Millwall’s brand identity, particularly from the perspective of its supporters, stands out as one of the most potent in the realm of football. The club’s somewhat notorious reputation is of little concern to its fanbase; in fact, it’s a point of pride. As the chant goes: “We are Millwall. No one likes us. We don’t care.” The current escalation surrounding the Liam Roberts incident has only amplified their presence in the media, with the FA’s attempts to extend his three-match ban placing them firmly in the spotlight once more. For the Millwall faithful, being at the center of controversy is not merely an inconvenience—it’s an opportunity to rally around a cause, to express their defiance, and to find someone to rally against. In this case, Millwall goalkeeper Roberts has become a focal point of outrage, framed as a victim in the narrative following his controversial challenge on Crystal Palace striker Jean-Philippe Mateta.
Roberts’s challenge, which left Mateta requiring hospital treatment, was indeed a severe incident. However, in the aftermath, Roberts showed a commendable sense of sportsmanship by apologizing to Mateta post-match, a gesture that was accepted. Yet, this act of contrition did not shield him from a wave of online abuse—an abhorrent reality that Millwall has condemned, a sentiment echoed universally. Unfortunately, the club’s response to the incident lacked the necessary dignity. As Mateta lay injured on the pitch, Millwall fans were heard chanting “let him die,” a display of callousness that highlighted the darker aspects of their identity.
In an effort to reclaim the narrative, Millwall supporters turned Roberts into a cause célèbre, honoring him with a minute’s applause during the eighth minute of their match against Bristol City, symbolizing the time of the foul against Mateta. This misguided tribute is indicative of their struggle to grasp the broader implications of their actions. The club’s communications department further compounded the issue by challenging the media when questioned about the incident, suggesting that Crystal Palace executives should also be scrutinized for their fans’ behavior—an attempt to create a false equivalence that only deepens Millwall’s shame. Additionally, the club has taken the controversial step of banning the Daily Mail from attending future matches due to its coverage of the incident.
This defensive posture and the insistence on playing the victim only serve to reveal how some within the club perceive the world around them. Reports indicate that Millwall plans to appeal should the FA’s attempts to increase Roberts’s sanction succeed, further showcasing a lack of empathy in their response. This behavior undermines the commendable efforts of the Millwall Community Trust, which works tirelessly to make a positive impact in a community facing significant challenges. Unfortunately, their good work cannot easily erase the cultural baggage that some segments of the fanbase carry.
Millwall supporters have meticulously cultivated a reputation for aggressive behavior. Historically, when football violence was a prevalent aspect of the fan experience, Millwall’s fans were notorious for their involvement, proudly embracing their status as one of the fiercest “firms,” comprised mainly of hard, working-class men. The roots of this rough-and-tumble culture can be traced back to the docklands, a gritty and unforgiving area of London where the rules of engagement were as harsh as any jungle environment. The Den, both old and new, is situated in Bermondsey, directly across the Thames from the capital’s former waterfront infrastructure, now represented by the gleaming towers of Canary Wharf.
Like many football clubs, Millwall is a product of its community, yet it struggles to shed the weight of its past. This issue is not unique; many clubs find that their identity is inextricably linked to the socio-economic conditions of their surroundings. Match days provide an escape for many supporters, transforming the mundane routines of their lives into something exhilarating. The thrill of being met by police at distant train stations, escorted to the stadium by mounted officers, offers a sense of power and importance that many fans do not experience during the week. In these moments, being a Millwall supporter becomes a badge of honor—a chance to attract attention, to be seen and heard, to reclaim a sense of identity.
Notoriety has become a currency for Millwall fans, and they have channeled significant energy into the fallout from Roberts’s actions and their implications. The spectacle of one fan leaping into the home section to confront Crystal Palace supporters epitomizes this mentality: “We Are Millwall.” I recall a personal encounter during my time at an away match when a shaven-headed supporter approached me, demanding the time. Before I could respond, I recognized the impending punch and managed to escape in the nick of time. This was over 30 years ago, during the waning days of football-related violence—an era that some in Bermondsey seem unwilling to leave behind.
