The Betrayal

Priestfield Stadium, home of the Gills

For a long time I’ve had this belief that Sky are evil and as a corporation have done more harm than good for English football, that they’ve taken the working class soul out of the game and made it a rich persons plaything. The only problem is, last night - I became its latest victim. I sold out. Sacrificed my team for the comfort of my lounge and added my last few pennies into the bottomless Rupert Murdoch honeypot instead of being there for the team I love.

Gillingham vs Southend on a Monday night. Nothing glamorous about that, but being a Gillingham supporter has never been about glamour. The closest I’ll ever get to see Gillingham in Europe was a friendly in Calais a couple of years ago and the Premier League seems just as far away. We were close once, not so long ago in fact, finishing 11th in what is now the Championship, but it is the ghost of those glory days that make the current level of mediocrity so difficult to bare.

When it was announced that Gillingham vs Southend was going to be shown on Sky, I was excited. Gillingham were flying high and on a good run, equally the case for Southend. The game promised to be a promotion six-pointer with the victor having all to look forward to as the season reaches its climax.

Unfortunately it hasn’t quite worked out like that.

Our last two games have seen us on the wrong end of 4-3 scorelines, coupled with a similar poor run before those two debacles. We are now out of the play-off positions and try as I might, I simply cannot see us getting back into them any time soon.

It is in these times of battle that you want your supporters to rally behind the team and help fight for the cause, but for once, I just couldn’t muster the will or energy and took the easy route out.

Coming back from London to a night match means stopping off in Gravesend to pick up the car, which makes me arrive in Gillingham later than I would like, I then have to fight for a parking space as close to the ground as I can get. The alternative is to go direct from London and wait for the 22.00 return train home after the game - it all seemed too much hassle. Plus it was still biting cold outside, even if rain had replaced the snow. Whilst back at home, Oliver was out having a sleepover at his Nanny Tracey’s house, so it was just Stephanie, Phoebe and I which it hasn’t ever been since Phoebe was born. When you add it all together, I can just about justify it - even if it doesn’t make me feel any better.

I’ve always considered a relationship with a football team to be an analogy for married life. Last night was further proof of that. Sky television, the beautiful, attractive alternative to the equally beautiful football club. Except that the football club has let itself go a bit, wasn’t as good as when you were younger and you feel the urge for a new experience. You try as hard as you can to put it off and give yourself all the right reasons why you fell in love with them in the first place. That you need to go, you need to make it work and that with your help the two of you can go on to bigger and better things. But the lure of Sky television, with all it’s warmth and comfort and HD sophistication was simply too much and I fell weakly to its advances.

Did I feel guilty afterwards? No, not really, not at all. Which is where the analogy ends. The first half summed up everything that is currently wrong with the team at the moment - it was actually quite sad to watch. It was like seeing an ex that had put on weight but was wearing a dress two sizes two small and was sleeping with a man that hadn’t washed for three weeks. You were left feeling sorry for them and a carried a sense of being somewhere better, a superiority complex and a realisation that you’d done the right thing.

As with all betrayals, you should say sorry and that you won’t do it again. So, sorry Gills - I am, but as for not doing it again, I’ll try not to.

x

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