Doing the 92 is Daniel Storey’s odyssey to every English football league club in a single season. This is club 89/92. The best way to follow his journey and read all of the previous pieces is by subscribing here
I am in Gillingham for the final home league game of a tepid, dispiriting league season that ends with a dead rubber game against a club in almost exactly the same position. These are not the usual conditions for any type of emotion to hang heavy in the air. And yet here we are, with the word “shit” being screamed by 40 people across a main road as traffic drives past.
Outside Gillingham station, a large group of Swindon Town supporters gather on the street in front of the Southern Belle pub, chosen deliberately by authorities for its proximity. Two police vans sit next to them and the fans are surrounded by a ring of Hi-Vis and helmets. It is still almost three hours until kick-off.
As you walk down Linden Road and Gillingham Road towards Priestfield, police dot the route as if preparing to cheer on marathon runners – the stern expressions give them away. Priestfield may just be the English ground most hemmed in by terraced streets on all four sides. Bringing 760 Swindon fans through this residential labyrinth without any foolishness occurring is a challenge.
Were this a local derby, all of the preparation would be entirely understandable to any football supporter. That is one of the eternal truths in sport: the people closest to you who are not you are the ones you dislike the most. But Gillingham is in Kent and Swindon is in Wiltshire; these two clubs are separated by 120 miles. This shouldn’t be a thing and yet everything, from the moment you step off the train, proves that it is.
Gareth Ainsworth has only been Gillingham’s manager for a matter of weeks and so has been equally blindsided by all of this. He was merrily preparing for a final home game, a chance to say a few farewells and do a lap of appreciation. Then he found out that this was the biggest fixture of Gillingham’s season.
This non-geographical grudge started in 1979, when Swindon Town overturned a 2-0 deficit to draw 2-2 in a league fixture. Gillingham’s Danny Westwood reportedly suffered a horrible high challenge that went unpunished; instead Westwood was sent off for abusive language towards his opponent. A Gillingham supporter ran on the pitch and attempted to assault the referee.
With the return fixture coming just five weeks later, Swindon’s Ray McHale – the offender in the first game – was again in the middle of controversy and another Gillingham player was sent off. A fight started in the tunnel after the game and two Gills players ended up in court on related charges (both were cleared). When Gillingham missed out on promotion by a point, Swindon became an established enemy because they were to blame.
In 2012, with tensions simmering frequently, Gillingham vs Swindon almost became one of the first fixtures in English football to be played behind closed doors. Medway Council had issued an order banning all fans after a row with the club and Kent Police of policing costs. It was eventually resolved days before the game.
This fixture, even with nothing else riding on it, is suitably spicy. The Gillingham chants are simple and to the point: “F— off Swindon” and “What do we think of Swindon? Shit”. Those coming from the away end are downright offensive: “You p-key bastards.”
Gillingham 1-1 Swindon Town (Saturday
- Game no: 88/92
- Miles: 310
- Cumulative miles: 17,180
- Total goals seen: 229
- The one thing I’ll remember in May: The way in which two small groups of rival fans, who were shouting at each other, suddenly just ceased any silliness as soon as they left the Police escort.
As ever, it’s the petty grievances that provide the most enjoyment. When Gillingham’s stadium announcer details the match attendance during the second half, the figures include the 760 “from the railway town of Swindon”. A titter goes around the home support. Nobody can take offence at that piece of lovely business.
On the pitch, there is a late-season looseness to proceedings that is liberating, like bringing in board games on the last day of term. Gillingham take the lead after half-time through Joe Gbode, an academy graduate striker. The equaliser is a free-kick that catches some curl and befuddles Gillingham goalkeeper Glen Morris. Morris was announced as Gillingham’s Player of the Season before kick-off. Sport has its ways of bringing you back down to earth.
In the final moments, the ode to 1979. First Jonny Williams is sent off for a regulation second bookable offence. While disagreements continue at that mark of that incident, a separate fight breaks out in the penalty area. Goalscorer Gbode also gets a second yellow card for his role in the scuffles and Gillingham play out the final moments with nine men.
In the stands, both ends react as if they are watching a wrestling event: cheers, jeers, the odd bout of swearing and general merriment that they have seen some action in an environment that is meaningless outside of their own constructed rivalry.
After the game, Swindon manager Ian Holloway talks to the media and entirely plays down the rivalry.
“There was obviously some bad blood between the clubs…that’s not what football’s about,” Holloway says. “It’s about young kids coming through and being as nice as we can to every Gillingham supporter there. The future has got to be better than that.”
With respect to Holloway – and there is obviously no room for abuse or violence – I make him wrong. Gillingham need this: they are the only Kent-based club in the EFL and are trying to find their way under American ownership that shows signs of drift. Football matches meaning a great deal is a good thing.
But the sport needs it too. These rivalries are the backbone of English football. Tranmere and Bolton hate each other because of some overly exuberant playoff celebrations in 1991. Norwich hate Wolves because of a horrendous Kevin Muscat tackle in 1998. Carlos Tevez’s goals in 2007 means that there will always be more on Sheffield United vs West Ham.
Jimmy Hill will forever be disliked in Sunderland for the actions of Coventry City on the final day in 1977. Coventry played out a draw that relegated Sunderland, with the kick off delayed due to traffic and thus allowed the home team to know what they needed to do. Huddersfield and Peterborough’s rivalry is simply based on meeting each other a few times in the playoffs and having close games, which makes it one of my favourites.
I’d go further: these are the rivalries that make the sport tick. Anyone can hate someone from down the road, but local derbies contain too much angst, too many butterflies in the stomach until they are over. I’m sorry, but anyone who actively looks forward to one is a sicko.
Hating a club 120 miles away? That really takes some effort. You have to be immersed in the social history of these two clubs to understand it and you should expect supporters of other clubs to tell you that it is childish. Well…yes – all sporting rivalry is childish to some extent! Therein lies the appeal; this is escapism.
These weirder, once-removed rivalries are something different. The ground tends to be more full, the roar before kick-off just as throaty as if local rivals were in town. But they generate a performative, pantomime atmosphere that is heady for an outsider.
Outside Priestfield, shortly before 5pm, a line of police split up the local area into two with a long line of officers. Come from the away end and you walk one way to the station; come from the home end and you walk the other. When supporters catch a glimpse of each other down one of the smaller, cut-through routes, they act like excited leashed dogs meeting on a walk. Performative barking is to be welcomed.
The only flaw in the plan: they’re all going to the station so they’re going to meet eventually. And this is the best bit of the day: two groups who aggressively repeated their disdain all afternoon suddenly mix on a train out of Gillingham and break out into friendly conversation and put the football world to rights. There may have been flashpoints elsewhere. Here, the performance is over.
And next year they will go again. One of the weird rivalries has a new convert. Ainsworth has seen it for the first time and, unlike Holloway, seems to have thoroughly enjoyed the pantomime silliness.
“It was a great atmosphere,” Ainsworth says after the game. “You could feel it coming into the ground, let alone actually inside the ground. I could see this means something to Gills and I’ll embrace that. It’s a mental note that Swindon’s a big game for us. I thought maybe Bromley or Southend, but Swindon is tasty.”
Forget Bromley and Southend; that’s just geography. If you really want to understand match-going culture in this country, immerse yourself in petty grievances. Weird rivalries are the backbone of English football. Snide hatred makes our world go round.
Daniel Storey has set himself the goal of visiting all 92 grounds across the Premier League and EFL this season. You can follow his progress via our interactive map and find every article (so far) here
My 23 favourite pictures after visiting all 92 football league stadiums