Millwall are trashing the reputation they worked so hard to repair ...Middle East

Millwall’s brand identity, from the fan perspective at least, is one of the strongest in the game. The fact that it is entirely repellent is of little concern to supporters. Indeed, it is the very point, as the song goes: “We are Millwall. No one likes us. We don’t care.”

They will be loving the escalation of the Liam Roberts affair, the FA’s attempts to have his three-match ban extended placing them at the centre of attention for another day at least. There is little that bad-boy power seekers hate more than not being seen. It’s all about the row, having something to rail against, somebody to fight. Anybody.

Of course, for them, Millwall keeper Roberts is the victim here, the bloke who stuck his boot into the head of Crystal Palace striker Jean-Philippe Mateta. None of this is Roberts’ doing. He is just the catalyst for anger, the trigger point to rage, to get stuck in.

Liam Roberts' challenge that put Jean-Philippe Mateta in hospital.

The Crystal Palace striker has since confirmed he's doing well and hopes to be back playing "very soon".#BBCFootball #FACup pic.twitter.com/FnQLuUBvKA

— BBC Sport (@BBCSport) March 1, 2025

Roberts did the decent thing. He apologised to Mateta after the game. And the apology was accepted. Subsequently Roberts was the subject of online abuse. This is self-evidently reprehensible and worthy of Millwall’s condemnation, a sentiment universally shared.

However, the dignity of Millwall’s response stopped there. The fans demonstrated their sensitivities with a chorus of “let him die” as Mateta lay prostrate on the ground. The degree of wanton depravity did not surprise. It is all part of the warped identity in which Millwall fans revel.

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They subsequently made Roberts the cause célèbre of the affair, offering a minute’s applause in the eighth minute of Tuesday’s match against Bristol City, corresponding to the time of the Mateta assault.

This abject failure to read the room was reflected in the defensive attitude of Millwall’s comms department, who challenged the press when probed about the incident, wondering if Palace executives had been similarly questioned about the behaviour of their fans copying the chant when a Millwall player was fouled. The club has also banned the Daily Mail from attending future matches over its coverage of the tackle.

The attempt to coat the incident in equivalence adds to Millwall’s shame since it reveals how elements in the club really see the world. According to reports, Millwall intend to appeal should the FA be successful in having the three-match sanction increased. Another crass detail exposing an almost wilful lack of empathy.

All of this undermines entirely those at the Millwall Community Trust who are rightly lauded for their considerable work in a part of the capital not flush with resource. Sadly there is little the trust can do to erase the cultural baggage of the club’s fanbase.

Millwall supporters have assiduously built a reputation for brutish behaviour. Once upon a time when football violence was a staple of the fan experience, Millwall excelled in the practice, glorying in their status as a top firm, a group of hard, mostly white, working class men.

The antecedents of this rum cohort are rooted in the docklands, a hostile corner of the capital where the rules of engagement were as uncompromising as any jungle environment. The Den, old and new, sits in Bermondsey across the Thames from the centre of London’s old waterfront infrastructure in Canary Wharf, now a different kind of tribute to wealth creation.

Millwall, like most clubs in Britain, are a product of their community. But somehow it has struggled to leave the past behind. It is not the only club in the land for whom association provides a sad minority with a sense of mission and collective endeavour. Without getting too sociological, matchday transforms the mundane routines of ordinary lads who cannot get the same attention or buzz elsewhere in their lives.

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To be met by police at the station in a distant town, to be escorted to the ground by officers on horseback is a power trip they don’t get Monday to Friday, when they barely attract a second glance. To be accorded the attention of the state, to be ogled by members of the public like exhibits in a zoo, to be setting the agenda, forcing others to respond to them, is empowering.

For one day a week at least “being” Millwall is as good as it gets, attracting attention, being seen, being heard, being someone. Notoriety is great for business, so it is with some relish Millwall fans have invested so much energy in the errant boot of Roberts and its consequences.

The sight of one frontline warrior jumping into the home section to administer summary justice to the Palace fans was the ultimate “We Are Millwall” move.

At the Den I was once the subject of that familiar call to arms at away grounds: “Have you got the time, mate?” My shaven-headed inquisitor didn’t wait for an answer. I saw the punch coming and was gone before you could say Usain Bolt. That was more than 30 years ago in the dying days of routine football violence, an epoch some in Bermondsey just can’t let go.

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