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Millwall: It's A Father And Son Thing
Why this one writer has followed Millwall from a young age...
The glamour the glamour
Millwall: It’s A Father And Son Thing
Father-son relationships are tricky things. Without the benefit of that maternal instinct, extra effort is often required. These days it’s called ‘bonding’. ‘Modern men’ can read all the magazine articles and watch all the daytime telly they like to make sure the relationship with their son and heir blossoms. But what do you do when you’re one of the old school, working twelve hours a day back in the seventies and finding the demands of a young child a hell of a lot more than you bargained for?
I was a little sod in my early years. Dad was from a generation that simply did as their parents told them and he couldn’t understand why I was such a handful. As I progressed into my teenage years our relationship suffered. We disagreed and argued over virtually any subject. It was always a great source of upset to my mum. We simply didn’t see eye to eye. Common ground was virtually non-existant. Conversation was thin on the ground and another argument never far away. This was more than simple father-son growing pains, there were times when it seemed we totally resented one-another’s very presence.
There was however one thing we shared.
One Autumn day in 1979, Dad was getting ready to leave our flat in Balham to make the short trip to watch Millwall. In an attempt to give my mum some relief from trying to amuse me in his absence, he decided (against his better judgement he felt) to take me along. He was certain the idea would prove to be a disaster. I’d get bored, play him up and he’d have to bring me home early. But at least he’d have tried.
Saturday September 1st 1979 at home to Carlisle United. A seat in the main stand, after being lifted over the turnstiles. The smell of cigarette smoke. The noise. The roar when we scored. All still with me to this day. A one nil win courtesy of a goal from seventeen year old Kevin O’Callghan. A glossy green programme as a souvenir which never left my grasp all weekend. The day had been a success and Dad congratulated himself on initiating his only son into the family tradition of supporting The Lions.
We became regulars on the Cold Blow Lane terrace. He enjoyed regaling me with tales of previous legends, both players and managers: Hewitt, Hurley, Billy Gray, Burridge, Fenton, Julians, Billy Neil, Eamon Dunphy. The 59 game unbeaten home run, the heartache of missing out on promotion in 1972 when my birth was just weeks away. I couldn’t get enough information out of him. I was full of questions and he loved imparting the knowledge. He’d shake his head and smile with pride, marvelling at my enthusiasm to follow in his football fan footsteps. It felt good. We had something here, something special. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was more than just father and son sharing an interest in football.
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Success was thin on the ground in the first years of our shared support. The Petchey and Anderson eras meant that the terraces were a lonely place at times and few games lasted long in the memory. For me, performances on the pitch were incidental. I used to love standing with the other kids at the front of the Cold Blow Lane terrace, desperate to get autographs. Even if it was only Bobby Shinton, Nicky Chatterton or Andy Massey.
At the age of eight and nine the complexities of league tables, promotion and relegation were a bit beyond me. I knew we played in the Third Division - and that there was only four to choose from, so we obviously weren’t up to much because defeat was more common than victory - and that was about it.
I do remember the enthusiasm that greeted the start of the 1982-83 season when Peter Anderson brought in a huge number of players in an attempt to get the team promoted. We took our places for the first league game of the season against Cardiff expecting to witness an all too rare glory season get under way. We lost 4-0 and it was to prove an introduction to exactly what following Millwall was all about. I was dumbfounded, Dad just shrugged. “That’s Millwall” he laughed. He’d seen it a hundred times before.
I also remember, later that same season, his excitement at the appointment of George Graham as manager. The name meant nothing to me but Dad was mightily impressed and was certain success would now come. That season gave me my first taste of real drama following The Lions as we battled against relegation and I started to study the league tables and permutations of up and coming fixtures. For the first time I took my place further up the Cold Blow Lane terrace to add my voice to the Lions’ roar next to Dad. The pandemonium that followed a narrow 1-0 over Brentford was my first real taste of what Millwall was REALLY all about. Sharing that with Dad made it extra special.
Away games were followed from home via LBC on his little radio and the win at Chesterfield that kept us up weeks later was greeted with us both dancing around the room in delight, with my mum looking on, wondering what was going on.
Promotion two years later was unforgettable. We had now moved to the halfway line, as a result of my pestering that it afforded a better view of both goals. Dad happily relinquished his lifelong habit of standing behind the goal on the Cold Blow Lane terrace to keep me happy. My Thirteenth birthday money was spent on a season ticket for the 1985-86 season - all £32 of it! I was now hungry to attend away games too but dad was less keen to give up entire Saturday’s travelling after enduring the weekly commute. To his credit he felt it unfair to make my mum a total Millwall widow and insisted that, unless it was for an extra special game, he was strictly home games only. After much nagging, he agreed to let me go to Fulham away on my own on Easter Saturday in 1986. The first thing on my mind as I reached Victoria station after the 2-1 win was to find a phone box and tell him all about it. What I neglected to tell him was that, in a fit of fury at what seemed like Fulham‘s last minute equaliser, I stormed out of the ground - only to miss The Lions’ winner deep in injury time. It was a mistake I never made again.
I set my self a challenge to get him to away matches and managed to con him into coming to Sheffield United with me in 1987. I’d only been allowed to go that far because ‘a friend’ was coming too. This friend ‘let me down at the last moment’ and Dad felt obliged to accompany me. He was full of a cold and spent the freezing three-hour train journey up to Sheffield glaring at me and shaking his head in disgust. There was no heating, no refreshments. This was travelling away Millwall-style. We won the game with a last minute O’Callaghan goal and he talked about that trip for years afterwards, admitting how thrilled he was to have been roped into it after all. It felt good. Dad had taken me, now I was returning the favour.
Try as I might, I couldn’t persuade him to share the long coach journey to Hull to see us clinch promotion to the top flight for the first time at the end of that season. I begged him to share our team’s greatest moment with me but “he couldn’t leave Mum on a Bank Holiday Monday” - or risk a late night with work the next day.
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Again, the first thing on my mind was to share the experience with him from the nearest phone box when we stopped at services on the way back. I arrived home in the early hours and crept in trying not to make a noise, only to be greeted by Dad, in his pyjamas. He’d waited up, unable to sleep (“like a bloody big kid” so my mum recalled) and we danced around the house in celebration.
I used to ask him about Millwall getting to the top division. Their near miss of 1972 would be brought up again and how he felt they were doomed never to experience the First Division. I was less pessimistic and looked forward to the days when we’d be watching our team against the Arsenals and Liverpools.
When did he think we’d do it? I’d ask him after each promising victory. For me it was only a matter of time before it was ‘our turn’.
“I won’t see it in my lifetime” he’d solemnly proclaim.
This used to sadden me. It was the first time I’d considered life without my dad. For all our differences, we’d stumbled upon some priceless common ground and through Millwall we weren’t simply father and son. We were best mates.
To stand with him at The Den at the age of sixteen and see us in the top flight meant I was able to constantly remind him of that gloomy prediction and how wrong he’d been. By now we were standing at the back of the halfwayline terrace, a large contingent of friends had been made and matchdays were not simply for football but for the all round banter that the terraces provided. There were times when some of the characters at The Den had us in such uncontrollable laughter that the details of the game fell by the wayside and stories would be recalled for years to come as we shared Sunday lunchtime pints together.
Away from the football our relationship often remained strained. It was real Jeckyll and Hyde stuff. We could not find common ground on much outside football - and there were even times when debates on topics such as whether Gary Waddock would ever be good enough escalated into heated arguments about issues totally removed from football. Almost every non-football topic would see us at loggerheads. There were times I felt he’d have a go at me for the sake of it, and looking back I’m sure he felt I went out of my way to wind him up. Neither was true.
Millwall was the glue that held us together. I have no doubt that without it there would be no room for reconciliation. Our differences were always forgotten come kick off time - or when the latest Millwall news needed dissecting.
At the age of nineteen I left London and Millwall behind. I was starting a family and a new life in Manchester. It was a wrench but for once I had to put something before Millwall. The day I left home was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. It was unexpected and unnerving. Dad was your typical stiff upper lip, keep it all in sort of bloke. It suddenly dawned on me that all those years I’d spent in teenage angst thinking he couldn’t give a monkeys had been terribly wasted - apart of course from when we’d shared Millwall experiences.
We never had a crossed word from that day in April 1992, never a disagreement or even amicable differing of opinions. I used to find it strange, but obviously the distance made our relationship more valuable and trivial matters that had previously come between us were never raised. It was Millwall, Millwall, Millwall and that was just the way I liked it.
So our Millwall bond was stretched the two hundred miles or so between south London and Manchester. He continued to go to every game and we’d share the details by phone. Every Tuesday without fail a package would land on the door mat from Dad. In it would be the latest programme and news articles carefully cut out of the South London Press, just to keep me in touch. Mum would often say what a lonely figure he cut leaving the house for the game on his own and how he often commented that it wasn’t the same anymore. The thought of this brought a lump to my throat. I went to as many games as I could with him, including the last ever game at the old Den. The photo taken that day of our little group is now a treasured keepsake.
Another impossible milestone was acheived at the end of the century when we stood together at Wembley. Dad had always insisted that he would only go to the national stadium to see his beloved Lions and if they never reached the twin towers in his lifetime then he was happy to make that sacrifice. If he couldn’t have Millwall at Wembley, Wembley could bugger off. Inexplicably I managed to somehow lose the camera film from that day (damn pre-digital era) and I am gutted that I have no photographic record of that never-to-be-repeated experience.
As the mobile phone and Internet age progressed, football news came instantly and my first response was always to phone Dad and let him know, which almost got me into trouble in the car park at Tranmere. As I excitedly celebrated our great FA Cup quarter final replay win with him over the phone some disgruntled home fans let me know that my enthusiasm wasn’t appreciated. Sod ‘em. We were off to Old Trafford - and I promised Dad that whatever it took we’d both be there.
One of my fondest memories is of us sat in my local pub enjoying a quick pint while we waited to collect a takeaway. It was the evening of Sunday 4th April 2004. We had just witnessed Millwall reaching the FA Cup Final and couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces. We just sat there grinning at each other and shaking our heads.
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Weeks later and we made the journey from my parents’ Kent home to Cardiff for the final itself. Amazingly Dad bumped into a pal he hadn’t seen since he left school as we enjoyed a pre-match drink in the Glamorgan Working Mens Club opposite the stadium. It was a magical day, who cared about the result? As ‘Abide With Me’ filled the stadium I put my arm around my dad and felt the emotion welling up inside me. My mind filled with memories of FA Cup final days at home with Dad in my childhood when we’d watch the game on TV. As the famous Cup Final hymn played then, I’d dream of a day when me and Dad would be singing along to it at the stadium before our own team took to the pitch. In 25 years we’d shared just about every experience that any English football fan could hope for.
We’d done it all. It was perfect.
So began the customary years of decline. Dad remained loyal. Renewing his season ticket. Sending me the programmes and news cuttings. We talked for hours about the club’s dwindling fortunes and how we knew it had to be taken with the good times. There were plenty more years to enjoy and now there was a new target of seeing Millwall at the new Wembley.
“But only Millwall mind…”
As the 2005/2006 season got under way we joked about how we’d be watching them down the road from me at Stockport again soon the way things were deteriorating. His Saturday match reports made for very grim listening.
As the New Year began our phone conversations became interrupted by a persistant cough that he had been left with after a bout of Christmas ‘flu. By the end of February it got so bad that he was barely able to complete a sentence without coughing uncontrollably. He wasn’t a smoker and this had been going on for two months so he went to the docs to get it sorted at the start of March. The doctor decided to send him for an X-Ray to double check. He was admitted to hospital with fluid on his left lung and as my wife and I drove through the night down to Kent to see him I knew deep down what this could mean.
Countless tests were done and Dad was left in no doubt as to what they were looking for, but he had to wait. The worry was excruciating. I did what I could to reassure him and we shared a trip to The Den. A few pre-match drinks in ‘Arrys Bar and some banter with some proper Millwall characters helped to take his mind off things temporarily - but the terrible 1-0 defeat to Leicester didn’t do much to raise spirits.
After two torrid months of tests and hospital visits, Dad was given the worst possible news. He had a rare form of cancer called Mesothelioma, linked to exposure to asbestos during his job as a builder in the sixties. Less than nine months later on Thursday February 1st 2007 I sat at his bedside with Mum and we watched him pass away. From the day he was first admitted to hospital for that x-ray on March 7th 2006, the Dad that I knew was gone forever as the fear of what was happening to him consumed his life and sapped his spirit.
In the intervening period we’d managed to get them both moved up to a bungalow near us in Manchester where the best cancer treatment was available. We were there at every hospital visit as he underwent painful, debilitating chemotherapy to try and turn the months into years, but it was a fight Dad wasn’t up to. His enthusiasm for everything deserted him. We tried desperately to lift his spirits but it was hopeless. Just before they moved I persuaded him to go to a game - the first of the season at home to Yeovil. He sat in his usual place - at the back of Block 35 (he’d always preferred being behind the goal) - and chatted to the friends he had made there over the years. I spoke to him that evening about the game but he just didn’t have the heart. Our conversations now were almost exclusively about his illness. I persisted with talking about the latest matches, results, signings and news but unsurprisingly it didn’t stir his troubled mind.
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The first Saturday evening after he’d passed was a particularly hard time. I cursed Dad’s luck as the Yeovil result was confirmed and tried to joke to myself about how he could’ve at least hung on until Saturday to see us win a game. For the first time since that sunny day in September 1979 I had no one to share my Millwall with and it hurt.
I know that every time some news comes through on my mobile from the club about a new signing I will go to phone and share it with dad - just as I will after every match. The empty feeling I get when I can’t make that call will never be any easier to bear. But what I do have are cherished memories that I can play over and over in my mind, as clear as if they were on video. I have to remember how lucky I am. Dad was 68. We still feel robbed. Until he took ill he was a fit and healthy man. Belying his years, always active, never smoking, drinking in moderation, watching his weight, never in hospital, never ill it seemed. I honestly cannot remember him ever taking a day off sick from work. But to have been able to enjoy such a friendship with him through such a simple shared pleasure as following a football team is a genuine comfort. Many don’t get that chance. All too often I hear of those who are taken at a much younger age and remind myself that there are many who would happily have swapped places with me.
Over the years, when asked ‘who do you support?’ my answer was almost always responded to with and instant ‘Why?’. People hardly ever question why you are an Arsenal, Man Utd, Chelsea or Liverpool fan - even if you live nowhere near the ground or even get to see many games. They rarely wonder why your allegiance is a less fashionable Middlesbrough, Stoke, Brentford or Barnet. But they seem to have trouble understanding why anyone would want to follow Millwall. My reason was always simple, one I’m sure shared by many fans and a great source of pride regardless of the team’s lack of success or off the field reputation.
I may not be able to call myself a Millwall supporter in the truest sense of the word any more. I can’t get to many games - but heaven knows I would be there every week if it were possible, no matter how bad we are performing. Just as Dad did through the bleak fifties when we were battling against the dangers of reelection, he was always there.
There are so many cliches. “It’s in my blood”, “Cut me and I bleed blue and white”, “English by birth, Millwall by the grace of God” etc. But for me, the reason I give for a lifelong love affair with The Lions is very simple whenever anyone feels the need to ask ‘why?’
“Because my Dad does”.
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COMMENTS
Cracking tale, thank you for sharing it.
One word, beautiful. Why cant these types of articles be put in papers instead of the crap that is ever so present. Great read. I actually have a connection and can feel your relationship and that for me presents great work. Happy to hear that you had good years with you father. From the start of the article I had a feeling it was going to end in that way. However i didnt expect you to make me smile despite the horrors of losing ones father. Love it!
That Millwall font looks a lot like that used by cuddly Trot entryists Militant in the early 1980s. I never knew of an extreme left-Millwall tie-up, though one can hazard it may be worth looking for it in whichever printer was used for this match programme. We must be told.
Great story, perfectly pitched. Thanks for that.
Excellent read that.
have to say it reminded me of when my grandfather took me to the old stamford bridge in the seventies, the smells the atmosphere and all the old characters on the terracers.I miss them days thanks for reminding me.
The memories of going to Goodison Park with my uncle Billy throughout the 1960's 70's and 80's were brought back in this moving tribute...
Brought a tear to the eye. Great piece. My dad and I share Norwich City, a relationship that sees 'your lot' uttered by Dad quite a bit when we lose, and 'we' dropped into the conversations if we win. I think as my dad got older and went to football less frequently, he began to see me as the flame carrier, and thus he took a bit of a back seat. Shame, as I always loved marching on down to the ground on a Saturday, walk/running as we'd always be late...
Lovely tale, it echoes for so many people, with so many references I can personally relate to. Football was our only quality time together, my Dad's from Balham too, and my folks moved out to Kent, a common shift for born and bred south Londoners. That LBC show was fantastic, I can still remember the theme tune and Stelling used to work on it. My kids are developing a worrying indifference to watching live football but they'll always be Fulham like me.
what a heartfelt tale. always stood last step of halfway line must recognised your dad just wish i knew him. you remain a true Lion
i too bleed blue and white, memories of my dad. thanks.
top read mate.when you say you argued and disagreed over everything apart from the football,you could have been talking about me.10 years after my dad passed away ,we reached the 2006 cup final(yes sorry i am hammer)before the game a friend mentioned my old man.i went outside the pub to collect my thoughts, memories of him and myself on the north bank came flooding back,i cried my eyes out.10 years on i had finally started to grieve.
Another tear here, my grandad who really got me started me off at Springfield Park didn't make it to the top flight with us, but there were plenty of memories before then. My lad has got his first season ticket this year, he's four but I can only hope it gives us half the connection when he gets to those difficult teenage years.
Thank you for that even as a QPR fan that story brings a tear to the eye from a real fan and thank you again
What a beautifully written tale. I never shared football in that way with my Dad; it was my brother and he who had the bond, but all things on the pitch remind me so much of him. Brought a flood of tears!
Brilliant. You've got me in tears. I'll be raising a glass to your old man and you this weekend. Shine on.
What a beautiful story - beautifully written - Thank you. Made me cry...
Brilliant article. I've just started taking my 6 year old to tranmere games for the first time. I just hope we share as much as you and your dad did.
I'm the dad in this story - Sunderland not Milwall however. What wonderful writing. You have captured the spirit perfectly. Thank you.
Beautifully written and a welcome change from the usual football stories you see these days. Brought a tear to my eye and a smile to my face in equal measure. Excellent stuff.
Made me realise what I missed. That was a super article that left me lying in bed in tears. Wish I had that bond with my dad. Suffice to say he isn't interested in footy. We don't even support the same team! It begs the question how did I become so obsessed with footy when my dad is so uninterested. I mean he took me, but one of my most vivid memories is of him taking me to Wembley for the 1994 FA Cup semi final and reading a book through it. Even into extra time! Never forgiven!
Brilliant story - swap Millwall for Wimbledon and that basically sums up my football supporting life - very lucky to still have my dad and we still go together - even managed to drag him up to Southport last weekend for the start of the Conference Premier season.
brilliant read. that last line, that's what the new sky glory hunting fans don't understand and never will. you don't choose who you support, the choice is made for you
Jeez, I'm sat here in tears, and my kid has just toddled into the room. I can't wait to take him to the football. Thank you for sharing.
Every male in my family from Great Grandad down are Millwall, and now my seven year old son has learnt the lyrics of 'Let 'em come' to sing with his Grandad, Uncle and cousins at the Den...it's what football is really about.
Superbly written. Takes me right back to the halfway line and that bunch of guys that used to stand around and debate the merits of Gary Waddock! And the cabbie who always arrived five minutes after kick-off and shouted "Oi! McCarthy! Why don't you pick that Bogie..." Glad to have been able to (finally) share a victory at Wembley with my boy.
I was not fortunate enough to attend Brentford games with my Dad. I would love to have the same memories you have so eloquently shared with us. Very moving indeed. Thank you.
Great story and one that I can easily relate to. My Dad first took me to Brentford in 1979 and we went together to virtually every home game until about 1990 when he moved down to the South West of England. My 10 year old son is now absolutely obsessed with The Bees and insists on accompanying me whenever possible.
Beautiful article. my dad died when i was 12, but like you, shared football experiences allow an entire bank of precious memories. i can still remember the first time he took me to deepdale at the age of 6, to see preston win 2-0 agains colchester, david eyres and kurt nogan the goalscorers. one of the reasons i just cant understand my friends who arent into football at all, when their dads are preston through and through.
Thank you... thank you... thank you. That was beautiful.
Wonderful article, thank you. You must be same age as me (May 72) and my Dad took me to my first game Dec 1979. I recently took my son (with my Dad) to his first game. I support Sunderland because my Dad did because his Dad did. Thanks again.
Excellent read and similar to my sad story...me and the son disagree about everything But...come saturday, or sunday afternoon, monday night , Tuesday or Wednesday (if its in a cup comp) its me and me lad to a T...Great read He still will not go to the match when i put me Hawian shirt on over me team top
Great article.Im now 47 and sit beside my son at the Sunderland matches. Its a dad's job to make sure "the bairn" follows his team. The abide with me also had me crying like a baby when i attended Wembley for an FA cup final, the days of sitting in front of the TV with me dad came flooding back. Thanks for the memories.
Great article.
Beautiful article, I am in tears, some things are universal
As a piece of writing about the travails of being a supporter, it's a fine enough bit of work but as a tribute from a son to a father, this is as good as it gets. Brilliant.
I'm a rugby fan but grew up with football in the house. My mum used to grow roses...beautiful roses...now I grow them but I cannot ask for her help. Time as parents and children should be treasured. It's cut short too often. Thank you for sharing this and bringing back memories of little boys hand in hand with their Dads no matter the shape of the ball.
A very very good read and struck a chord with me!
Really beautiful article. I will be sharing this with everyone I can. Thank You
This is so fab. Similar to you - I support my team because of my dad. And in turn because of his Dad. Fortunately (in some ways) our team is Liverpool, but a large part of your article resonates with me in a big way and makes me realise how short our time is - and how important the little things are. It's not just football. It's spending time with my Dad.
Superb read...
A wonderful piece, You really made me want to share a relationship like that with my dad {too bad, he's now late}. very touching! Now, i have vowed to take my kid{s} to the football ground and share moments like you and your dad had!
Very poignant piece. Lost my Dad 20 years ago this December, he went to Wembley just the once as well in 1990. We really only ever talked about Palace and now I am in a similar situation with my son in that we only talk about Palace. Has really brought home to me that I need to patch things up with him. Never thought I could be moved by the words of a Millwall fan. Oh and thanks for the comments in your other piece about us nearly becoming AFC Palace in a local park. Hope we don't rub it in too much this season !
Beautiful read. I'm a Brentford fan and people CONSTANTLY ask me why, so I don't necessarily agree with that part! Extremely touching though.
Wonderfully written piece that any try football fan would enjoy reading.
Wonderful piece, made me cry you bugger. I shared a similar bond with my Granddad for WBA and when he died (and in his decline) the games lost a little something. Overall though, this piece and our collective experiences just go to show that football, deep down, is not about the money, the hooligans, the TV rights, the comfy chairs or the playboy footballers, it's about love for a team and an experience that we can share, and it almost always come from the family and it's bloody brilliant.
Congratulations on a brave and moving piece of writing.
Brilliant... thank you...
A great read - real lump in the throat stuff. My first game watching Saints with Dad was at the Dell in 1989 vs. Derby - always standing in the bottom corner of the Milton Road End, next to the postman eating pizza! We struggle to find the time to get to games together these days, but you've inspired me to find the time.
Very moving and perfectly pitched.
You've just made a grown man cry. Twice. Really well written and a beautiful piece.
What an absolutely phenomenal article. Sitting at my desk thinking I must give my dad a ring tonight for a chat. I'll never forget my first game - November 4th, 1988. Wonderful article - thank you.
Still got my dad and he's 63 made me cry what a sweet story ! Makes me grateful.. For my sins I support man u just cos my dad went to see them in 1977 against arsenal and brought me a rosette home. Funny thing memories
as others, it could almost be my dad me, and to some extent now, my son and me. only our team is southend and we're still waiting for any success!. brilliant read, many thanks.
That's a fantastic article, change the team name and you have my father and I. Thanks
Thank-you that's what soccer was all about to our generations. Unfortunately I started watching , behind the goal[still the best position] during the war . No male relatives around. Mum working. Do remember the trip to 'The Den'. Big bomb hole in the stands. Players changed in an old double decker bus at side of the pitch. Still not sure if those massive dockers weren't serious about throwing us kids into the bomb hole for daring to be boisterious in supporting the Bees? Wonderful short storey. Lovely memories. Taking my son in my dotage to see Toronto F.C. [TFC] & he's getting to understand the passion & heart break.
Quality. Mirrors so many of my early memories across the river @ Upton Park. M
Brilliant read. Supporting Pompey I've been fortunate enough to visit Wembley 4 times in the past 3 years and seen us win the FA Cup but I can honestly say that the best of those 4 trips was this years Semi Final, quite simply because I was with 'the old man'.
Brilliant story! I cried my heart out, happy tears and sad. Lenny (the Lion).
Beautiful and moving.My daughter(born in London) is a Chelsea fan and my son is Man U.My Dad was a Liverpool fan. Soccer skipped a generation in my family and I know little about the game.I'm from Dublin and we live there now.I can remember every minute of the game when i took my son to Old Trafford to see them play QPR.I took my daughter to London a couple of weeks ago to give her a sense of the City of her birth and she loved the tour of Stamford Bridge.My Dad died when I was 13 so it was'nt easy keeping my eyes dry on the visits.It's called the beautiful game for a good reason.
Joyful, heartbreaking, beautifully written and exactly why football will never be owned by the men in the expensive suits.
Thank you so much. My dad died 2 years ago and I have been numb ever since. So much of what you have written encapsulates those great days of the late 80's and early 90's when dad used to take me to Spurs. I certainy shed a few tears and this has helped me get back in touch with both myself and my dad. Once again thank you and thank you to Stephen Fry for tweeting this.
Me, my Dad and my Grandy Ipswich Town 1978 FA Cup Final we beat the Gunners 1-0. Thank you it was perfect!
This is a great story. I can't stop crying. It is so touching and reveals the true soul of football.Any marketing measure can ever replace the delicate feelings which are linked to football and its connecting potential. This story shows what football is really about and can explain it to people who can't understand one's excitement for the game. It's all about emotions, relationships and common memories. Thank you.
What a great read and brought back fantastic memories of me pops. My Dad used to take me to Saints London games when i was 7 years old up to my teens. Sadly I also lost my Dad to cancer in 97. My first born luckily was a boy and weve had season tickets for the last 2 seasons since he was 3 years old. I often get the feeling my Dad is looking down on us at SMS with a beaming smile of approval. Always felt that supporting an unfashionable team is character building, certainly had more downs supporting the Saints than in real life.
Such a moving and wonderful story. Had me in tears from the start because I just knew the outcome. I lost my Dad in 2000 just before Christmas. He was much like yours... stiff upper lip, men don't cry etc but you KNOW they love you unconditionally. He was very proud of you and loved you so much.
Cracking article, brilliantly done. Unlike many people, and in spite of being a Gooner, I actually don't mind Millwall, often get one with their supporters quite well. Met one at a wedding in the West Country a few months ago - him and his missus were running the venue. I got chatting and told them how much I hate West Ham, which naturally they appreciated. The next morning when they're serving everyone breakfast he comes over to me and says "don't tell anyone, but we're giving you double", and 5 minutes later his missus brings me a plate with double bacon, double sausages, double everything else and big mug of tea. Top people.
(wiping away a tear) My dad supports Everton, I support Leeds. I followed the toffees with him, and he took me to watch Leeds. If it was too difficult we'd go and watch Bolton together. He'd buy 'the pink' on the way home and we'd pour over results, permutations, upsets, and talk football. Like you, it was the only thing we seemed to have in common. Now living in Australia, I recently took him to see Everton play against our local Brisbane team, my shout, best tickets in the place, a slap up feed n drinks beforehand, program, new cap n scarf, and with no words being uttered, Dad accepting it was my way of saying thanks for the right to choose, and us each respecting the other, and reliving very old memories. We were fine until Z cars theme started being belted out, cementing a memory for ever.
An excellent reflection on life and the important things in it. I'm a Palace fan and when people ask me that question I say the same thing. I started out supporting Chelsea, but my dad spend years converting me to Palace and now I'm a season ticket holder and couldn't imagine supporting anyone else. An excellent read there and really hits home to me.
Just superb.
This sounds like the same Mervyn i used to go to school with at South Norwood Primary very touching and well written article. sorry to hear about your dad
fab article folks
Hi, I'll be taking part in the Warrington Half Marathon this Sunday to raise money for Ronald McDonald House at Alder hey Children's Hospital. It'd be great if you could spare a couple of quid to support this great cause. Please donate online at: http://www.justgiving.com/mervynpayne Thanks, Merv
My dad used to manage a saturday my brother played for (my brother is the classic genius player until he discovered booze, birds and the like). It was left for me to find a team. I chose locally. Thankfully my nearest club would go on to win the FA Cup and beat the best at the top of the game - although when I chose Wimbledon they were in the third division and not even the maddest of the mad could have seen what happened in the next 10 years that followed. I ended up taking my dad to matches after we were forced to play at Selhurst Park. I hated it there but only missed one single game we played there between the move in 91 and the boycott and subsequent death of the club in 2002 when the MK disgrace was allowed.it was the day after I saw dad die in the Royal Marsden hospital. Thanks for the article. Sadly dad never saw me a others start AFC Wimbledon to right a wrong but my 14 year old son goes now although I'm in the seats and he prefers to go behind the goal and go mad with his mates. The circle of life indeed.
One day someone will make a film like this and not that load of fucking Billy Liar shite Nick Love seems so keen on pretending we all experienced in the 80s.
Quality article that. I'm a Wigan Athletic fan (one of the few!) mainly due to my Grandad and Dad taking me as a nipper to the old Springfield Park. My mates often ask who i go with and seem bemused when I say it's the old man...wouldn't have it any other way. Whether it's getting hammered by 6 or 9 v Chelsea or Tottenha, or coming back from 2 down to beat Arsenal, it'll always be our post match analysis which I enjoy the most. Oh, and that 1999 Wembley outing was the auto windscreen final where Paul 'Ted' Rogers nailed the winner in the 93rd minute...happy days!
Great article and great to see so many people relating so strongly to it.
@Jonesy to be fair, Nick Love does put a lot into his films and they are much more about 80s culture, the fashion, music etc which I witnessed growing up in south London from afar but never really got involved in, as opposed to trashy stuff like Green Street. It's these many layers of following football in the 80s that made it so fascinating and are are non-existent now, where we either pay through the nose to be a sit-down 'customer' at quiet plastic soulless stadia or watch it from our armchairs and have Andy Gray tell you whether it's good or not.
Absolutely brilliant. Had me in tears, as well. Memories of football in the Seventies at Stamford Bridge with my dad came flooding back to me. He is still a season ticket holder now, whilst I live in Australia and have to make do with watching live at 2 or 3 am.
Only just seen this. Replace Millwall and Manchester with Palace and Wiltshire, and change the mode of dying, and you have me and my Dad. Including the whole thing about the Cup Final and 'Abide With Me'. Thank you.
A great piece of writing and a universal tale for football-loving sons of a certain age. Well done indeed Merv
im in a van with 2 workmates who asked me why i was filling up i gave it to 1 to read to the other now theyre welling up too, im an evertonian cos my mum and dad was my dad left when i was 7 my only memory of being around him was at a couple of games my mum took me for years, my son and me argue and disagreed over everything until i took him the game last yr hes totally difrent now, everton is our middle it solved what a parent child relationship counsellor couldnt,
Despite being a hammer, I loved this. The tale managed to alleviate itself from footballing allegiances and bring it back to what really counts - family. I'm only 17 and I got the reverse of what you had - I'm the one taking my dad to the games to try and build some form of relationship between us. Thanks, this article really means a lot to all football fans I'm sure.
Wonderfully written, sitting here at work with a tear in my eye. I've recently become a dad, and only hope i can share the same bond with my son about football(baggies fan here) that you and your dad did.
This is the third time I've read this article, and the third I've wept. When I met my wife my stepson was four and he couldn't kick a ball but was desperate to do so. Four years on and he is a good little player and our relationship is rock solid. There are many reasons why football isn't the beautiful game, but its capacity to bring people together never stops. A beautiful article.
Wonderful article, fantastically written. would have cried, but my cat fell off the window ledge as my lip was trembling and i couldn't not laugh.
Brilliant. Substitute Millwall for Coventry and I could almost have written it myself, right down to losing my dad to cancer (we got the news the day before Coventry were relegated in 2001).
Third time I've read this too, been posted on pretty much every football message board you can google and with obvious good reason. Don't think I've ever read anything that captures all that is universal and beautiful about football as well as this story does. I hope someone picks it up and publishes it, if only because the guy who wrote it deserves recognition for creating something pure and beautiful when so much of the game we all love has been turned to shit. The FA should make every multi billionaire prospective owner read, memorise and write and essay on this story before they even think about letting them take over another football club.
Thought I was going nuts. Great read again and what this site is all about. Really good writing on subjects that might not always be flavour of the month. When you pick up a magazine or newspaper surely you'd rather not already know what is in if?
As a Crystal Palace supporter, I'd like to say what a wonderful article.
brilliant stuff that, absolutely brilliant
Excellent piece.
Brought back memories and tears thinking of my old man who also lost his battle with cancer.Like the author,I shared at times a difficult relationship with my old man but the glue of supporting an unfashionable team brought us together.I brought my much younger brother up in the family tradition of supporting the local team-The Accies-rather than the Old Firm and for that I have my old man to thank for instilling the virtue of supporting the local team and not to be a glory hunter.
The best thing I've ever read on Sabotage.
Cracking read! Most heart warming article I've ever read on here
My Dad was 80, on 14th jan 2012,, Can relate and identify, to this terrific article,...Thanks for the LIONS Dad
My dad is still alive but he is very much a lapsed fan, finds it hard to relate to the current team, he got me into football though and I can remember our last game, it was the day after my birthday and it was me and him, the girlfriend was there but that doesn't matter, was me with my dad just like old times. When we equalised to make it 1-1 and our stand was going absolutely mental the moment of pure joy I shared with my dad will live with me forever, I don't care that we got beat 2-1, I had that one moment.
Brilliant. Its about time i ring my old boy for a chat.
Brilliant piece of writing. It captures what a lot of us went through and still go through. Me and my old man rarely see eye to eye...I'm 42 and he's 62 but football and Manchester United is the glue that holds us together!
Wonderful story that I can relate so much to, brought a lump to my throat and ended with a smile... Why do you support Barnsley, because my dad does!
when a millwall fan writes an article and doesnt get one single negative comment you know its something special, a great read from start to finish mate, from a hammer
Speechless, simply speechless. I guess thats the story of every little boy who went with his dad to a football match and how proud he must`ve felt that day. Life goes on, we have the memories.
Thanks for sharing your Wall rites of passage. Mine started in 1974 with a 4-1 loss to York. I sat there last night and watched Wednesday's 94th minute winner. Why - because my dad did. Lost him to cancer just before Cardiff 2004. THE BEST TEAM IN LONDON, NO THE BEST TEAM OF ALL. EVERYBODY KNOWS US.....
Great read, in tears, my Dad was taken to soon too, but its true Millwall till you die, good and bad times.
Tears rolling down my face as I read this. I can associate with all you wrote. A proper story about proper football people.
Truly incredible article that suddenly makes me want to spend more time with my dad so for that I thank you. I’m a West Ham United fan and this article was not what I expected. It genuinely bought a tear to my eye and sent a shiver down my spine whilst I’m at work, great read!
Excellent article that I'm sure many fans can relate to. As a West Ham fan I didn't go to the 2006 cup final beceause I couldn't get my sons tickets. Being at Wembley 2012 for the playoff final with them was something special.
Fantastic article. I'm a hammers fan but can relate to this wonderfully written story. Well done son your dad would be proud
Merve, what a great, heartfelt piece of writing. As another Hammer, I wouldn't normally, but I too will raise a glass to Millwall, you and your Dad tonight. Thanks for sharing this.
Jesus, I'm sat at my desk in the office with tears rolling down my cheeks hoping nobody has noticed. That was beautiful and that's coming from a West Ham fan. I wish you nothing but good luck, health and happiness.
I lost my Dad 5 weeks ago, I can't tell you much this article has touched me, I've cried at my desk at work twice. I take my son to the Boleyn for every home game and we do 1/2 the aways as well. Every moment means so much, the 90 mins is such a small part of it. The SKY brigade, glory hunters really do miss the point of it all. Enjoy Wembley tomorrow the 'wall lads here are vibrating with excitement. WHUFC
As a lifelong Irons fan, I will now admit that before my brother and I were old enough to go to Upton Park on our own, the caretaker of our flats took us, with his 2 sons, to Millwall. Fond memories of hurtling down the Old Kent Road in his motorbike sidecar. Remember well Harry Cripps & Co. I think I might know Stoney who commented above as 1 of my 2 sons who hopefully will also pass on their own inherited legacy....... Touching article, well written.
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