Book Review, The Football Factory - John King **** Nasty. That sums it up. Along with millions of other hard working, law abiding, going on middle class folk, I'd like to believe that people don't really think and behave like this, but it's only too obvious that they do. Football hooliganism has not disappeared, it's just not reported any more, a BBC series shown last year revealed large scale disturbances each and every week at Millwall and at a number of other (mostly lower division) sides. The modern day violence takes place well away from the footy grounds, in the streets and pubs, mostly between gangs of hard line supporters looking for a ruck with other firms, but as the BBC documentary showed, woe betide the lone fan who parks in a Millwall back street when the home crew come upon him mob handed. It is this world that King's novel describes, in an almost flow of consciousness style he follows in minute detail the lives of a small group of Chelsea thugs, their lives as they revolve around work, petty theft, getting laid, getting drunk and the biggest buzz of all, getting into a really good fight. They plan their forays into enemy territory with precision, seeking to outwit the police in order to get a few minutes to launch a violent assault on the opposing firm, they travel to matches near and far, dressed casually, not tooled up 'cos only niggers and spics and jews do that. They're not after the Saturday afternoon supporter in his last season home strip, they want to prove themselves against the hardest men in the other firm. King's portrayal of (mostly) white, working class life makes for depressing reading, here is an under class of people, utterly disenfranchised, believing in nothing and no-one except for themselves, wanting to achieve nothing beyond getting a blow job from some slapper on Friday night, and kicking the living daylights out of the Hammers on Saturday afternoon. Racism is a double edged thing, the firm don't generally trust blacks, except for Black Paul, he's ok 'cos he's a fucking nutter, and he's our fucking nutter. I've seen this myself at Elland Road, fans making monkey noises at Carlton Palmer when he played for Sheff Wed were cheering Rod Wallace in their next breath, it's like people are only niggers when they're not on your side. When the Chelsea enter into a climactic confrontation away to Millwall and one of the lads gets a kicking so severe he ends up in hospital, I almost expected the character would have a blinding flash of light, a realisation of the pointlessness of it all, but no, a month later he's back on the streets laughing as one of his makes gets a stanley knife across the buttocks. There's nothing but the blackest of humour in King's novel, no hope, no revelations, it's a dark yet compelling read and at the end you really feel as if you've walked a mile in someone else's shoes, or steel toecap boots in this. I'm very glad I'm not like this, glad I don't have this amount of hatred and poison eating me up, glad I don't have this propensity for violence. Once you've read this book ask yourself this question. How can we stop football related violence ? When people have this mindset, and the next generation is brought up with it, I think it's an impossible task.