Links to Part I / II / III / IV / V / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI
It turns out that building a Premier League team with an average age of nearly 29-years-old doesn't exactly work. But a win at last sees our anti-football heroes move up into 18th position. Can one of the worst teams ever seen in the English top flight do the impossible and stay up?
Season Targets
In my preseason rush to sign all the world's shithouses I forgot to set any objectives. Our abysmal start makes me scale back from any lofty ambitions I might have otherwise had. As far as I'm concerned, only two things matter from this season:
Break the Premier League record for worst discipline
Don't get sacked
I Am The One Who Fouls
With one win from seven, the derby against West Ham is made even more important. To try and gain an edge, I spend the run-up to the game slagging off Solskjær in the press. He has the last laugh. We lose 3-0, all three goals from set pieces, an infuriating side effect of giving away 30 free kicks a game…
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Our next two games see us travel to North London to play Spurs and Arsenal. We lose both, but pick up fifteen bookings and three red cards across the defeats – Medel the pick of the dismissals with a needless horror tackle against Arsenal. I defend our physicality after the game, angering manager Claude Puel in the process, who bizarrely claims my attitude will cost me my job. Does he not know who I am?
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I don't mind the losses to the big teams. As far as I'm concerned, they're merely an opportunity for us to get as many fouls as possible. Against the likes of Huddersfield, however, it's a completely different matter. Despite a screamer from Karamoko we fall to a humiliating 6-1 defeat, Costa the latest player to see red after two bookings in four minutes. The FA hit us with a record £75,000 fine.
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The Back Pages
We're rock bottom of the league, with a goal difference of -30. Ten defeats from eleven. Still, Everton see something to admire about what I'm doing at Millwall, and offer me the vacant manager's job. Watford jump on the bandwagon, offering me an interview the very next day. We do top the league for fouls, yellow cards, and red cards, but surely more is expected of a top flight manager these days? In any case, I will not abandon my post, and reject both approaches outright.
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As our form remains appalling, I keep a low media profile, despatching Cattermole to deal with the press on most occasions. When I do venture out in front of the cameras, I belittle my counterparts, criticise their football, and solemnly tell the world's media that team X are doomed to relegation. I also turn up to one as I hear they're discussing the Balon d'Or. I want to nominate Lewis Travis, but am restricted to the predictably bland choices of Mbappe, De Bruyne, et al. I storm out of the conference in disgust.
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In other news, there are growing rumours of a Millwall takeover. Details are scarce, but I can only assume a foreign dictator in control of a brutal human rights abusing regime has seen what we're doing here, and likes what they see. Not that the Premier League would ever allow such an owner, of course.
Relegation Six-Pointers. In November.
The collapse against Huddersfield spells the end for the diamond. With three crucial games coming up, I stop my futile attempts to tweak the formation and instead revert to our 5-2-3. It's a stoke of genius. Or luck. Who cares?
Though we sink to a disappointing 1-0 defeat to Villa, Rafferty compounding matters by deciding that getting sent off for a two-footed lunge deep into injury time is an ideal way to end the game, this is bookended by vital 2-0 wins against Everton and Bournemouth. Travis, Lenihan, Barnes, and Costa all managing to do what we've struggled to do so far – score goals. Where we don't struggle is with cards – the squad combining to add another fourteen yellows to the collection. The season review DVD is going to be glorious.
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The Ballad of Omani Primus
Our youth setup, colloquially known as La Hackia, has finally produced a player of note. Omani Primus. Already capped by Barbados at 17. Unfortunately he's best suited to a central playmaking role – something we at Millwall have no time for. He's duly retrained to a right wing back, and thrown into a mentoring group with Lewis Travis and Kamil Grabara. We will make a shithouse of him yet.
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Due to Rafferty's latest suspension, his chance in the first team comes much earlier than expected, coming off the bench in the Villa and Bournemouth games. And with Fisher picking up an injury, Primus is pencilled in to start against Chelsea. He warms up for the fixture by getting sent off 22 minutes into an U18 game, inexplicably ruling him out of the Chelsea game. Poetry in motion.
Record Breakers
We obviously lose to Chelsea, but I take heart from Shane Ferguson injuring Chiesa nine seconds in, and the seven bookings we amass. The FA fine us yet again, taking our tally to an amazing £225,000 for the season. We're not even half way through December. Lampard thinks I wouldn't send the players out to injure the opposition. If only he knew.
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An easier fixture away at West Brom goes terribly, with us barely getting near their goal. Besic is the latest player to see red, and in doing so puts us top of the one leaderboard I care about more than anything – the Premier League discipline table. We obliterate the existing record. In 17 games. I crack open a can of Carling to celebrate.
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Inspired by our success, we grab a crucial 1-0 against Stoke courtesy of a Cooper header, drawing us level on points with West Ham in 17th and a point away from Stoke in 16th. More importantly, the win puts us on 12 points – as bad as we are, we're still somehow better than Derby's legendary 07/08 team.
The FA, clearly unable to launder the sheer volume of cash we're giving them in hush money disciplinary fines, seem to have instructed the referees to stop booking us. This is the only logical explanation for our game against Liverpool. Forty-five fouls. Forty. Five. Fouls. Zero cards. An astonishing display of ineptitude by referee Andy Madley. We lose 6-0.
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The Definition of Insanity
The January transfer window is our last chance to solve some of the squad's issues. The board, gluttons for punishment, agree to give me more money to spend, claiming they agree with my judgement in the transfer market. The only problem is the lack of potential targets who "fit" the Millwall ethos. I've had my scouting network running on overdrive all year, the only requirement asked of my scouts is that they find players with high aggression. They've unearthed disappointingly little.
Our forward line is the biggest worry. With little else available, I make an audacious £68m bid for Morelos. West Ham accept, only for my own chairman to block it! I appeal this blinkered decision – the card-happy Colombian is our greatest hope – but the board hold firm.
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I try and bring Gabriel Barbosa in on loan from Man Utd, but he rejects the move. It's the same story with Spurs' Brandon Williams. Another shortlisted player, Ander Herrera, is apparently unhappy at PSG. We really don't need any more centre midfielders, but in true Harry Redknapp style I make a bid anyway, only to back out when he demands £125k a week.
With options running out, I bring in ex-Watford trio Troy Deeney on loan from PAOK, Allan Nyom from MLS obscurity, and 39-year-old José Holebas on a free transfer. Holebas can take decent corners, though I realise his limitations everywhere else on the pitch may cause issues.
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I'm forced to unregister two players to accommodate the new faces – Matt Smith and James McClean are sacrificed. It's not the ideal way for them to bow out, but I know McClean in particular will relish the opportunity to rack up more red cards in the reserves, having been sent off for the U23s after just 10 seconds earlier in the year.
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32 Hours of Hurt
The New Year starts against West Ham, who, unfortunately for us, have sacked Solskjær. We put on the complete Millwall performance for the TV audience – eight yellows and a last-minute thumping header from Barnes to steal a barely-deserved three points. Morelos manages to get himself booked too, in what I choose to believe is a "come and get me plea."
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Sadly, the win isn't a sign of things to come. We're dumped out of the FA Cup in our first game, against Torsten Frings' Burnley, before losing to Wolves, Spurs, Watford, and Liverpool. Zero goals for. Eleven against. Travis picks up a straight red against Burnley, then on his first game back picks up another straight red against Watford. I don't know whether to laugh or cry, especially seeing as we went on to lose the crucial Watford game 1-0.
After 24 games, things look bleak. We're on 15 points, with the worst defence, the worst attack, and have yet to pick up a single point away from The Den. Our strikers are all struggling for form – Vardy reaches 32 hours without scoring, Costa and Barnes have just three goals each. Deeney has somehow made things even worse.
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It's not all bad news. Incredibly, we're still only a point from safety. And, after steamrolling the previous disciplinary record, we've established an unassailable lead at the top of the cards and fouls tables. This is what football is all about.
We now have a ten day rest before a trip to high-flying Newcastle. The transfer window is still open, and hopefully I can find the right player to save our season before it shuts. It's all to play for…
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