one of the world’s great agricultural zones. Rice, almonds, grapes, tomatoes and a long litany of crops feed the state and the nation, giving rise to the city’s “Farm-to-Fork” claim. Government, logistics and higher education keep the capital humming, but agriculture remains a constant thread. The Kings’ badge blends tradition and modernity: a bold crown atop a basketball crest in purple, silver and black. It nods to the journey from Royals to Kings while keeping a clean, contemporary line — regal without fuss. On the court the tale has been turbulent but unforgettable. The early 2000s brought a golden era: Chris Webber, Vlade Divac, Peja Stojaković and Mike Bibby played a whirring, unselfish style under Rick Adelman, pushing the Lakers to the edge in the epic — and still controversial — 2002 Western Conference Finals. Leaner years followed, but Sacramento’s loyalty never wavered. When relocation rumours swirled in the 2010s, a fan base armed with cowbells and civic will helped secure the downtown Golden 1 Center, a statement that the city meant to keep its crown. In 2023, after a record 16-year play-off drought, the Kings roared back behind De’Aaron Fox and Domantas Sabonis. The new tradition — firing a purple beam into the night sky after every home win — gave the capital a literal beacon: Light the Beam. The Sacramento Kings are more than a basketball team. They are steamboats and gold pans, Pony Express riders and railheads, wheat fields and almond groves, Capitol domes and purple beams; Webber’s no-look passes and Fox’s lightning drives; the river’s life and threat, and a small-market city that refused to lose its crest. Their badge is a regal mark, but the story is grit, survival and pride — the league’s oldest team thriving, at last, in California’s capital.