6. Millwall (1980's)
This was a rare case of a club being loathed not because of the actions of an owner, manager or unpopular players, but because of the soul-crushing hideousness of the fans. While Millwall were never a particularly fashionable club, they held their own in the top two divisions throughout the 80's and even managed to make progress to the FA Cup quarter-finals in 1985. This is where the reputation of the club sank to it's lowest ebb, and made them the most hated team in the country. Millwall had a long association with hooliganism and violence, but their name had became synonymous with the culture by the mid-80's. Any admiration a neutral could feel for David Pleat's side, who were punching above their weight, melted away under the weight of intimidation and brutality facing visitors to the ground. This culminated in the visit to Luton Town's Kenilworth Road in 1985, scene of one of the most disgraceful riots in British football and one which almost brought the game to it's knees. Newspaper accounts of the time tell of seats being thrown like spears at the police, coins and bottles raining onto the pitch, mass fist-fights between fans and a knife being thrown at Luton keeper Les Sealey-and that was just DURING the game. The aftermath of the game saw shops trashed, vehicles overturned and brawls in the street. Town officials and the media led a vicious storm of protest against the club and it's hardcore element in the weeks that followed, culminating in Luton banning away fans from Kenilworth Road for four years and the birth of Margaret Thatcher's infamously reactionary 'ID cards' idea and antipathy towards football fans. Reason enough for Millwall to become one of the most hated teams of all time. Violence amongst Millwall fans has cropped up at regular intervals since then, most recently this year. Until the club purges it's support of such elements, it will be forever dogged by this murky reputation.
Barry Marshall
Contributor
I am a freelance writer, currently residing in Newcastle Upon Tyne, England. I was raised by wolves in the woodlands of Northumberland, but am still posher than Colin Firth having dinner with The Queen. I write all of my pieces by swallowing a cocktail of scrabble tiles and vodka, then regurgitating them over my jotter. Hope this explains the typos.
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