Saturday the 3rd of May. That day signifies the final day of the English Football League, the 2nd most prominent league in England right after the English Premier League. For weeks we had spoken about how exciting it might be watching a Football League game live. By now i had been lucky enough to have seen 4 Arsenal games. Our early 4-0 thumping of Coventry in the early stages of the FA cup, a 2-0 Oxlaide inspired victory against Crystal Palace; that was followed by a lackluster 0-0 game with Judas (Robin Van Persie) coming the closest to score at the emirates and finally a 3-0 domination of a Newcastle United side that had been struggling for the better part of 2014.
All of the aforementioned games had been exciting just because i had the privilege of watching them live. Whether or not the games delivered to expectations (which none of them really did, there were no nail biters), i had been to 4 Arsenal games and my record stood at 3 wins and a draw, not too shabby. However it was my last weekend in London and we wanted to watch a game that involved the kind of fans who would be willing to die for their team. At the same time we didn't just want to see any old Football League team; we wanted to see a team that had some sort of significance. The teams i had grown up watching in the premier league who had since then been relegated were Blackburn, Bolton, Reading, QPR, Middlesborough, Portsmouth, Charlton and Watford, all prominent teams but we wanted something a bit more British, something a bit more hardcore. And then it came to us. Millwall FC. The very same Millwall who were featured so prominently in the movie 'Green Street Hooligans'. Some of you may remember that movie for the brutality it displayed in the firm warfare between West Ham fans and Millwall fans, while some of you may remember it as that movie with that hobbit prick Elijah Wood. I tend to remember it as that time we watched a movie and Alexander Makki fell asleep and released a stream of 3 farts while in La-la land.
Moving on, we all agreed that we would watch a Millwall FC game. What better and more English way to round up my tenure in London than to witness Millwall FC stave off a relegation battle? Ah yes, did i mention it was the last game of their season and they were nestled in right at the bottom of the league fighting to maintain their status in the Football League? In our excitement we managed to forget about one very crucial detail, the existence of a notorious firm known as the EDL. The EDL or English Defence League historically, to put it simply, 'hate f****** Paki's'. A far right street protest movement that opposes Islamic extremism from spreading in the United Kingdom, Millwall are known to have a dedicated EDL fan base. That really got the blood pumping, i mean, we were trapped and the tickets had already been bought (The town of Millwall had no refund services available, jokes aside).
It was only the night before that we began to comprehend the risks attached with attending the game. Looking back at our worry, i can safely say we were being unnecessarily paranoid but in that moment, those nervous laughs and half jokes about getting attacked by inbreds and being buried under the Millwall pitch began to seem like a reality. Without realizing it i had even begun formulating plans for survival; that plan being to sit in the middle next to Waqas leaving my other two friends Makki and Siva on each corner so that in the case of an attack, they would be mauled first leaving Waqas and I to escape. Siva played the part of a man devoid of fear and he did a good job in convincing us that he truly was unafraid until a plate slipped out of his hands (while we were eating at Pizza Hut) and we had a good glimpse at just how sweaty his hands were. The effect of the lighting on those palms was enough to blind a man.
And so came the big day. We all met up and took the train bound towards Millwall hoping this wouldn't be the last train ride we were going to take. Seeing as the majority of the members of our group were either Pakistani or Indian we were running on Desi time and by the time we reached the Stadium the game had already begun. Encountering many oddities on the way to the stadium the likes of a real life Inbetweeners-esque caravan club and a half full Glass of beer (lying in the middle of the street) as well as several almost toothless locals, we made our way towards our designated stand. Such high tech technology such as bar code scanners for our tickets were unknown resources to the locals of Millwall and thus the entry process delayed us even further but we didn't need to be inside the stadium to tell what was happening; the roar of the crowd was enough to tell us that the game was yet goalless. We finally walked in and immediately encountered our first problem, or rather my first problem as i had suddenly felt the urge to take a solid number 2. I wasn't the only one as i'm sure the other lads were also holding it in, but we had promised each other we would not separate. So clenched buttocks and all we walked into our stand and realized that there was no way in hell we were going to get to our seats.
Our aim to get in with the locals as discreetly as possible took a magnificent hit as we were instantly singled out as the minority. EIther our skin tone had given us away or it was the violent fart that erupted from deep within Alexander Makki, the point is we had been made out. Luckily for us a steward was able to rescue us, Makki's pre-crying face had done the magic as she directed us towards a different stand and managed to allocate us seats.
The first thing i noticed about the game, is that it was extremely physical. The Football League is a completely different ball game to whats being played in the English Premier League. Where as teams in the EPL generally followed a smooth more fluid form of the game the Football League was evidently more physical and aggressive. Players had a lot more time on the ball as there was less of an emphasis on pressure but clattering tackles and constant shoves in the back were the norm. This was English Football in its purest form devoid of all the intercontinental influence the EPL had acquired. The incidents we witnessed and the encounters we had shortly after were so many and so varied that i think it might be better if i listed them down:
We witnessed the following
1) Waqas Raja cracking like a pre pubescent 12 year old during Millwalls rendition of 'Hey Jude'
2) A drunken cockney fellow who repeatedly kept yelling in our ears and spitting gobs onto the top of our heads yelling the expletive 'F****** Cu***
3) The poor referee - who looked a pretty fit guy - being called a 'useless fat bastard' everytime he gave a decision the way of the opposing team
4) A studs up sliding tackle from a Millwall player that almost took a Bournmouth player of the pitch being deemed 'too soft'
We were lucky enough that Millwall managed to score early on and hang onto the lead to win that game, for if they had lost i fear we would have been bludgeoned to death with bottles of beer and buried under the Millwall football pitch. 5 minutes before the game ended, we decided we had better start making our way out. As we walked downstairs we passed by another opening to a lower stand of the stadium. There we decided to stand by and see out the last few minutes of the game. As soon as that final whistle blew madness ensued and to our shock and delight fans started storming the pitch! It was a full on proper pitch storming and in that moment of madness i embraced my inner chav and broke through the rings of security, jumped over the railing and ran onto the pitch. I looked back and saw Siva also attempting to do the same, but of course not being as graceful about it. He tripped over the railing, fell on his head and then proceeded to get up as if none of the remaining 15,000 in the stands had noticed and joined me on the pitch. We both were making a dash for that little leprechaun of a manager Ian Holloway who had led Millwall to Championship survival, however by the time we got to the other side he was gone. My bet is he saw us from afar, madness in our eyes rushing towards him and decided he'd had just about enough.
After taking a few cute pictures (and a selfie that the world will never see) we made our way out of the stadium still feeling the rush of euphoria. I had witnessed my team Arsenal play 4 times this season yet i walked out of that stadium in Millwall feeling more fulfilled than i had after watching each of those Arsenal games. On the way out we passed by Danny Shittu's car (famous ex-premier league footballer) and took a picture with his license plate that read 'W9nt U'. I now realize why Bolton terminated his contract and cleaned their hands of him. What a rapist.
I'd had 2 hours of sleep, had woken up with a solid headache yet it was all worth it. We had witnessed a final day of the season Championship game and to top it all off we had actually stormed the pitch to celebrate with the players (not that we knew a single ones name). All in all it was a memorable day and i highly advise that the next time anyone of you is in London, please attend a Championship game, its well worth it.
(Shout out to Philip Carlsson who would have sold his left bollock to have been there with us and shout out to Zain Arif because.. well.. he wanted a shout out)
All of the aforementioned games had been exciting just because i had the privilege of watching them live. Whether or not the games delivered to expectations (which none of them really did, there were no nail biters), i had been to 4 Arsenal games and my record stood at 3 wins and a draw, not too shabby. However it was my last weekend in London and we wanted to watch a game that involved the kind of fans who would be willing to die for their team. At the same time we didn't just want to see any old Football League team; we wanted to see a team that had some sort of significance. The teams i had grown up watching in the premier league who had since then been relegated were Blackburn, Bolton, Reading, QPR, Middlesborough, Portsmouth, Charlton and Watford, all prominent teams but we wanted something a bit more British, something a bit more hardcore. And then it came to us. Millwall FC. The very same Millwall who were featured so prominently in the movie 'Green Street Hooligans'. Some of you may remember that movie for the brutality it displayed in the firm warfare between West Ham fans and Millwall fans, while some of you may remember it as that movie with that hobbit prick Elijah Wood. I tend to remember it as that time we watched a movie and Alexander Makki fell asleep and released a stream of 3 farts while in La-la land.
Moving on, we all agreed that we would watch a Millwall FC game. What better and more English way to round up my tenure in London than to witness Millwall FC stave off a relegation battle? Ah yes, did i mention it was the last game of their season and they were nestled in right at the bottom of the league fighting to maintain their status in the Football League? In our excitement we managed to forget about one very crucial detail, the existence of a notorious firm known as the EDL. The EDL or English Defence League historically, to put it simply, 'hate f****** Paki's'. A far right street protest movement that opposes Islamic extremism from spreading in the United Kingdom, Millwall are known to have a dedicated EDL fan base. That really got the blood pumping, i mean, we were trapped and the tickets had already been bought (The town of Millwall had no refund services available, jokes aside).
It was only the night before that we began to comprehend the risks attached with attending the game. Looking back at our worry, i can safely say we were being unnecessarily paranoid but in that moment, those nervous laughs and half jokes about getting attacked by inbreds and being buried under the Millwall pitch began to seem like a reality. Without realizing it i had even begun formulating plans for survival; that plan being to sit in the middle next to Waqas leaving my other two friends Makki and Siva on each corner so that in the case of an attack, they would be mauled first leaving Waqas and I to escape. Siva played the part of a man devoid of fear and he did a good job in convincing us that he truly was unafraid until a plate slipped out of his hands (while we were eating at Pizza Hut) and we had a good glimpse at just how sweaty his hands were. The effect of the lighting on those palms was enough to blind a man.
And so came the big day. We all met up and took the train bound towards Millwall hoping this wouldn't be the last train ride we were going to take. Seeing as the majority of the members of our group were either Pakistani or Indian we were running on Desi time and by the time we reached the Stadium the game had already begun. Encountering many oddities on the way to the stadium the likes of a real life Inbetweeners-esque caravan club and a half full Glass of beer (lying in the middle of the street) as well as several almost toothless locals, we made our way towards our designated stand. Such high tech technology such as bar code scanners for our tickets were unknown resources to the locals of Millwall and thus the entry process delayed us even further but we didn't need to be inside the stadium to tell what was happening; the roar of the crowd was enough to tell us that the game was yet goalless. We finally walked in and immediately encountered our first problem, or rather my first problem as i had suddenly felt the urge to take a solid number 2. I wasn't the only one as i'm sure the other lads were also holding it in, but we had promised each other we would not separate. So clenched buttocks and all we walked into our stand and realized that there was no way in hell we were going to get to our seats.
Our aim to get in with the locals as discreetly as possible took a magnificent hit as we were instantly singled out as the minority. EIther our skin tone had given us away or it was the violent fart that erupted from deep within Alexander Makki, the point is we had been made out. Luckily for us a steward was able to rescue us, Makki's pre-crying face had done the magic as she directed us towards a different stand and managed to allocate us seats.
The first thing i noticed about the game, is that it was extremely physical. The Football League is a completely different ball game to whats being played in the English Premier League. Where as teams in the EPL generally followed a smooth more fluid form of the game the Football League was evidently more physical and aggressive. Players had a lot more time on the ball as there was less of an emphasis on pressure but clattering tackles and constant shoves in the back were the norm. This was English Football in its purest form devoid of all the intercontinental influence the EPL had acquired. The incidents we witnessed and the encounters we had shortly after were so many and so varied that i think it might be better if i listed them down:
We witnessed the following
1) Waqas Raja cracking like a pre pubescent 12 year old during Millwalls rendition of 'Hey Jude'
2) A drunken cockney fellow who repeatedly kept yelling in our ears and spitting gobs onto the top of our heads yelling the expletive 'F****** Cu***
3) The poor referee - who looked a pretty fit guy - being called a 'useless fat bastard' everytime he gave a decision the way of the opposing team
4) A studs up sliding tackle from a Millwall player that almost took a Bournmouth player of the pitch being deemed 'too soft'
We were lucky enough that Millwall managed to score early on and hang onto the lead to win that game, for if they had lost i fear we would have been bludgeoned to death with bottles of beer and buried under the Millwall football pitch. 5 minutes before the game ended, we decided we had better start making our way out. As we walked downstairs we passed by another opening to a lower stand of the stadium. There we decided to stand by and see out the last few minutes of the game. As soon as that final whistle blew madness ensued and to our shock and delight fans started storming the pitch! It was a full on proper pitch storming and in that moment of madness i embraced my inner chav and broke through the rings of security, jumped over the railing and ran onto the pitch. I looked back and saw Siva also attempting to do the same, but of course not being as graceful about it. He tripped over the railing, fell on his head and then proceeded to get up as if none of the remaining 15,000 in the stands had noticed and joined me on the pitch. We both were making a dash for that little leprechaun of a manager Ian Holloway who had led Millwall to Championship survival, however by the time we got to the other side he was gone. My bet is he saw us from afar, madness in our eyes rushing towards him and decided he'd had just about enough.
After taking a few cute pictures (and a selfie that the world will never see) we made our way out of the stadium still feeling the rush of euphoria. I had witnessed my team Arsenal play 4 times this season yet i walked out of that stadium in Millwall feeling more fulfilled than i had after watching each of those Arsenal games. On the way out we passed by Danny Shittu's car (famous ex-premier league footballer) and took a picture with his license plate that read 'W9nt U'. I now realize why Bolton terminated his contract and cleaned their hands of him. What a rapist.
I'd had 2 hours of sleep, had woken up with a solid headache yet it was all worth it. We had witnessed a final day of the season Championship game and to top it all off we had actually stormed the pitch to celebrate with the players (not that we knew a single ones name). All in all it was a memorable day and i highly advise that the next time anyone of you is in London, please attend a Championship game, its well worth it.
(Shout out to Philip Carlsson who would have sold his left bollock to have been there with us and shout out to Zain Arif because.. well.. he wanted a shout out)
