Uppies and Downies, the medieval football game that has no rules and no time limit

'Uppies and Downies' is played annually in the northern English town of Workington (Paul Smith/@j.paul.smith) Share article“Do not park anywhere near the hotel car park. They will go over your car.” The warning was clear: keep prized possessions away from the whirring mob chasing the ball. Footage of previous contests confirmed such advice needed to be heeded. Last year, the scrummage moved like a human tornado, damaging several cars in the process. Competitors have even died taking part in this centuries-old spectacle, known to locals as ‘Uppies and Downies’. This is Workington, a close-knit, working-class coastal town in the north-west of England, 40 miles or so from the Scottish border and the home of an ancient form of mass football, a forerunner to rugby, and a game that is still played annually in this part of the world. Like many ancient British ball games, its origins stretch back to medieval times. “It is part of the very fabric of this town,” Elvin Jarvis, a veteran with 30 years experience of participating in the event, tells The Athletic. “The games have taken place every year since the 17th century, including during the two world wars. The only time it didn’t happen was in 2020 and 2021 during the pandemic.” There are few things to know about this historic game: there are no rules, no boundaries, no time limits and no referee. It is played three times over Easter (Good Friday, the Tuesday after Easter, and the next Saturday), an unlimited amount of people can participate, it isn’t confined to dry land, and it involves two teams (‘The Uppies’, traditionally miners from the north of the town, and ‘The Downies’ who used to be dock workers living in the southern part). Like so many British towns, the industries that once served them have long since gone, but for sporting purposes, the geographical divide lives on here (although the actual dividing line is still much disputed). The point of the game is for each team to get the two-pound small leather ball (made of four pieces of stitched cow leather and stuffed with wool flock) to their designated goal and ‘hail’ it, which means throwing it into the air three times and wins you the game. The Uppies’ goal is on high ground, at the entrance of a hall, while The Downies need to head towards a capstan near the river. The game starts when the ball is thrown into the air from a small bridge, which is roughly a mile from each goal. The massed mob has been known to rumble through a cinema, a bingo hall, cafes and even through a stationary double decker bus. Bones have been broken and tales passed down the generations of the ball being hidden in a dustbin or taken down the pit. Over the years, four deaths have been recorded, George Young in 1828, Chris Smith in 1882, John Johnstone in 1932, and Robert Storey in 1983. A plaque commemorating the lives lost is blessed by a vicar before the start of each game. In 2024, Graeme ‘Willox’ Dixon suffered a medical emergency during a game and died several days later. Tempers can fray, but matters are quickly settled. “It is not nice when you are on the bottom of the scrum and you have 50 blokes on top, but if anyone is in trouble, we get them out and carry on,” says Jarvis, who these days is joined by his 12-year-old son. “It doesn’t matter what side you are on. I was hurt once as I had the ball beneath me and the weight cracked my ribs. Rollo (Iain Rollason), who is a Downie, pulled me out or it could have been worse. We look after each other.” Huge crowds have turned out for the final game of this year’s trilogy. Nerves are palpable among The Uppies — who have been dominant in recent years, losing just once since 2014 — as they assemble in a community watering hole before the game. For a game that looks anarchic, there are a few strategies to take into account. “We’ll try and get a few of us round the ball and when it starts getting dark, we’ll discuss who’s gonna maybe sneak away with it,” says Jarvis. “You stick it up your jumper and you can bury it in the mud, you can hide it in a tree. The key is not to panic and run because they notice and they will chase you and tackle you down.” Already 2-0 down, The Downies are trying to avoid a whitewash this year. The ball is thrown up to start things off and immediately a scrum is formed. After a couple of throws towards a field of bracken and brambles, the scrummage moves like a giant, throbbing mass towards the river — just what The Downies wanted, as they have people waiting in the water in preparation for a swim to victory. The Uppies, of course, wade through to deter them. Steam rises from the sweaty swarm. Over the course of the hours the ball is in play, the weather changes from sunshine to rain, with a hail storm thrown in for good measure. Day then turns to night and still there is no victor. It is a test of endurance. The oldest participant is 74-year-old Joe Clark, known as Father Uppie. He has competed for the past 60 years, but has yet to hail a ball. “People turn up and anything can happen. We could go anywhere across the town tonight,” he says. ‘Nutty’ Shepherd has been playing for over 50 years and has hailed the ball twice, in 2005 and 2007. Unofficially, he’s achieved a hat-trick because in 2006 he gave the ball to his girlfriend, Catherine Malloy, thought to be first woman to hail in the history of game, and her son after making the crucial break. “To win can be overwhelming. Absolutely amazing,” he says, with one of his sons, Lewis, sitting excitedly beside him. “You can’t describe it. It is quite emotional because of all those people cheering you because you have won for your part of town. There is a real sense of community about it.” Nathan Askew is the only man to have hailed three times in the same year, doing so in 2018. “Unbelievable,” he says of his achievement. By day, it is an attritional battle. The ball is mainly contained inside the scrummage, though occasionally there is a burst of activity, sparking a small stampede of spectators desperately trying to avoid being engulfed by the scrambling horde. Some spectators climb trees to get out of the way. Where the mass spreads is impossible to predict. At times, the scrum doesn’t move at all and becomes a static heap of trapped limbs. Hours later, as night falls, the battle returns to its starting point. An impromptu rave breaks out among a group of young spectators and, eventually, there’s a rush as word breaks that a ‘Downie’ has made off with the ball. The crowd moves en masse towards the harbour. But then there is a realisation that it could be a decoy. “It’s with the Uppies,” someone shouts. The crowd turns and marches uphill. Sure enough, the ball is in the hands of Sam Williamson, who has been playing with his brother, Jack, since he was a child. His first game was 20 years ago. Now, with the crowd gathering in celebration, he has his moment in front of the derelict ruin. Chants of “let’s all have a whitewash” are followed by Williamson being raised onto the shoulders of his team-mates. He throws the ball into the air three times before being carried back into the centre of town. The police, who had been keeping a watchful eye over the game, along with search and rescue officers, without ever getting involved, stop traffic to allow the throng of players and spectators to walk back to the pub for their celebrations, which is where Williamson regaled everyone with how he achieved victory. As darkness fell, he said he got his hands on the ball, out of the scrum and into his trousers without being seen. He then calmly ate a sweet from his pocket, he said, and, as the crowd moved off, jumped into the beck, wading, scratching his face and neck in a thorny thicket, before running up a path to victory. It is a story he will probably tell for years to come. Because that is what this ancient game is about — community, just as it has been for generations. Spot the pattern. Connect the terms Find the hidden link between sports terms Rob has been a journalist for twenty years and for the past ten he has covered Leicester City, including their Premier League title success of 2016. He is the author of 5000-1, The Leicester City Story. Follow Rob on Twitter @RobTannerLCFC