Monthly Archives: March 2015

Our Leeds United

Interesting take on the recent off-the-field activity aboard the good ship Leeds United. I reblog it not as an endorsement, but to canvass views – it’d be good to know what others think.

Man Utd, Financial Fair Play and “The United Brand”: a Leeds United Fan Accuses – by Rob Atkinson

Manchester City - Champions for now

Manchester City – Champions for now

As a Leeds United fan first and a lover of football in the broader sense second, I do find myself watching a great deal of Premier League stuff on TV and, clearly, there’s a lot to admire. And admire it I do; I will yield to no man in my ability to appreciate the quality of the Beautiful Game, so beautifully played – usually. And yet, again with my Leeds United head on, it’s rather like being a deprived and starveling urchin, stood barefoot in rags under a rainy sky, shivering in a cold wind, with my hungry nose pressed up against a bright shop window, displaying in glitzy magnificence a cornucopia of desirable things that I can neither reach nor afford. From that point of view, the over-riding emotion is envy, with shades of desire, contempt, hatred and resentment intermingled.

Since football abandoned any pretence at being a sport, or even a working-class opera, starry-eyed idealists such as myself – ancient enough to remember the olden days and once-fashionable things like glory, passion, pride and identity – have been asking themselves one wistful question.

Will we ever have a truly level playing field again?

On the face of it, you’d have to say it’s unlikely, if not completely out of the question. Even in the olden days, it was something of a relative concept. There were rich and poor back then, just as at any time you could mention in the whole of sporting history. There were big fish and there were also small fry. But now, you’re talking whales and plankton – and we all know what whales do to plankton. The gap has widened and inequality has increased fast enough and far enough to put an ecstatic beam on the face of any bloated, plutocratic Tory. And that’s not simply a situation which applies to the extremes of the game.

Even in the Premier League, that much-vaunted bastion of mega-wealth and world-class quality – the best league in the world, according to Sky TV executives (how they must laugh into their paella over that in the strongholds of la Liga) – even there, in the sparkly EPL, there is a rigid class system. There are leagues within this elite league, glass ceilings it’s almost impossible to break through. And that’s a problem being aggravated, ironically, by a device intended, ostensibly, to promote fairness.

The provisions of the Financial Fair Play rules are too complex to lend themselves to easy summary, but – without wishing to sacrifice the integrity of a sincerely-meant blog on the altar of glib over-simplification – the effect of the measures now in force appears to be the protection of “old money” and, by implication, old power. In other words, those who feathered their nests, by whatever means, at the right time and by pretty much any means, are in an advantageous position now, due to long-established income streams. In some cases, those income streams go back a long way, are not necessarily directly connected to football and are reinforced and supported by the modern day mass-media. Let’s take a case in point. Yes, you’ve guessed it – it’s this blog’s old friends Manchester United FC.

Man U were the very epitome of “old money” when the Premier League came into being, but the differentials back then had not been great enough to permit their dominance of the game over the previous 25 years since they last won the genuine English Champions title in the black & white days of 1967. In the interim, first Leeds United and then Liverpool were the big beasts of English football, with occasional cameo appearances from the likes of Arsenal, Everton, Derby and Nottingham Forest. Liverpool’s vice-like grip on the game for almost two decades was a remarkable achievement on as level a playing field as we could possibly have had at the time. But when that field was tilted towards the already cash-rich, merchandise and marketing-savvy mob at the other end of the East Lancs road, Liverpool was one of the clubs that hurtled into the abyss. They’ve never truly recovered. The astounding fact of the matter is that Leeds United have been Champions more recently than Liverpool FC. So, indeed, have Blackburn Rovers – but that was only one of those nasty, plastic ones designed especially for Man U. If the cap fits…

For the first twenty years or so after the Murdoch putsch, the Man U-friendly environment of the Australian’s Sky League kept Fergie’s humourless and joyless troops at the top, with the rest of football gasping its trophy-winning life out under the big red jackboot. Marketing-wise, this was an extremely desirable state of affairs for the money men who now owned the game. They had a leading brand, it was an almost guaranteed winner, and this opened up still further a lucrative global market with literally millions of non-matchgoing mugs the world over, desperate for more and more Man U tat and the Sky dishes for goggleboxes on which to ogle their remote heroes. One major tool in the maintenance of this near-monopoly was the extension and mass-marketing of the “United Brand“.

The United Brand was and is the media’s slavish adoption of the old Man U “there’s only one United” myth – one of the stock lies in any Pride of Devon follower’s little cupboard of self-delusion, along with “biggest in the world”, “greatest team ever”, “most tragic disaster” etc etc. Most of these big fibs are left to the individual glory-hunters themselves to pass on, whenever a likely victim presents him or herself. Talk to a Man U adherent and you’ll see what I mean. If the topic of the Busby Babes comes up, or the Munich Disaster, the Man U fan – football’s equivalent of the pub bore – will assume a far-off, beatific expression, the eyelids drooping over glazed eyes, the voice becoming a cockney drone of indoctrination. Then we’re treated to an adoring monologue of how those doomed Babes would have dominated football, and you’d never then have heard of Leeds United; how the Munich disaster is unparalleled in the history of football tragedy (conveniently ignoring Superga which destroyed the great Torino team in 1949) – and so on and so forth. It’s even understandable, to a degree; a lot of football fans are blinkered and self-obsessed when it comes to their own team. It’s just that Man U fans, encouraged by the club and their own Dads most likely, have raised it to a sort of dreadful art-form; furthermore, they actually do believe all that crap – and they really expect you to as well. They become really quite distressingly emotional when you don’t.

The role of the media in all of this, though, is far more sinister. In pushing the agenda of the United Brand, they are deliberately seeking to marginalise, not just those other Uniteds – most of whom have a more solid claim to that suffix – but all other football clubs, by their blatant elevation of one club onto a pedestal with recognition demanded by repeated use of that one word. United. All of the media do it, and it’s not simply lazy journalism as some suggest.  It’s brand protection, the Pavlovian training of consumers everywhere to hear the word United, and think of the Pride of Devon. It’s endemic within print and broadcast industries now and for a good few years past. You still get the occasional embarrassed little cough when a commentator at Newcastle United v Man U, for instance, refers lovingly to “United” and then hastily clarifies that he means the team in the Chevrolet shirts of course, not the other lot, whoever they might be. They don’t want to be thought of as biased and unprofessional, after all – even though that’s precisely what they are.

Not everyone is taken in by all of this, of course. It’s a mass-indoctrination tool of the type big marketeers have used down the decades; the target group tending to be the bottom fifty percent of the intelligence scale. Which I know sounds invidious and possibly even condescending – but that doesn’t mean it’s untrue. But there has always been a sector of the public determined to resist such blandishments; so it quite rightly is where the United Brand is concerned. However, this subliminal campaign has been omnipresent and all-pervasive for such a long time now, and sadly the relatively small voice of protest tends to fall on deaf – probably dumb as well – ears.

The truth is, of course, that Newton Heath aren’t a true United, as for instance Newcastle are, or Leeds, or arguably West Ham – or even Oxford and Torquay. “United” in a football context refers to a club with the exclusive occupancy of its catchment area, no direct rivals sharing the same patch. Man U aren’t the only only United – that’s self-evident to anyone who can count. But here’s the thing: it isn’t just that they’re neither the only nor yet the first United. They’re not even a genuine one – because of the spoiling factor of having neighbours and rivals in the same area. So, sadly for the Pride of Devon, current Champions Manchester City ruin this particular myth for them – as they have ruined so much else lately.

Which brings us on to the current peril threatening the United Brand. The clear and present danger of being caught up and overtaken by one or more rivals. And – oops! – it’s already happened. Man City and Chelsea fight over the title, the likes of Arsenal, Spurs, Liverpool, even Southampton are scrapping to keep Man U out of the Champions League spot they regard as the very least of their divine rights. What to do?? Extend the Champions League qualification criteria again, to make sure the untouchables stay in the fold? It’s been done before. But beware of diluting the product to the point its taste becomes insipid. Hmmm, we’ll have to find some other way.

OK, how about this. If you can’t beat ’em – nobble ’em. The upstart clubs who have overtaken the Chosen Ones will have to be hamstrung, their income streams restricted and made inaccessible to them. How else to restore the accepted order and have the United Brand back at the top? And it has to be done quickly, before all of those millions of eager tat consumers lose their motivation, become discouraged, cease to be market movers and slavishly obedient commercial fodder.

And, lo and behold, we have Financial Fair Play, which decrees that what are seen as subordinate clubs may not be funded into competitiveness by a *spit* sugar daddy. They may not presume to compete with the clubs who are deemed to have accrued their riches through on-field success, global merchandising, exploiting historical tragedies, whatever. There’s a right way, for those who presume to control the game – the United Brand way – and there’s a wrong way, which encompasses pretty much anything a club which aspires to rise to the top could possibly do. The game’s rulers are pro-competition alright – but they’re not going to get all sentimental and misty-eyed over it, not to the extent that their preferred brand no longer dominates. The Old Guard – Man U, Real Madrid, Bayern Munich et al – must remain the Old Guard, the ruling cartel. Anything else is dangerous, because it diffuses attention, which imperils consumer focus. It’s just bad for business, old boy.

So, we’ll have just enough competition to keep things interesting – to keep the mugs hooked and consuming – but we’ll draw the line when a chosen Brand, deliberately created and carefully, remorselessly hyped, appears to be in danger of slipping from the pinnacle of the game.  FFP is all about maintaining the status quo and keeping inconvenient Johnny-come-latelys down where they belong. And the tragic thing is – it’ll probably work.

But what does the future hold if this does work as presumably intended? Because what we have here is an ever-inflating bubble, increasingly shiny and enormous as it catches all the lime-light, reflecting gaudy and brilliant shimmerings of iridescent glory. It’s huge and it’s pretty – the kind of thing to cause a child, or other similarly naive person, to stop in their tracks and gaze, open-mouthed and round-eyed in innocent wonderment. But any bubble must burst eventually, leaving that child in disappointed tears. The path we are currently set upon, seemingly committed to, can have only one end. Look at the most recent Sky and other media deal, look at the billions involved at a time of austerity in society at large (unless you’re rich…). Who do you think that colossal, obscene cost is going to be passed on to? What will be the consequences when gates start to dip? Nothing is forever.

In a hundred years time, when those with long, long memories look back and reflect on what they have seen in their lives, what their grandfathers have told them, too – when they wonder whatever happened to that grand old game they used to call football – they may wish to search for a guilty party to blame for the death of something that used to give such pleasure to so many. If that comes to pass – as I fear eventually it must – then there will be a few likely candidates to carry the can. One will certainly be the long dead Mr Murdoch of evil memory. Who can say what his eventual legacy will be, not just for football, but for society at large? Another might be a club in Man U that used once upon a time to be legendary, a symbol of fine football and hope for the future. But this club will more likely instead be remembered as a model of arrogance and greed; the club that started the FA Cup off on its slow decline towards death (by being the first to withdraw from it); the club that manipulated the game for twenty years at the start of the Premier League, and perverted a “whole new ball game” into a nightmare of greed, cynicism and conspicuous consumerism.

For my part, I won’t point the finger at an individual or a club. Well, maybe I would a bit – if I were still above ground to do so. But I think it’ll be artificial concepts and restrictive legislation that’ll be the death of the game in the end. And I’ll miss it – but I’ll be glad I was there at the end of the golden era, almost a quarter of a century ago now, when my club Leeds United were the Kings of English Football – just as it entered its terminal phase. And I’ll be certain in my own mind as to exactly where the guilt for that fatal process truly lies.

Financial Fair Play and “The United Brand”: j’accuse.

The Day the Leeds United Glory Trail Began – by Rob Atkinson

The first trophy for Revie's Boys

The first trophy for Revie’s Boys

Today was the day, 47 years ago, when the Leeds United glory trail started with victory over Arsenal in the League Cup Final at Wembley on March 2nd, 1968. It was a scrappy game between two sides not overly keen on each other – but it was settled by what was, literally, a dream of a goal.

The triumph of the Whites in the shadow of the twin towers that day marked the start of what was to be an honour-laden six years or so for Revie’s troops. In that time, they completed the domestic honours set with two League Titles, the FA Cup in 1972, and a Charity Shield. On foreign fields, they won two Inter-Cities Fairs Cups – as well as being robbed in the finals of the two other European competitions, as is copiously documented elsewhere. By the time Don Revie left for an ill-fated spell in charge of the England team, Leeds were indisputably the number one team in England; but their time at the top was done – the all-conquering squad, having matured together, was on the point of breaking up.

My tribute to the accepted first eleven of Revie’s genius squad is reproduced below. It’s one of three poems I’ve had published on FootballPoets.org and it makes specific reference to Terry Cooper‘s Wembley premonition. The Castleford lad, destined to be hailed as the best left-back on the planet at the World Cup of 1970, had dreamed for three successive nights of scoring the winner on that day so long ago.

When the dream came true, in the 18th minute of a dour encounter, there was a slight tinge of controversy. Arsenal ‘keeper Jim Furnell, backed by most of his team-mates, claimed that he had been impeded at a corner by Leeds’ Paul Madeley and Jack Charlton. But when the ball dropped twenty yards out, Cooper made a clean connection and cracked the ball into the back of the net for as good a Wembley winner as you could wish to see. After that, Leeds shut up shop (it’s known as “parking the bus” these days) and saw the match out to collect the first major silverware of the club’s history.

Thanks for the memories, Top Cat Cooper, Billy Bremner – and the rest of the boys, not forgetting The Don himself, of course. Happy days – Glory Days.

The Revie Boys

Sprake, the Viking, error-prone
Costly gaffes are too well-known
But brilliance too, in Budapest
Gritty show, Fairs Cup conquest
Outside the fold now, Judas jibes
Allegations, fixes, bribes

Reaney, swarthy, lithe and fine
Clears a rocket off the line
Always there to beat the best
Georgie, Greavsie and the rest
Speedy Reaney, right full back
Repelling every new attack

Top Cat Cooper, number three
Once a winger, then set free
From wide attacking, made his name
The best left back of World Cup fame
Scored at Wembley, League Cup dream
Got the winner for his team

Billy Bremner, black and blue
Red of hair, Leeds through and through
A tiny giant for the Whites
Semi-final appetites
Beat Man U, not once but twice
Billy’s goals, pearls of great price

Big Jack next, our own giraffe
World Cup winner, photograph
With brother Bobby, Wembley day
The lesser Charlton many say
Was Jack; but for the super Whites
He gave his all and hit the heights

Norman Hunter, hard but fair
Tackles ending in mid-air
Studs on shinpads, bone on bone
Take no prisoners, stand alone
With enemies strewn at his feet
Angelic Norm, that smile so sweet

Lorimer, the rocket shot
Lethal from the penalty spot
Lashed the ball from distance great
Fearsome pace he’d generate
90 miles an hour clocked
Keeper left confused and shocked

Clarkey next at number eight
A predator to emulate
The  greatest strikers anywhere
On the ground, or in the air
One chance at Wembley, snapped it up
Leeds United won the Cup

Mick Jones, the workhorse, brave and strong
Graft away the whole match long
But frequently a scorer brave
Defying all attempts to save –
A hat-trick blitzing poor Man U
Five-one, in nineteen seventy-two

The Irishman at number ten
Giles, a leader among men
Skill and strategy, world class
Struck a devastating pass
John and Billy, midfield twins
Hard as nails – for who dares, wins

Eddie “Last Waltz” Gray out wide
Beats three men in one sweet stride
Jinks and shimmies, deft of touch
Didn’t seem to matter much
Who might face him, come what may
Eddie beat him anyway

“Rolls Royce” Madeley, class and style
Dependable and versatile
Would walk into most other teams
But stayed to chase his glory dreams
For Leeds and England, servant true
Recognition overdue

Twelve great players, clad in white
Internationals, as of right
Ready to play, and battle too
Many the victories, losses few
Leeds United, Revie’s Boys
Strength and power, skill and poise

Left with just sweet memories now
But even critics must allow
A squad of many talents great
Where every man would pull his weight
Cut one and find the whole team bleeds
A club United; Super Leeds

Millwall Boss Holloway Must Apologise After Rotherham Riot – by Rob Atkinson

Holloway - looking the other way

Holloway – looking the other way

Life, Leeds United, the Universe & Everything has often in the past railed against the casual attitude of the football authorities towards the lunatic fringe of Millwall fans, a band who seemingly act as they please with little or no fear of official sanction. At various times, the FA, the Football League, police forces around the country and apologists within Millwall FC itself have leant over backwards to excuse those loveable, chirpy cockneys for the mayhem, violence and misery they routinely inflict on defenceless and innocent match-going fans of other clubs – even, on one infamous occasion, involving children wearing their own colours at Wembley as the ‘Wall fans turned on each other during their semi-final defeat. Today, yet again, this blog finds itself totally vindicated by events in its view of Millwall FC and those who follow that club.

Now, after the latest disgusting exhibition of uncivilised brutality at Rotherham United‘s New York Stadium on Saturday, we hear that “the guilty ones will be caught”. Well, it’s way past time that they were. This is not, after all, a secret problem; everyone knows that the London club has far more than its fair share of thugs. And yet as recently as a couple of weeks ago, after another defeat at Leeds United, Millwall’s manager Ian Holloway was raging about the travel restrictions that kept the away following down on that occasion, complaining that this contributed towards his team being beaten and insisting the Millwall fans were reformed, reinvented, just the type of people you’d want to see your daughter bring home when the vicar’s round for tea, more or less.

The blind stupidity of such a claim has been adequately demonstrated, yet again and at the usual human cost, at Rotherham. Which begs the question: will Holloway now apologise for his ludicrous remarks after the Leeds game? Will he, in fact, reiterate the entirely more sensible position he espoused after the opening day fixture, when Millwall fans disgraced themselves by their habitual references to murders in Turkey? On that occasion, Holloway vented his disgust at the Millwall hate mob; his position since then appears to have been revised – but not in a good way. First there was his ridiculous rant in the press after the Leeds United loss – and after Rotherham? Well, he said he “hadn’t seen it”. Selective blindness, Mr. Holloway? Most convincing, I don’t think. Monsieur Wenger does it rather better, as he does most things compared to you.

It does rather make you wonder whether Holloway had cause after that opening game to regret lambasting his own fans. His volte face since then suggests that he may have come under pressure to lay off the criticism of the Millwall support, who are after all a group of people accustomed to attacking others both verbally and physically, and yet curiously sensitive to any hint of criticism directed against them. There is some speculation today about whether Holloway has “lost the Millwall fans”. If he has managed to do that – could he perhaps teach the rest of us the trick?

I know how those fans simply can’t abide any criticism from personal experience; after previous articles I’ve written to have a go at the least civilised group of supporters in the UK, I’ve had my Twitter feed clogged with hateful bile, venom directed at my family, earnest attempts to find my home address with encouragement from the sidelines to pay me a visit and “sort me out” – all that kind of childish, playground rubbish. And of course they’re always ready with a leer and a Galatasaray top or a Turkish flag, to have a laugh about the murder of two Leeds fans in Istanbul and pose for a malicious photo opportunity – all in impeccable taste and good clean fun, of course. Just today, I’ve had them attempting to poke fun at my Dad’s death – it’s par for the course with that lot, and it just goes in the spam bin. But it’s funny how it doesn’t happen with any other club’s fans – only Man U come anywhere near – and contrary to their paranoid and egotistical belief, I do have a go at other clubs from time to time.

For dishing it out and yet being completely unable to take it – and only for that – Millwall fans must be the top firm in the country. Their unwillingness to travel to Leeds in numbers, mumbling pathetic excuses about travel restrictions, tells its own tale of keyboard warriors who shy away from any actual old-fashioned confrontations with one of the more notorious northern sets of fans. They evidently felt a lot braver going to Rotherham, where the victims of these big brave lads included at least one female steward.

All in all, it’s not a very impressive picture and, despite the bewildered ravings of the manager, there is absolutely no sign of improvement. As long as there are soft targets, with almost zero chance of any real resistance, the Millwall troops will be up for it; it’s only when there is some inconvenience or danger involved that they stay nice and safe at home. Holloway, in his more recent comments, would have you believe that they are a much-maligned lot and should be given a break. But that kind of talk can be dangerous; it can motivate self-righteous and yet violently-inclined people to take the next safe opportunity to demonstrate that, yes – they see themselves as having been victims of an injustice, and that they’re going to wreak havoc in revenge.

And another thing: could the Holloway rant also have had the effect of persuading South Yorkshire Police to take a less restrictive line than their West Yorkshire Police colleagues had followed for the Leeds game? Certainly, the Millwall fans were far more numerous at the New York Stadium than they had been at Elland Road. That made for a tinderbox atmosphere; the violence and hatred only really became extreme when Rotherham scored their 85th minute winner, but it seems that it was bubbling under all afternoon.

It’s also a fact that Rotherham and the local Police did have intelligence that trouble could be expected; a Rotherham United club statement read, in part:

“We were aware that a section of Millwall supporters were planning on attending this game intent on causing disorder. Contingency plans were in place to deal with this outcome with extra stewarding and Police resources in place to deal with the anticipated threat. Despite the extra resources deployed this group made numerous attempts to seek disorder throughout the afternoon resulting in the despicable scenes towards the end of the match.” 

So, why wasn’t more done to control the movements and travel arrangements of the visiting support? The events of the afternoon can surely have come as no surprise to anybody connected with either club, the Police, this blog – anybody at all, with the possible exception of the naive and credulous Mr Holloway.

It’s high time that this persistent problem was stamped out. The FA and the Football League have virtually unlimited powers to act against a club with a troublesome support, as we at Leeds have learned ourselves in the past for far smaller transgressions. Millwall are a little club who create problems out of all proportion to their size and standing in the game. That much is self-evident. So how many more times must their “fans” be allowed to besmirch the name of their club, their city and football in general, before something is done? Answers on a postcard, please.

Something needs to happen, and soon. It’s only a matter of time before this sort of thing costs a life, maybe more than one. No football club is worth the spilling of one single drop of blood, and it’s way overdue that Millwall FC realised its own continued existence is far less important than the safety and security of every single man, woman and child who attends a fixture involving it. But the first person who needs to apologise, publicly and profusely, on a charge of making light of a real problem and offering hope and succour to a band of degraded thugs, is Millwall manager Ian Holloway. That could conceivably start off a process whereby the problem might be acknowledged and addressed.

Defeat at Rotherham left Millwall six points away from possible Championship safety, a gulf that this blog earnestly hopes they will not bridge. That’s not in any spirit of wishing them onto League One; after all that division has done nothing lately to upset me. But the bigger sphere of the Championship has earned a rest from what comes along with Millwall, and it would be a happy day that sees their relegation confirmed. That currently looks more likely than not to happen; watch out for a celebratory blog post as and when.

Shame on Millwall FC, shame on their fans, shame, most acutely and deservedly, on Ian Holloway, a man who spoke long before he thought two weeks ago, and who surely must be regretting that now. Shame is the watchword where the Lions are concerned.

When you’re gone, you will not be missed.

Thank Goodness for Millwall as Leeds United Stumble Again – by Rob Atkinson

Millwall fans react with typical sportsmanship to Rotherham's late winner

Millwall fans react with typical sportsmanship to Rotherham’s late winner

It’s never good to be reflecting on the loss of a two goal lead. It’s even worse when you’re denied the euphoria of that lead in the first place, due to a glum premonition that Leeds United were flattering to deceive and that it would be all downhill from here. That was the situation at Elland Road yesterday; when I should have been overjoyed at Rudy Austin‘s terrific strike putting daylight between the Whites and a more than decent Watford outfit, instead I had this horrible feeling that it was all about to go pear-shaped – that we were going to be stung by a second swarm of annoying insects in our own backyard over the space of a few weeks – and I said so to my neighbour, predicting the eventual 2-3 defeat. She did not appreciate my pessimism one little bit.

Sadly, my glass-half-full prediction came to pass, much to my horror and much to the disgust of my fellow fan, who still isn’t talking to me. But I’m not going to take the blame, nor am I about to accept the title of Jonah. The bare fact is that two-nil leads should be built upon, used as a basis for grinding the opposition into the floor, giving your own followers a rare day off from biting their nails down to the elbows through fear and tension. They should not be a signal for relaxing, backing off, becoming complacent and offering hope to what should be a doomed enemy. That’s basic professionalism, surely. And Leeds have form for this kind of capitulation; for snatching defeat from the very jaws of victory. It’s nowhere near good enough: as fans, we not only have a right to be upset and disappointed – it’s positively our duty. After twenty minutes on Saturday, I should have been thinking that Leeds were going to answer my prayers for a fine victory in tribute to my late Dad who passed away this week. The fact that I was right instead to be so pessimistic obviously gives me no pleasure at all, especially in those sad circumstances.

However, all is not gloom and doom. If we had won yesterday, then the value of the victory would have been for and of itself, rather than with any slim hopes of pushing for play-offs and the unlikely like. The midweek 0-2 defeat at Brighton should have choked off any unwise, sudden optimism on that score – and yesterday’s surrender to the Hornets, in the wake of that abject pecking from the Seagulls, confirmed that we certainly won’t be departing this league in the upward direction. But it looks increasingly certain that we’re safe also from any plummet through the trapdoor below. For that, we can thank our good friends from Bermondsey, Millwall FC, whose team and fans were both on familiar form at Rotherham yesterday; the former cravenly sinking to yet another defeat, the latter launching one of their mob frenzy attacks on those who simply wished to watch or police a game of football.

You can’t say anything too nasty about Millwall, as some of their fans are delicate little flowers who take offence easily and tend to run crying and complaining if some Big Bad Blog should be too overtly critical. The curious dichotomy of fans who indulge in what some might term deeply uncivilised behaviour, side by side with those who cry foul should anyone raise a peep of protest, will not be lost on connoisseurs of bitter irony. Riotous scenes at Rotherham’s weirdly-named New York Stadium were tiresomely familiar to anyone who has followed the touring habits of the Millwall faithful. Those images of violence will not attract any sympathy for manager Ian Holloway‘s previously-expressed view that his club’s fans had cleaned up their act and should be free of the travel restrictions that saw their following at Leeds the other week reduced to one man and his dog. On this evidence, the movements of the Millwall away following must continue to be subject to the most stringent controls, as they are clearly incapable of conducting themselves as adults and should not be trusted to do so.

On the pitch, things worked out very well for Rotherham (and indeed Leeds) – and ominously badly for the Lions. They too chucked away a lead – only one goal in their case, but the outcome was the same. In what was a genuine relegation six-pointer, Rotherham – who could have found themselves ahead of their opponents only on goal difference – now have the luxury of a six point gulf between them and Millwall, who are in real danger of being cut adrift of safety along with Blackpool and Wigan, who also both keep losing, and who look ever more certainly doomed.

For Leeds, the Millwall defeat was shiny bright good news, as it preserves a healthy ten point margin over the bottom three. With the rate at which the clubs at the lower end pick up their meagre ration of points, and with just twelve games to go, it seems highly unlikely that United will now be dragged into the dogfight (fingers crossed, touch wood). It looks as though we’re safe – and our unlikely saviours are indeed those cheeky, chirpy, loveable cockneys from down Bermondsey way who, by their noble self-sacrifice, will see the Whites survive while they themselves take the big drop.

Leeds, then, face what appears to be a dead rubber of a remainder to the season. They should be able to pick up the few victories still needed to confirm Championship status for next time around, and they can afford to view the scramble for safety lower down from a lofty and impervious position – and with a certain amount of malicious glee. None of that detracts from the bleak dose of reality that Watford served us yesterday, nor does it assuage the pain and frustration of defeat from a winning position – but in a dog-eat-dog league, there are compensations in the greater pain of others.

Well done to Watford for showing the character to come back from the dead yesterday – and well done to Rotherham for a similar feat. Shame on the Millwall fans who have besmirched their club’s name for the umpteenth time – and let’s hope that Leeds learned a few lessons this weekend ahead of the visit of Whites fan Mick McCarthy and his high-flying Ipswich Town side on Wednesday. If the Whites can get a result in that game, the day after Middlesbrough have (fingers crossed again) put another nail in the Millwall coffin, then perhaps we can all relax a little more, and look forward to the summer – and some very necessary regrouping.