70sCR
Well-known member
It's not short but well worth your time. A lot on here, like Wippa, will know him - XXL on the old boards. Very funny man and Millwall to his core. He's given me permission to take this off Facebook. Blinding read. Enjoy. Needs to be broken down into sections to post.
After the trauma of yesterday watching Millwall put in yet another woeful performance I was quietly mulling over taking a bit of a break from watching the hapless lions and then I suddenly remembered I’ve got form for this kind of caper before.
So I dug out this old open letter I wrote to our late, great and much missed American chairman Mr John Berylson nearly 10 years ago.
Have a read if you can be arsed.
Dear Mr Berylson,
It is with heavy heart I write to inform you officially of my retirement as a Millwall away fan with immediate effect.
I know this will come as a huge shock to you John,… You don’t mind if I call you John do you..? I simply can’t do it anymore.
Yesterday at Rotherham was the last straw John, it really was.
Actually, that’s not entirely true, being smashed like a nonces living room window 4-0 at Bradford on a sub-zero January night was the last straw John, but much like the intense pain of childbirth doesn’t appear to deter the population from procreating, I decided to give my beloved lions yet another chance.
To be fair, although I departed Riigsby towers yesterday in a rambunctious mood, it didn’t start well, being charged £76 for a ticket from St Pancras to Sheffield tends to have a negative effect on my beleaguered soul but to add insult to injury John, it turned out to be a single ticket, Just consider that for a moment John, £76 for a one-way bastard ticket.
Add to that the cost of travel from the sleepy hamlet of Bexleyheath to St Pancras, adding a further cockle to my ticket costs (that’s a Tenner to you John) & we are now already around the £86 mark and its only just 07.30am
I was pondering the fiscal impact on my finances as I emerged on to the concourse at St Pancras station when I happened upon a large group of excitable travellers, complete with skiing equipment all waiting to board the Eurostar snow train, I looked at these people deeply enviously John, like really enviously, because how lucky are these people are to have such a reasonably priced pastime?
Trust me John, In terms of costs, a week in the French Alps has fuck all on a day out watching Millwall play away.
Yesterday morning the 08.58 to Sheffield was as busy as a Merseyside cash converters & was packed solid with my fellow die hards, which in the normal course of events would leave me highly delighted had the seat I’d just weighed on £75 for not been occupied by the fattest bastard fucking bloke in the world John, but no matter, I improvised and overcame, and armed only with my quickly diminishing wad of reddies, plus my trusty box of travel scrabble, I ventured towards the first class carriage of the train, surely there would be a seat in there..?
Incidentally, I always carry my travel scrabble with me John, just in case we bump in to our young pal Vinny, who is mildly dyslexic, and a proper easy tickle when we play for cash.
As the train gently pulled out of St Pancras I spotted a vacant leather chair and I was on it like cling film John, happy days as they say. What could possibly go wrong?
Well I’ll tell you what could go wrong..Yet another poxy bullseye later (that’s £50 to you John) I’d paid the ticket inspectors upgrade to 1st class, I mean Fucks sake John, I’m still in a North London postcode and I’m already nearly one & a half down (That’s £150 to you John) and let’s not forget I’ve still only got a one way ticket.
Anyway It was about this time an air of resignation came over me and I settled back in my chair for a little bit of mild self-harming whilst contemplating the potentially catastrophic & ruinous cost of the day ahead, by now my pals had located me in first class carriage and it was decided that we’d stop en-route north at Chesterfield, thus avoiding the local constabularies close attention at Sheffield, you know what it’s like John, sometimes you’re just not in the mood for German Shepherds & Baton charges.
It was actually in the Chesterfield Wetherspoons that my running total hit one and three quarters that’s £175 to you john) after attempting to drink my own bodyweight in Budweiser in a futile attempt to numb the pain.
Have you ever been in the Chesterfield wetherspoons John? It’s a grim old tavern full of mean and tough looking unshaven faces, all of them game as Ker-Plunk and to be honest John, their husbands were no better, but these are the places we are forced to frequent on our journeys
Anyway, we wiped our feet on the way out, bid farewell to the barmaid who really should have been detained under the dental health act, and we headed back to the station to continue our onward journey and duly caught the next packed solid train into Sheffield, standing all the way of course John, despite the bitter irony of having a valid first class single ticket in my possession. Nice. Very fucking nice.
It’s quite difficult to put into words how unpleasant the next leg of our journey was though, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had the pleasure of the 3 carriage cattle train from Sheffield to Rotherham have you John? It was fuller than a fat birds shoe and had a similar aroma.
Anyway we Eventually we pulled into the Promised Land, or Rotherham as it’s known locally and I disembarked full of hope, full of hope John for the 3 desperately needed points as we neared the business end of the day.
They say it's the hope that eventually kills you and I'm inclined to agree john, but still, it was with this foolish hope that we ventured towards the ludicrously named New York stadium, have you ever been to New York john? Actually, come to think of it, you probably have haven’t you?
After the trauma of yesterday watching Millwall put in yet another woeful performance I was quietly mulling over taking a bit of a break from watching the hapless lions and then I suddenly remembered I’ve got form for this kind of caper before.
So I dug out this old open letter I wrote to our late, great and much missed American chairman Mr John Berylson nearly 10 years ago.
Have a read if you can be arsed.
Dear Mr Berylson,
It is with heavy heart I write to inform you officially of my retirement as a Millwall away fan with immediate effect.
I know this will come as a huge shock to you John,… You don’t mind if I call you John do you..? I simply can’t do it anymore.
Yesterday at Rotherham was the last straw John, it really was.
Actually, that’s not entirely true, being smashed like a nonces living room window 4-0 at Bradford on a sub-zero January night was the last straw John, but much like the intense pain of childbirth doesn’t appear to deter the population from procreating, I decided to give my beloved lions yet another chance.
To be fair, although I departed Riigsby towers yesterday in a rambunctious mood, it didn’t start well, being charged £76 for a ticket from St Pancras to Sheffield tends to have a negative effect on my beleaguered soul but to add insult to injury John, it turned out to be a single ticket, Just consider that for a moment John, £76 for a one-way bastard ticket.
Add to that the cost of travel from the sleepy hamlet of Bexleyheath to St Pancras, adding a further cockle to my ticket costs (that’s a Tenner to you John) & we are now already around the £86 mark and its only just 07.30am
I was pondering the fiscal impact on my finances as I emerged on to the concourse at St Pancras station when I happened upon a large group of excitable travellers, complete with skiing equipment all waiting to board the Eurostar snow train, I looked at these people deeply enviously John, like really enviously, because how lucky are these people are to have such a reasonably priced pastime?
Trust me John, In terms of costs, a week in the French Alps has fuck all on a day out watching Millwall play away.
Yesterday morning the 08.58 to Sheffield was as busy as a Merseyside cash converters & was packed solid with my fellow die hards, which in the normal course of events would leave me highly delighted had the seat I’d just weighed on £75 for not been occupied by the fattest bastard fucking bloke in the world John, but no matter, I improvised and overcame, and armed only with my quickly diminishing wad of reddies, plus my trusty box of travel scrabble, I ventured towards the first class carriage of the train, surely there would be a seat in there..?
Incidentally, I always carry my travel scrabble with me John, just in case we bump in to our young pal Vinny, who is mildly dyslexic, and a proper easy tickle when we play for cash.
As the train gently pulled out of St Pancras I spotted a vacant leather chair and I was on it like cling film John, happy days as they say. What could possibly go wrong?
Well I’ll tell you what could go wrong..Yet another poxy bullseye later (that’s £50 to you John) I’d paid the ticket inspectors upgrade to 1st class, I mean Fucks sake John, I’m still in a North London postcode and I’m already nearly one & a half down (That’s £150 to you John) and let’s not forget I’ve still only got a one way ticket.
Anyway It was about this time an air of resignation came over me and I settled back in my chair for a little bit of mild self-harming whilst contemplating the potentially catastrophic & ruinous cost of the day ahead, by now my pals had located me in first class carriage and it was decided that we’d stop en-route north at Chesterfield, thus avoiding the local constabularies close attention at Sheffield, you know what it’s like John, sometimes you’re just not in the mood for German Shepherds & Baton charges.
It was actually in the Chesterfield Wetherspoons that my running total hit one and three quarters that’s £175 to you john) after attempting to drink my own bodyweight in Budweiser in a futile attempt to numb the pain.
Have you ever been in the Chesterfield wetherspoons John? It’s a grim old tavern full of mean and tough looking unshaven faces, all of them game as Ker-Plunk and to be honest John, their husbands were no better, but these are the places we are forced to frequent on our journeys
Anyway, we wiped our feet on the way out, bid farewell to the barmaid who really should have been detained under the dental health act, and we headed back to the station to continue our onward journey and duly caught the next packed solid train into Sheffield, standing all the way of course John, despite the bitter irony of having a valid first class single ticket in my possession. Nice. Very fucking nice.
It’s quite difficult to put into words how unpleasant the next leg of our journey was though, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had the pleasure of the 3 carriage cattle train from Sheffield to Rotherham have you John? It was fuller than a fat birds shoe and had a similar aroma.
Anyway we Eventually we pulled into the Promised Land, or Rotherham as it’s known locally and I disembarked full of hope, full of hope John for the 3 desperately needed points as we neared the business end of the day.
They say it's the hope that eventually kills you and I'm inclined to agree john, but still, it was with this foolish hope that we ventured towards the ludicrously named New York stadium, have you ever been to New York john? Actually, come to think of it, you probably have haven’t you?
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