BACK TO KNEBWORTH

August, 1996. The country had just hosted the Euros, Freddo’s still cost 10p, and Charles and Diana were finalising their divorce, ending 15 years of marriage. But none of it mattered, really. It all felt irrelevant. As the majority of the nation’s attention, and probably the world, was elsewhere. Fully focused on two brothers from a Manchester council estate playing Knebworth, two dates on the bounce. In front of a record crowd. Your Dad says it was the best day of his life. Better than his three wedding days, and the day you were born. Harsh, but you understand. Oasis at Knebworth was generational. Iconic. Music heritage.

Every man and his dog wanted to be there, with over 2.5 million people applying for tickets. 4% of the country’s population, or if you’re crap with percentages, 1 in 20 Brits. The largest ever demand for a gig on British soil with only 250,000 getting lucky. We say ‘only’ like it’s nothing, which it’s obviously not. It was a record-breaking crowd over the two nights. This was Oasis at their peak — and Britpop at its biggest. Britain had found its biggest band since The Beatles. Liam, Noel, Bonehead, Guigsy and Whitey arrived at Knebworth on the 10th August by helicopter. That’s proper rock ‘n’ roll is that. Circling the venue multiple times, taking it all in, before landing and delivering a spectacle.

Those in attendance were treated to one of the greatest nights of their lives. How do we know? Because they’ll tell you about it. Repeatedly. Unprompted. Your old man has told you the same story 20, 30, probably 50 times. You know it word for word. And you’ll hear it again at the match on Saturday when you bump into his best mate, Buckethat Bob. “How do you think he got the name, Buckethat Bob?” It’s boring now. But deep down you’re jealous. We’re all jealous. All gutted. But not for much longer, hopefully. Because 30 years on they’re doing it again. Returning to Knebworth for 4 unprecedented dates in 2027. So you’ll be able to join your old man, and Buckethat Bob, at the front giving it big’uns. Dressed head to toe like the two of them back in ‘96, because the uniform’s come full circle. Terrace wear. Lacoste. Fred Perry. Aquascutum. Umbro. Three Stripes.

The clobber might not have changed much, but ticket prices have. Something else your old man will bang on about. A single ticket cost less than thirty quid back in ‘96. You’ll not get an official merch t-shirt for that next summer. Instead, tickets will be pushing two ton. Two hundred of Charles’ finest pounds. Four red sheets. Which on the face of it, is criminal, but then you remember it’s Oasis and there’s a part of us all that thinks, “yeah be worth every penny that.” Especially if the 2025 reunion is anything to go by. A comeback tour like no other. Heaton Park was like nothing we’ve ever witnessed. It was likened to a football crowd, without the hostility and hatred. United, City, Liverpool, Everton, Blackburn, Burnley. Fans of all clubs, all regions, all counties, in the same space. Belting out the same songs. Living in the moment. And we’ll pay whatever we have to to experience it all again next summer. Your Dad might need some help getting tickets, though. Absolutely no chance he can navigate his way through a virtual queue on his smartphone. Struggles unlocking the thing. “Too complicated for me that virtual cloud stuff.” And don’t be asking Buckethat Bob. He’s still knocking about with a Nokia 3310. Hasn’t charged it in three weeks. He’ll find a way of getting there, don’t worry. We all will. It’ll be biblical.