Meditations Book 1 – On the Sport of Football Support
Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening?
Welcome to Lager Time, this here, the first episode of 2024.
I hope your festive period shenanigans were all good? Lager consumed and laughs had.
Mine was alright, despite having this naughty cough at the back-end of November, and thinking my immune-system would be fully tooled-up for Christmas; alas, I got stuck-down again. Spent the 28th in bed, sweating and shivering, eating dry-toast, with the accompanying cough even worse than the one before; which I still have the tail-end of. No news to you I’m sure, everyone seems to be going down with something.
Out of curiosity, yesterday the thought occurred to me that I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this here blog / podcast thing. Apparently October 2021 was when I started, didn’t think it was that long ago. So far there’s been sixty something episodes. I went back and listened to the first episode again. I’m pleased to have noted the progress, at least in terms of the production of this whole thing, it’s been a ride, mate.
On that note, as previously mentioned, I’m trying to crack the voice-over recording business, so I’ve been skilling up for a while now, and making amendments to my little studio and how I do things. I’ve now managed to construct a very-basic vocal booth using PVC poles and acoustic curtains. In true me style, like with the panels, I made it probably a lot more difficult than it needed to be. After building and putting up the acoustic panels last year, with this new booth, I feel like I could build a house; like one of those American folk tales of some grandad who ‘built this house with his bare hands.’ Maybe not.
This week, I had a little feature and interview come out in Cene magazine, taking about words, rap, spoken word and all that. They’ll be a link somewhere to that.
So onto to the main course, Marcus Aurelius and his tasty little book of mediations. I tried to explain what I’m doing with this in the previous episode before Christmas. So I looked at a particular quote from Book 1 for this, went away and wrote a thing entitled On The Sport of Football Support. Now, upon listening back I released there was an error in it. The infamous play-off riot against Birmingham was in 2002, how could I forget it?!
I hope you enjoy this episode and the following ones; I’m enjoying writing them.
Keep it Larger than life in 2024.
Peas and taters
Paul
On the Sport of Football Support
From my tutor: not to become Green or Blue supporter at the races, or side with the Lights or Heavies in the amphitheatre; to tolerate pain and feel few needs; to work with my own hands and mind my own business; to be deaf to malicious gossip.
BOOK 1 – 5
For this, I’m going to focus on the line ‘not to become Green or Blue supporter at the races’ – which to me, sounds like avoiding tribalism, or in-group-preference. Both of which, are terms which get thrown about a lot these days; but I definitely feel there is something valid in it.
There’s a number of paths I could’ve gone down with this; especially in the current situation we’re in, politically and socially. Certainly, politically speaking, I must’ve taken Macus’s advice a few years back, without even knowing it and made myself politically homeless; but that’s pretty easy to do when you look at our two main parties here in the UK – not really fit for purpose; in my opinion.
However, I’m gonna do the opposite of what I think that quote means and talk a bit about my love and support of Millwall FC, and my default dislike of their South London neighbours, Crystal Palace; mugs.
So, like that sort-of-football chant we used to sing at lunchtimes, for some reason, where we were at school: ‘ere we go, ere we go, ere we go….’
Sometime in the early nineties, my brother and I started supporting Millwall. I don’t know the exact reasons, but I’m pretty sure we both knew a couple of people at school that supported them. They’d just moved into their flash new ground in South Bermondsey, Dad worked in the Elephant and it was the second closest London-team to where we lived; in Horley, right next to Gatwick. The closest team being Crystal Palace, more on them in a bit; mugs. (For the record, Crawley weren’t a league side back them and Brighton, though technically equi-distant, didn’t count either, as probably due to the nature of all the Londoners that would’ve migrated to the area, everyone, football-wise, seemed to face north, to London.)
Millwall was accessible to us. We could go and watch a game relatively easily (it was rarely ever difficult to obtain tickets) and be home at a reasonable time. It was a 50 minute train-ride to London Bridge from Horley: quick bite at Burger King (which later, as I came of age, was swapped for pre-match pints in the Oast House in the station concourse) then the 5 minute South Bermondsey squeeze; on that dinky little South London service.
The first ever game we went too, in the closing match of the 94/95 season; I bumped into a kid from school, at New Cross Gate, who was there with his uncle. That wouldn’t have happened going to watch Liverpool or Man United, or even Arsenal or Spurs. I was sold. But unlike my mates from school, my brother and I weren’t from Millwall stock, we just picked them, went along, really enjoyed it and have supported them ever since. Millwall has become a big part of our lives and lots of my own personal milestones can be framed around Millwall, and how well the team were doing at the time. Going to matches, also gave me a chance to hang out with my older brother, who’d left home at 18 and made his own life in London. It was going to games, and as soon as I was old enough, the beers before and after, where I really got to know him and create a bond, beyond the family formalities.
Of course, we knew about the bad reputation Millwall had and all that nonsense; who didn’t? At times, being a young boy desperately trying to prove himself, to someone, I’d enjoy hearing about the firms and bragging about it to my mates at school; even though I never got involved with any of that, and never would (mainly because I didn’t have the balls for it, let alone any other moral reason.) Once we started going regularly, we quickly realised that so many of the people there, weren’t anything like the reputation suggested, in fact, quite often the complete opposite. Good natured, decent people, proud of their club, their connection to it and it’s local heritage. We quickly saw through the bollox, of not only the hyperbole and hysteria of that reputation, but also the very behaviour that generated the reputation in the first place.
There’s been a few occasions when we did see violence, and I’ve certainly heard racist things shouted out before; I remember some idiot doing a Nazi salute, once, but to be honest, they were few and far between. Most of the people we met just weren’t like that, at all. In nearly all of those horrible cases, they were isolated incidences, and for me, that isolation only highlighted the nastiness and ugliness of it, and crucially, the sheer stupidity and hypocrisy.
On a side note; I’ve often thought, over the years, that when there has been an incident at Millwall, which has been deserving of the wider condemnation (like Birmingham in the 2007 playoffs for e.g), often some of the criticism and discussions afterwards, all to easily morph into becoming a piñata for essentially classism and prejudice, towards an entire subgroup and culture of predominantly white-working-class Londoners and their descendants in the surrounding counties. If it’s a middle-aged geezer, with a big waistband, tats and a brash cockney-accent full of expletives, therefore he must be a bigot? But that was seemingly ok; apparently.
Over the years, we’ve had some great times at Millwall and have so many stories to tell. We’ve seen promotions, play-off runs, relegations, multiple trips to Wembley; a cup final in Cardiff and the best one of all, the semi-final win at Old Trafford; as well as possibly the worst game I’ve ever seen in my life: an Auto-Windscreens Round-two exit to Swindon. Freezing cold evening, a tiny attendance, 0-0 after full time, 0-0 after extra time and a shoot-end that ended 1-2 to Swindon. Even the penalty shoot-out seemed to give up and die.
For every action, they say there’s a reaction; or an opposite, a ying and yang etc etc. So I’d like talk a little bit about Crustal Palace (mugs) and my dislike of them. Millwall’s traditional rivals, are of course West Ham (mugs). However, growing up where we did, and not being from a Millwall supporting family, I’ve always disliked palace the most. They were the nearest team and two of my sisters also started following them, due to a mate of my sisters’ taking them there; which further solidified why I disliked them so much. I knew quite a few palace fans growing up, and there would always be loads of them at Horley station, on a Saturday, when I was heading up to Millwall. I like to think that muggy club has mass delusions of grandeur, and a smugness that belongs in the entitlement of an embittered customer, complaining about the customer service in a plush branch of Waitrose.
I love hating palace; it’s fun to me. Sounds odd to say it, but it took me many years to realise that I like the fact that they exist. They are the total antithesis of Millwall. I can hear some smug palace prick right now, saying something like ‘what, successful???!!’ ... he he he – but when I see video’s of their supporters, particularly the ones banging drums and dressed all in black – I think ‘yes, I’m so glad I don’t support this club and I’m so glad that these lot are palace fans.’ But that’s the sport of football support, right there, the pantomime of it all.
Even though I dislike them, I can admit, that probably a large amount of what I think about that club, is either concocted in my head, or just a stereotype; but the truth is, indulging in all of that is fun. Risky fun, but fun. It probably says something about me, as a person, but in a way, I think it’s healthy to have some sort of reasonable target on the dartboard; so long as the darts are plastic, and they’re getting thrown back, which in this case, they do. (I don’t want to insult anyones intelligence here, but just in case, the darts are a metaphor, nor the real thing)
I can see why Marcus Aurelius warns against this taking of sides, as such; I know, and have witnessed what the extremities of what that can be, violence and other nasty behaviour; but if it stays on the level of fun, when both sides are engaged in it; what’s the issue?
Most Palace fans I’ve ever met are alright, just like most Millwall fans. They work, they like going to football, have a few beers or whatever, just like I do. They’re not the smug, middle-class, self-righteous, identity-lacking, desperate-synthesised-atmosphere-inducing twats that I like to think they are (though, that was so enjoyable writing that bit, which in itself is smug, but all’s fair in love and war, mate) but to me, all that is part of the game. If palace ceased to exist, it would be a terrible thing. I’d miss the pricks.
Perhaps if we were all able to exercise the type of self-control and self-awareness that Macrus advocates for, then there wouldn’t be horrible instances of non-fighting fans being picked on, or attacked on trains just because they support a team and a mob of bullies want to throw their weight about.
I dunno. As I said at the start, Marcus is probably right in the right long run, about avoiding tribalism (if that is what he meant) – but after a lot of deeper research, I did stumble across another Marcus Aureoles quote which doesn’t appear in Meditations, which I believe was written during the campaign against the Quadi, and perhaps bolsters my aforementioned experiences and views, I’ll leave you with this little gem.
‘Palace? Palace?! Who the faaack are Palace?
Millllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll’
Cene Magazine interview
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On the Sport of Football Support