Fans Comment
Steve McBride

Prisoners of Millwall
27/01/06

Just read the Times article moaning about the treatment Millwall fans received when they came to Goodison - the cheeky bastards!

I don’t suppose he was in the away end for the opening fixture of the tie? If he had have been, then he would have witnessed the shabby treatment dished out to the Evertonians at the New Den. For those of you who didn’t make the trip: the New Den is a modern, but small and unwelcoming ground of breezeblock and corrugated iron construction that’s crash landed on some waste ground in South East London, next to a massive smoke-belching incinerator. It’s a grim place for away supporters, accessible only through a maze of spiked steel fences that run over some waste ground next to the train tracks from South Bermondsey station. There’s barbed wire strewn everywhere, giving the place the look and feel of a POW camp, but you really get the feeling that the fences are there to keep the locals out and not the other way around.

The match was memorable only for the fact that, somehow, Everton failed to win the game despite a huge number of clear-cut chances. As for the Millwall fans, they lived up to their tiresome reputation as the most irksome people in football; hilariously fighting amongst themselves at one point. However, I do feel sorry for them in a way, it must take quite a lot of effort living up to such a ludicrous reputation, I get the impression that maybe some of them just want to turn up to the match and have a pint and a bit of banter and not have to act like a goon just because that’s the done thing at Millwall.

Sensibly, before the game my friends and I avoided the Bermondsey area like the plague; preferring instead to go for a few pints in the London Bridge area. After the game we had a similar plan, but this was scuppered by the local constabulary officers who had other ideas. We were to be kept behind after the game for… you’ve guessed it… our own protection. After being kept locked up for over an hour the police decided it was safe for us to leave and so led us back up the cordoned-off, dedicated away supporter’s path. It’s only a couple of hundred yards to the station from the ground, but it took about an hour to get there as two thousand blues, patiently and in good humour, shuffled down the narrow path. It was quite a relief then to get aboard the train for London Bridge and I still had time for at least a pint or two before making the trip across London to Kilburn, where my wife was getting dinner ready.

Unfortunately our plans went unexpectedly awry. When we got to London Bridge instead of strolling out of the station and into a nice warm boozer, we were held on the platform by police with dogs. This went on for about fifteen minutes, before the crowd started getting restless. The more unruly elements amongst the fans started pushing to the front, agitating the crowd, complaining to the police. I was baffled. It seemed so unnecessary; why weren’t they letting us go? And then the reason for the delay became apparent. As I stood on the platform waiting to leave, a train pulled up on the platform next to us. It was the 18:05 from Tedsville; crammed with two hundred of Millwall’s finest Burberry clad whoppers. They got off the train and started making a general nuisance of themselves; running around and trying their best to look menacing, but they were only kids and they were outnumbered ten to one by the Blues who looked decidedly unimpressed. The only person they frightened was a lady with some kids who’d unluckily strayed onto the platform; she was in tears, but her little boys seemed to quite enjoy the excitement.

Why on earth the police thought it was a good idea to allow a train full of hooligans to enter the station before clearing the Evertonians away first is quite baffling, but it’s what they did. They spent half an hour chasing the yobs around the station before the lunatics realized they weren’t scaring anyone, got bored and trudged back to the asylum.

When we were finally let off the platform I asked a copper: “Can I go out that way please?” indicating an exit to the street.

“No. You’re all getting the Northern Line to Euston, we’ve got a train waiting.”

“But I live in Kilburn I want the Jubilee line!”

“Sorry mate. They’re the orders.”

“Is it always like this; every home game?”

“You mean Den overtime?” he laughed. “How else do you think I can afford to go on holiday?”

I could see I was getting nowhere so we allowed the police to lead us down to the Northern Line, then promptly hopped back on the up escalator and escaped into the safety of the nearest pub.

The police were fine mostly, although I think it would have been better to make sure the Millwall supporters didn’t get to London Bridge before the away fans had left, and forcing everyone to go to Euston was a bit of a nonsense. No the police weren’t really at fault here. The sad fact of the matter is that the only people to blame are the Millwall fans themselves; or a minority of them at least. It might be convenient for our friend from the Times to turn a blind eye to the exploits of his fellow Millwall fans, whilst he promptly leaves his seat at the final whistle and heads to the nearest corporate lounge for a cocktail or two, after all it makes for a better story. But I’m sure that any police travelling with the Everton support would have reported back to their colleagues in Merseyside that more trouble was likely and during the return leg at Goodison the Millwall fans were treated accordingly.

I travel to virtually all Everton away games in London and the South East and we never get treated like we did at Millwall. It’s the first time I’ve been held back at a game in years and the last time I witnessed a mass charge of hooligans was in the early nineties. So the next time a travelling Millwall fan asks: “Why is it always us getting treated like this?” he should look a little closer to home for the reason.
Steve McBride


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