After years of heartbreak Millwall finally made it to the Coca-Cola Championship League on Saturday. Before the match, everyone in my family chose their seat, preparing not to move for at least ninety minutes.  Texts came in from relatives sitting up at midnight in Australia and my cousins who clenched the backsides against the red seats of Wembley Stadium.  This was all slightly marred by the Lion who roars loudest in my family was a cousin stuck in New York, unable to utilize his play-off tickets.

As a Millwall and England fan, disappointment and pessimism is the natural form to take when your club or country need to win.  Even as Robinson kicked the ball in the Onion bag, my celebration came with that niggling voice in the back of my mind saying “don’t get ahead of yourself” and “never going to happen”.

Half time is a time for reflection on the first half for most, but it just prolongs the agony that we think is inevitable.  Not long after the players came back onto the pitch, Swindon striker Charlie Austin’s who shot wide of the Lions goal exercised the half time panic as we constantly expected the Wiltshire men to break away and get a point on the scoreboard.

The last twenty minutes caused the most butterflies, as the players, the managers and the fans fear those two little words that come with flashbacks of Italia ’90 and Euro ’96 – “extra time”.  Every time a white shirted Swindon player travelled the ball over the half way line, every corner and every foul, I became resigned to the fact that they would score.

Four minutes added time.  The boys held them off and kept a cool head under pressure.  Laps of honour were punctuated by the sighs of relief I knew were being released in Wembley, a pub in New York and in my living room.

The sight of Steve Morison wearing a vivid blue t-shirt with the words “We’re Going Up!” printed on it seemed to reinforce any doubt that we are in fact going up.  Neil Harris – the most popular and iconic players of recent years – led the manic and electric cheers which reverberated throughout the 32,000 fans at the home of English Football.

Just before I put away my blue and white jester hats and brush the dust of the England paraphernalia at the back of the cupboard, I had a few celebratory texts that were thankfully sent long before the alcohol set in, as well as a quick glance at Facebook.  Some were unhappy about the promotion, but those who have waited as long as I have, wrote messages of anticipation for a new season and a new league.

Before beginning this piece, I would like to make clear; I am neither a fan of Swindon, nor football.

Football, I can take it or leave it, and Swindon, when given the choice, I will almost always leave it, as shown by my moving to London at the first opportunity.

But since leaving the cultural desert of Swindon, the town in which I grew up, and where the majority of my family and friends still live, I have become uncharacteristically loyal to the North Wiltshire town, most famous for non-negotiable roundabouts and teenage pregnancies. I am now often caught defending the town at any chance, and saving newspaper clippings about the towns twinning with Disneyland.

This recent loyalty has even spread to the football team – Swindon Town Football Club. Throughout my life football has been of little interest to me, further than what the likes of Colleen and Cheryl were wearing in the stands, but at 13 I decided I would support the local team and purchased a Swindon Town strip with MACLEOD emblazoned on the back.

The shirt was this week dug out and lovingly worn as Swindon took on local team Millwall at Wembley.

Swindon was a-buzz with excitement, with countless friends on Facebook dedicating their status to their beloved team. On the other hand, friends I have made since moving to London all had anti-Swindon statuses, one even claiming they would hit any “lairy Swindon fans with a Millwall brick” (which I have since found out is a rolled up newspaper, used as a weapon because if arrested, it looks unsuspicious) My protective side kicked in and I wanted to defend my home team.

Since my knowledge on either team is limited to what colour strip they wear, and evidently, the weapons they prefer, I decided to ask my friend, life- long Swindon Town fan John Bamford, 54, why he deems Swindon Town a better team than Millwall, and I was surprised by his answer. John didn’t cite the merits of Swindon being better players, or nicer people, but of the town that they come from: “Swindon Town are better because they live in a better environment which helps to produce a different sort of footballer. Milwall players live in a big city with all the pollution and stress that goes along with that. The Swindon team benefit from a cleaner environment and are closer to the country side. Just to the south of the town lies the Wiltshire countryside and the ‘downs; with its invigorating air. The town players train on a country estate outside the town and benefit from a stress free and healthy lifestyle”

He went on to discuss the reason why Millwall, described at the UK’s second roughest football team, may have reasons for being quite so aggressive: “Due to the traffic conditions in London, their players spend a lot of time in traffic jams and are known to suffer from stress. This obviously affects their physical condition which is a paramount concern.”

It was interesting to me that Swindon supporters such as John, not only love their team, but also the town they come from. It led me to thinking that perhaps positivity towards the location, as well as the team itself leads to a better team overall.

While Swindon lost the match 1-0, supporters stayed loyal to their team and town, with one friend telling me: “Millwall played better and deserved to win. Of course I am fed up with the result, but as always I am just looking forward to getting back to home turf and watching the boys play again in August. Come on you reds!”

Palace of Westminster from Lambeth Bridge. Photo: Tim Crook

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