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A badge built on a coat of arms, a club born in a bicycle factory, and a history shaped by industry, resilience and symbolism. So, let’s #GetTheBadgeIn, and see how Coventry ended up with one of the most distinctive crests in English football. Coventry City began in 1883 when workers at the Singer bicycle factory formed a team. Factory sides were emerging everywhere at the time, and Singer’s workforce—skilled, organised and hard working — felt they had something to offer on the pitch. George Singer, the founder, would become a leading figure in the city: councillor, Mayor, alderman and philanthropist. He died in 1909 at Coundon Court, now a secondary school, leaving behind both civic and industrial legacies. I wonder if he knew then that one of the longest lasting legacies of his factory would be its football team? Before long the club was competing more widely, changing its name to Coventry City in 1898 and joining the Southern League in 1908. Their greatest moment came with the FA Cup win in 1987, a 3–2 extra-time classic against Tottenham still remembered as one of Wembley’s finest finals. They later captured the EFL Trophy in 2017, spent long spells in the top flight, and developed or showcased notable players such as Cyrille Regis, Dion Dublin, Gary McAllister, Tommy Hutchison, Ian Wallace, Steve Ogrizovic, and Robbie Keane. Their nickname, “The Sky Blues”, arrived in the 1960s under Jimmy Hill, who modernised almost every aspect of the club, including their colour scheme. Coventry’s importance long predates football. In the medieval era the city thrived through cloth and textile production, becoming one of England’s wealthiest urban centres. By the 18th century it had reinvented itself as a hub of precision watchmaking, with firms like Rotherham & Sons producing high-quality movements for London jewellers and for export across the Empire. When cheap American and Swiss watches arrived, Coventry’s metalworkers simply redirected their skills into bicycles, then motorcycles and finally cars, powering an industrial boom that shaped the modern city. That reinvention continues today. Coventry remains a major centre of luxury automotive engineering, with Jaguar Land Rover and specialist design houses operating in and around the city. Modern global investment has strengthened that role further. Geely, the Chinese automotive giant and parent company of LEVC, has positioned Coventry as a key site for European electric vehicle development, producing the electric London taxi and investing heavily in EV technologies. The city is also home to the UK’s flagship Battery Industrialisation Centre, alongside a wider cluster of aerospace, transport and engineering research groups. Reinvention has been Coventry’s economic habit for nearly a millennium. Any who, back to the badge: To understand the badge, you need to look at the city’s coat of arms, granted in 1345 and still one of the most symbolically rich in England. At its centre is the famous elephant carrying a three-towered castle, a symbol representing strength, endurance and—in medieval lore—redemption, thanks to the story that smaller elephants lift fallen ones to their feet. Coventry has embraced the animal so completely that it appears across civic life: the Elephant Building and the badge of Coventry RFC and everywhere in public art, and even in local music, with The Enemy’s Elephant Song. One of the most striking uses of the elephant motif appeared at sea. HMS Coventry, the Royal Navy destroyer bearing the city’s badge, played a key role in the Falklands War. As a picket ship she was deployed ahead of the fleet to draw enemy aircraft, absorbing attacks meant for more vulnerable vessels like the two aircraft carriers. She shot down numerous Argentine jets before being hit herself and sinking on 25 May 1982. Survivors waiting in life rafts were heard singing “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. If the elephant stands for resilience, HMS Coventry illustrated it in full. Alongside the elephant stand two more figures. The eagle comes from the arms of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, the Anglo-Saxon noble who ruled the region as its lord in the 11th century. Leofric’s wife, Lady Godiva, has given Coventry one of its most enduring legends. According to the story, she rode naked through the city, with only her long hair covering her modesty, in protest at the harsh taxes Leofric imposed on the townspeople. It would be nice to see some of the people protesting at Kier Starmer’s tax rises adopt the same stance. Actually, scrap that, it absolutely would not be. The later addition of “Peeping Tom”, struck blind for watching her, only embedded the tale deeper in English folklore. The eagle therefore represents Coventry’s early power, identity and the figures who shaped its medieval past. The other bird to the right of the badge is the phoenix, added to the arms in 1959. This represents Coventry’s rebirth after the devastating Blitz of 14 November 1940, when German bombing destroyed much of the city centre. The raid was so severe that the Germans coined the verb Coventrieren—to obliterate a city. The phoenix is therefore one of the clearest civic symbols of resilience used by any football club. Coventry City’s badge brings these elements together: the elephant and castle, the eagle, the phoenix and the club’s name, with the elephant now balancing on a football. Earlier versions borrowed even more directly from the coat of arms, and a 1960s programme design seems to have introduced the elephant-on-ball image that remains today. Today the club play at the Coventry Building Society Arena—the CBS Arena—a 32,609-seater complex on the site of the old Foleshill gasworks. The wider development includes an exhibition hall, hotel, casino and – most impressively - one of the country’s largest Tesco Extras. So there we have it. An epic, epic tale in just one badge. From naked princesses, to picket ships giving the Argies hell to soaking up all that Nazi Germany could throw at it and coming out the winner. The elephant, known for its resilience, couldn’t be a finer icon.

When you look at the badge of F.C. Copenhagen, you see a blue lion, the club name, and the red and white of the Danish flag. All three point directly to the city and the country the club represents. Although F.C. Copenhagen was only formed in 1992, the club has become the dominant force in Danish football. Domestically, they have won the Danish Superliga more times than any other club, alongside multiple Danish Cup titles, setting the standard for consistency and professionalism. In Europe, they have been regular group-stage participants and have reached the Champions League last 16 twice, most notably in 2010–11, when they finished second in a group containing Barcelona, Rubin Kazan, and Panathinaikos before losing to Chelsea. These runs confirmed FCK as Denmark’s main football representative on the continental stage. The club’s roots, however, run far deeper than its name suggests. F.C. Copenhagen was created through the merger of Kjøbenhavns Boldklub (KB) and Boldklubben 1903. KB, founded in 1876, is recognised as the oldest football club on the European continent. The merger brought together long-established football traditions with a modern professional structure, giving the new club both heritage and momentum. The lion on the badge comes from Copenhagen’s coat of arms. In the city emblem, two lions stand beside a shield showing three towers rising from the water. The towers refer to Copenhagen’s medieval defences and its long relationship with the sea. Lions have appeared in Danish heraldry for centuries and are closely associated with royal authority. After Copenhagen successfully resisted a Swedish siege in 1658–60, King Frederick III authorised the addition of royal lions to the city’s arms, recognising the role played by the city’s population in its defence. The Danish flag on the badge is the Dannebrog, commonly described as the oldest national flag still in continuous use. Tradition links it to the Battle of Lyndanisse in 1219, when King Valdemar II was fighting in what is now Estonia. Regardless of how the story is interpreted, the flag remains central to Danish identity and is widely used in everyday life, from national celebrations to football matches. Copenhagen itself began as a fishing settlement known as Køpmannæhafn, meaning “merchants’ harbour”. Its growth was driven by Baltic trade, which brought wealth as well as conflict. Over time, the city became Denmark’s political, economic, and cultural centre, and by the fifteenth century it was firmly established as the capital. Trade, defence, and adaptation have shaped its character ever since. Modern Denmark reflects that history. It is a wealthy and highly developed country with global influence well beyond its population size. Famous Danish companies include Maersk, which dominates global shipping; Novo Nordisk and its Ozempic wonder drug; Carlsberg, one of Europe’s biggest beer producers; and Vestas, which makes some of the best wind turbines in the world and now produces electricity more cheaply than even coal can. But they’re not all high-tech and serious — they also have a lot of fun with brands such as Pandora jewellery, Bang & Olufsen speakers, ECCO shoes, and, of course, the world’s favourite toy brand: Lego. These firms reflect a country built on innovation, trade, and long-term planning. Denmark has also shown a willingness to defend its interests and values internationally. It played a significant role in NATO operations and, on a per-capita basis, suffered some of the highest losses among coalition partners during the war in Afghanistan. More recently, Denmark has stood up to the democracy-dismantling dictator that is Donald Trump over his aggressive stance towards Greenland. This is an old nation with a long memory — a kingdom that has existed for over a thousand years. F.C. Copenhagen sit comfortably within that story: modern and ambitious, but firmly rooted in place, history, and identity. Get The Badge In. 🦁

When you look at the Lion City Sailors badge, its meaning is fairly direct. A football, framed by a ship’s wheel, with the team’s name ‘Lion City’ written beneath. It reflects two long-standing features of Singapore: the lion as a national symbol, and the sea as the source of its trade, security, and connections. The name “Lion City” comes from Singapore’s older Malay name, Singapura, meaning “city of the lion”. According to legend, a Sumatran prince named Sang Nila Utama arrived on the island during the fourteenth century and saw a large animal he believed to be a lion. Taking this as a good omen, he named the settlement accordingly. Lions were never native to the region, but the story endured because it expressed ideas of strength, courage, and legitimacy. Over time, the lion became embedded in Singapore’s national identity, appearing on the state crest, the famous merlion statue that tourists line up to photograph, cupping their hands to ‘catch’ the water from the fountain, and now in football culture. The club itself has a much longer history than its current name suggests. Its origins lie in the Police Sports Association, formed in 1945 to promote fitness and morale within the Singapore Police Force. By the 1950s and 1960s, the police team was a regular presence in domestic football. Under coach Choo Seng Quee, they won the first President’s Cup in 1968. When professional football began in Singapore in 1996, the club entered as Police FC before rebranding as Home United the following year. The new name reflected its links to all of government, including civil defence and immigration services. During this period, the club became one of the most consistent sides in the country. They won their first league title in 1999, followed by Singapore Cup victories in 2000 and 2001. A domestic double in 2003 and further cup success under different managers reinforced their reputation as a well-run and disciplined club. Home United also represented Singapore in regional competitions. Their strongest AFC Cup run came in 2004, when they reached the semi-finals. In 2018, they again made progress in Asia, advancing beyond the group stage before being eliminated by April 25 Sports Club of North Korea (a catchy name in honour of the day North Korea’s army was founded – very romantic). A major shift came in 2020 when the club was privatised and relaunched as Lion City Sailors. The change marked the first time a Singaporean club moved fully into private ownership. Backed by Sea Limited, a global technology company founded in Singapore, the Sailors adopted a more ambitious professional model. Investment followed, alongside the appointment of experienced coaching staff and the recruitment of higher-profile players. The record signing of the Brazilian attacking midfielder, Diego Lopes in 2021 underlined the scale of this change and the club’s intention to compete beyond domestic football. The Sailors play their home matches at Bishan Stadium, an area with its own layered history. Once a large cemetery known as Peck San Theng, Bishan was redeveloped into a residential town in the late twentieth century. It also witnessed fighting during the Battle of Singapore in 1942 and later became an example of modern urban planning. The maritime theme running through the club’s identity is well grounded. Long before British rule, Singapore was known as Temasek, meaning “sea town”, and served as a trading hub linking India, China, and Southeast Asia. Sailors and merchants shaped its economy and culture, carrying goods, languages, and ideas through its port. That seafaring legacy remains central to how the country understands itself. Lion City Sailors FC reflect that continuity. While the club’s name and ownership are recent, its foundations stretch back decades, rooted in public service, discipline, and steady development. Turbo charged by Singapore’s own entrepreneurial brilliance and investment power, this team can only become a more prominent player on both the domestic and international scene. In this sense, the Sailors represent not just a modern football project, but another chapter in Singapore’s ongoing history.

Kalba Football Club, often referred to as Ittihad Kalba or simply Al-Ittihad, is a professional club founded in 1972 and based in the coastal town of Kalba in the Emirate of Sharjah. Formed through the merger of three local teams (hence the ‘Ittiahd’ nickname – it means ‘United’ in Arabic), the club has spent much of its history moving between divisions, winning a record number of Division One titles but frequently facing relegation soon after promotion. Since the 2018–19 season, however, Kalba have managed to compete more consistently in the UAE Pro League, reflecting the steady ambitions of a small town club operating far from the country’s main urban centres. Reaching Kalba already gives a sense of its distance and character. Travelling from Abu Dhabi involves crossing the Hajar Mountains, particularly if you take the E102 route, which passes through areas such as Mleiha and Wadi Al Helo. These are places with long settlement histories, shaped by isolation and geography. Until relatively recently, access to Kalba was limited, with locals relying on foot travel or animals before modern roads connected the town more fully to the rest of the UAE. Even now, Kalba feels separate, sitting on the eastern coast by the Indian Ocean, close to the Omani border. The stadium reflects this sense of place. With a capacity of around 8,500, it is compact but well set against the mountains. The popular stand curves around much of the pitch, and evening kick-offs are framed by sunsets over the Hajar range. An athletics track separates the crowd from the action, but when attendance rises above 3,000 the ground still generates a solid atmosphere. The match I attended was against Sharjah in what is known as the Sharjah Emirate derby, despite the two towns being over 100 kilometres apart. The fixture carries local significance, and the crowd was noticeably larger than usual. Kalba’s badge offers a useful way into the deeper history of the town, as it proudly features Kalba Fort. The fort, originally constructed in 1745 and expanded in the early nineteenth century, stands inland from the coast and was built using mudbrick, gypsum, and stone. Its design suggests it may have developed from an earlier watchtower, and this fits with its longer history. The fort occupies the site of a Portuguese fortification captured in 1624 by the commander Gaspar Leite, placing Kalba within a wider network of east coast settlements built by the Portuguese, including Khor Fakkan, Al Badiyah, and Dibba. By the early nineteenth century, Kalba was a small settlement of around 200 people, centred on the fort and a creek deep enough to allow trading vessels to dock. Defence was a practical necessity, with the region exposed to raiding and shifting political control. Kalba’s history is unusually complex: it has been ruled by Oman, Sharjah, and Fujairah, and at one point existed as a recognised Trucial State. For a period in the early twentieth century, the town was effectively administered by a slave named Barut while its ruler lived elsewhere. When Sheikh Saeed bin Hamad Al Qasimi returned to Kalba in the 1920s, he invested in local infrastructure, including the construction of an ice factory. This allowed fish caught locally to be preserved and transported onwards to markets in Dubai, linking Kalba more directly to regional trade networks. Political tensions with neighbouring rulers followed, and after Sheikh Saeed’s death in 1937, Kalba lost its separate status and was absorbed into Sharjah, where it remains today. Modern Kalba is known for its beaches and protected mangroves, which are considered internationally important, as well as for its quiet, small-town character. Despite being an enclave of Sharjah, it often feels culturally closer to Fujairah, nestled amongst the rocks and palm groves. The stadium complex itself reinforces the club’s local role, housing not only football facilities but also other sports areas, meeting spaces, and a mosque. Kalba Football Club may not be defined by major honours, but it is closely tied to the place it represents. These people have endured, resisted and thrived in an area that is both idyllic and harsh in various ways. There is beauty in these parts, and the football team takes to the pitch each week to carry the town’s legacy into the future.

This season Blackburn are sporting a very striking gold kit which has printed onto it the shapes and silhouettes of some of Blackburn’s most iconic and historic buildings. From a distance this perhaps isn’t entirely clear and the patches on their kits may sometimes kit ridicule from away fans – but up close it is undoubtedly a thing of beauty – and one well worth deconstructing a bit more as we #GetTheShirtIn and find out what we can learn!   Firstly, as context, it is obvious that Blackburn played a significant role in Britain’s Industrial Revolution. It grew rapidly in the 19th century as cotton spinning and weaving expanded and came to power Britain’s rise as a superpower. For those of you that remember high school history lessons, James Hargreaves, a local inventory, devised the ‘Spinning Jenny’ which massively increased the productivity of cotton workers – and demand for the raw material. Blackburn’s population rose sharply as mills, railways, and housing transformed the town. This growth brought both opportunity and pressure, making Blackburn part of wider national developments in public health, transport, religion, access to land, and organised sport. The landmarks on this shirt reflect how those changes took shape within one of the most important areas on Earth during this time – so let’s take them all in turn:   Corporation Park  opened in 1857, when industrial towns across Lancashire were responding to overcrowding, pollution, and poor health caused by rapid urban growth. Reformers increasingly argued that access to green space could improve physical health and social stability in mill towns like Blackburn.   The name Corporation Park is significant. It was funded, owned, and managed by Blackburn Corporation, using public money rather than private donation. This reflected a wider shift towards modern local government, with councils taking responsibility for welfare, sanitation, and leisure. The park was intended as a permanent public asset, not a charitable gift from a local industrialist. People power.     Blackburn Cathedral  began as the parish church of St Mary the Virgin, consecrated in 1826 to serve a rapidly growing industrial population. Across Lancashire, new churches were built to provide structure and moral guidance in expanding working-class communities – where the sudden emergence of urban pubs and concert halls may well offer too much temptation to the working man…   In 1926, the church became a cathedral following the creation of the Diocese of Blackburn. This change reflected the importance of East Lancashire within the Church of England as it reorganised to manage densely populated industrial regions. Church leaders involved in northern reform, including figures such as William Temple, shaped thinking about the Church’s social role in industrial society.   Later extensions show how religious buildings adapted as attendance declined, becoming spaces for education, music, and civic events. The cathedral’s development mirrors the changing relationship between religion and community in the North West.     Blackburn Railway Station opened in 1846, integrating the town into the rail network that powered Lancashire’s cotton economy. Railways allowed raw materials and finished goods to move quickly, supporting industrial expansion and linking Blackburn to national and global markets. Blackburn became the ideal site for the industrial revolution due to its geography and climate. The relative dampness was said to be good for cotton quality – and the River Blakewater provided the power for large waterwheels, like the one at Wensley Fold Mill, to make the factory machinery turn. However, as coal came to replace waterpower the railways provided Blackburn with the ability to quickly import both the fuel for the factories – and the raw materials. And in turn, to quickly get their finished cotton to market. The surviving late-19th-century frontage reflects a period when railway companies invested in architecture to signal civic importance. Rail travel also reshaped daily life, enabling commuting, leisure travel, and mass attendance at events, including football matches.   The station’s redevelopment in 2000 reflects a later shift from freight to commuter and regional services. Despite these changes, Blackburn Station remains central to how the town connects with the wider North West, showing the long-term impact of industrial-era infrastructure.     Darwen Tower was built between 1897 and 1898 to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, but it also became linked to wider political and social movements. In industrial Lancashire, access to open countryside was a growing issue as surrounding moorland was often privately controlled.   Around Darwen, local campaigners challenged landowners who restricted access to the moors, and the tower became associated with late-19th-century efforts to assert public rights of way, part of a wider northern movement that later influenced national access legislation.   Designed to be climbed and used, the tower reflects a regional tradition of civic landmarks tied to popular participation rather than ceremony alone. Its continued use highlights the importance of countryside access to industrial communities.   Ewood Park opened in 1882, as organised sport, and particularly football, became an important part of working-class life in industrial Britain.  Blackburn Rovers were one of the original 12 founding teams of the English League. Blackburn Rovers settled at Ewood Park permanently in 1890 and later secured ownership, giving the club stability at a time when many teams lacked permanent grounds. In the early 1990s, Jack Walker transformed the club by investing heavily in players and infrastructure, funding the modern redevelopment of Ewood Park and playing a decisive role in Blackburn Rovers’ 1994–95 Premier League title, linking local industry with football success. And, the rest as they say, is history. Blackburn, especially in the 1990s was one of the most successful teams in England. It is quite the shirt.

When football shirts are done well, they do more than just look good. They tell you something about place. That is exactly what Al-Hilal Saudi FC have achieved with their 2025/26 home kit, which takes its patterning directly from traditional Najdi mud-brick architecture. This is not a random texture or a graphic chosen for effect. It is a deliberate reference to the region that shaped both the club and the modern Saudi state. Al-Hilal are a Riyadh club, and Riyadh sits in the heart of Najd, the central plateau of the Arabian Peninsula. Historically, Najd was not a coastal trading hub like the Hijaz, nor a lush agricultural region. It was a harsh, dry interior, and the people who lived there had to adapt carefully to their environment. Over time, this produced a distinct culture, identity, and architectural style that still carries strong meaning in Saudi Arabia today. The Najdis were the inhabitants of this central region. Their society was shaped by tribal structures, desert travel, and a need for self-reliance. Towns were built for protection, climate control, and community, rather than display. This mindset is reflected clearly in Najdi architecture, which is defined by mud-brick construction, thick walls, small windows, and enclosed courtyards. These buildings were practical responses to heat, wind, and limited resources, but they also developed a clear and recognisable visual language. Najdi buildings are typically made from adobe (sun-dried mud bricks) mixed with straw and clay. The walls are thick, helping keep interiors cool during the day and warm at night. Windows are small and often placed high, reducing heat and dust while maintaining privacy. Decoration is minimal but meaningful. You often see geometric patterns, stepped shapes, and repeated lines worked into walls, doors, and parapets. These patterns are simple, rhythmic, and structural, rather than ornate. This is the visual tradition that Al-Hilal’s 2025/26 shirt draws from. The subtle, repeating pattern across the fabric echoes the linear and geometric motifs found on Najdi mud-brick walls. It is not a literal picture of a building, but an abstraction of texture and form. The result feels grounded and local, rather than flashy. It links the modern, global football club back to the physical environment of central Saudi Arabia. Najdi heritage is most famously preserved and celebrated in Diriyah, just outside modern Riyadh. Diriyah was the original home of the Saudi royal family and the first capital of the Saudi state in the 18th century. At its heart is At-Turaif District, a UNESCO World Heritage Site built almost entirely in the Najdi style. Its palaces, mosques, and homes show the full maturity of mud-brick architecture, with strong walls, angular towers, and repeating decorative elements that mirror those now seen on the Al-Hilal shirt. In recent years, Najdi architecture has taken on renewed importance within Saudi Arabia. Through projects linked to Vision 2030, Diriyah has been restored and re-presented as a national cultural symbol. New buildings in Riyadh and across the Kingdom increasingly borrow Najdi forms and patterns, blending traditional design with modern materials. The aim is not nostalgia, but continuity: showing that modern Saudi identity grows from local history rather than replacing it. Seen in that context, Al-Hilal’s kit choice makes a lot of sense. This is a club that represents Riyadh, not just in name but in meaning. While the squad may now include global stars and compete on the world stage, the shirt quietly points back to the mud-brick walls, courtyards, and patterns of Najd. It says: this club comes from here. What also works well is the restraint. The pattern does not overwhelm the shirt. From a distance it reads as clean and modern. Up close, the texture reveals itself. That mirrors Najdi architecture itself: plain at first glance, but rich once you pay attention. It is a smart way to embed heritage without turning the kit into a novelty. In a football world full of abstract graphics and recycled templates, this feels thoughtful. The 2025/26 Al-Hilal home kit uses design to connect place, history, and identity. It reminds us that shirts, like badges, can carry stories if clubs choose to let them. This one does exactly that.

In the heart of Catalonia, set along the beautiful Mediterranean costline, sits a football club whose badge carries far more than colours and initials. FC Barcelona are not just one of the most successful teams in world football; they are a symbol of regional identity, political resistance, cultural pride and sporting excellence. Few clubs anywhere can claim that their crest tells the story of a people as clearly as Barcelona’s does – so let’s unpack it as we #GetTheBadgeIn. In the top left sits the red cross of Saint George, known locally as Sant Jordi. Saint George is the patron saint of Barcelona and Catalonia (and some soggy little island off the coast of North-West Europe). The legend tells of a knight who slew a dragon to save a city, and his story became a powerful symbol of bravery, protection and standing up to oppression – chimes nicely with Catalonian identity. The medieval Crown of Aragon, which included Barcelona as its key city, used St George’s cross on its shields and coat of arms in battle. As Barcelona grew in importance as a medieval trading and political centre, Saint George became closely associated with the city’s identity and defence. Churches, chapels and civic buildings were dedicated to him. Alongside it are the red and yellow stripes of the Senyera, the flag of Catalonia. Catalonia is not just a region on a map; it has its own language, traditions and long history of seeking self-rule. For centuries, Catalans have worked to protect their identity within Spain, and football became one of the few public spaces where that identity could be expressed openly. By placing the Senyera on the badge, Barcelona made a clear statement: this club belongs to Catalonia. The lower half of the crest is footballing rather than political. The famous blue and red blaugrana stripes are instantly recognisable around the world. They are usually linked to the club’s Swiss founder, Joan Gamper, and may have been inspired by his former club FC Basel. At the centre sits a football, a reminder that while history and politics matter, the game itself remains the core. The initials F.C.B. proudly spell out Futbol Club Barcelona, a name that has become global. Barcelona’s story cannot be separated from Spain’s troubled 20th century. During the Spanish Civil War, the city was a stronghold of Republican resistance. Volunteers from across the world joined the International Brigades to fight fascism, including British writer George Orwell, who later described the street fighting in his book Homage to Catalonia. The war had a devastating impact on the club. Barcelona’s president Josep Sunyol was executed by Franco’s forces, and Catalan language and symbols were later banned under the dictatorship. The club became a quiet symbol of resistance simply by existing. This history gives extra weight to Barcelona’s rivalry with Real Madrid. El Clásico is not just about footballing styles or trophies; it reflects decades of political tension. Real Madrid were long seen as the team of the Spanish state and central power, while Barcelona represented regional pride and opposition. On the pitch, Barcelona’s success has been extraordinary. The club has won league titles, domestic cups and European trophies in huge numbers, building a reputation for playing beautiful, attacking football. From Johan Cruyff’s influence as a player and coach to the era of tiki-taka under Pep Guardiola, Barcelona helped shape how modern football is played. Legends such as Lionel Messi, Xavi, Iniesta and Ronaldinho are not just club heroes; they are icons of the sport itself. British football also has a special place in Barcelona’s modern story. Bobby Robson, best remembered in England for transforming Ipswich Town before going on to England and then Newcastle, managed Barcelona in the 1990s. Under him, Gary Lineker became one of the club’s most effective strikers, scoring goals while adapting to a new culture and style of play. Towering over all of this is Camp Nou, one of the largest and most famous stadiums in the world. For generations, it has been a place where football, politics and culture meet. Next to the stadium, the fan centre contains a trophy cabinet which is more of a warehouse, and seems to stretch on forever, filled with silverware that reflects decades of dominance. It’s staggering success inspired countless teams across England to adopt its crest as its own, with many a non-league team borrowing the iconic shape of Barcelona’s shield, keeping the St George’s cross and simply replacing the Catalonian stripes with their own local heraldry. Prior to their 2017 rebrand Forest Green Rovers played with a Barcelona style crest. In recent years, Barcelona has again found itself at the centre of political change. The push for greater Catalan autonomy and independence has brought mass demonstrations, referendums and firm pushback from the Spanish government. As before, the club has walked a careful line, but its identity as a symbol of Catalonia remains clear. That is why the club’s famous motto still rings true: Més que un club. Barcelona are not just a football team. They are history, culture, resistance and pride, stitched together in blue and red.

In Northern Kazakhstan, where pine forests meet open steppe and blue-grey hills fade into mist, sits a football club whose badge carries industry, legend, and deep steppe memory. FC Okzhetpes are not just a provincial side playing out of the small city of Kokshetau – approximately a three-hour drive north of the capital – and set among some of the most beautiful forests and lakes you will ever find. They are a club shaped by factories, horses, mountains, and a story about freedom that is stitched into their soul. On the pitch, Okzhetpes have never been a dominant force in Kazakh football, but their story includes a fascinating footnote that only football can produce. In 2008, they finished ninth in the Kazakhstan Premier League. Ordinarily, that would have meant nothing more than survival. Instead, through a combination of UEFA licence denials and the withdrawal of higher-placed teams, Okzhetpes found themselves entering the inaugural UEFA Europa League qualifiers. They lost 3–2 over two legs to Moldova’s FC Zimbru Chișinău – but they can now boast having competed in Europe. So, let’s #GetTheBadgeIn – and see what lies behind this team with the blue horse on its crest. Like many clubs across the former Soviet Union, Okzhetpes did not begin with a poetic or ancient name. It began as the rather more industrial Torpedo. In Soviet sporting culture, club names reflected industry, labour, and state purpose. Torpedo was not about weapons. Instead, it was used for teams linked to mechanical and engineering plants, especially those producing cars, engines, heavy machinery, and precision metal parts. The most famous example was Torpedo Moscow, backed by the ZIL automobile factory, but the name spread everywhere. Kokshetau followed the same pattern. During the Second World War, the town became a place of evacuation and survival. In the autumn of 1941, factories were dismantled and moved east to escape the advancing German armies. Sewing machine plants from Podolsk, factories from Ordzhonikidze, and military hospitals were relocated to Kokshetau. Workers, engineers, and skilled labourers arrived with them. It is likely from this industrial pool that the original football team emerged. Football, as ever, followed work. For decades, the club carried that industrial identity. But after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Kazakhstan began reshaping not just its politics, but its symbols. Cities were renamed. Languages were reasserted. History was reclaimed. Okzhetpes was chosen – a name not from industry, but from legend. Okzhetpes refers to a dramatic cliff formation overlooking Lake Auliekol in the Burabay region. The name means “an arrow won’t reach.” According to local tradition, in the 18th century Ablai Khan, the last of the Kazakh Khans, faced a dilemma. A captive young woman was among the spoils of war, and the khan could not decide which warrior should marry her. Instead, he allowed her to choose. She climbed to the top of the highest cliff and declared she would marry whoever could strike her shawl with an arrow. None succeeded. Rather than submit, she leapt into the lake below, choosing freedom over ownership. The lake became known as Auliekol — the “holy lake” — and the cliff was remembered forever as Okzhetpes. This is not a story about victory. It is a story about choice. That matters in Kazakh culture. Freedom, autonomy, and dignity sit at the heart of steppe identity. The word Kazakh itself comes from a Turkic root meaning “free person” — someone who lives beyond fixed authority. Okzhetpes, as a name, carries that same meaning. The city name itself, Kokshetau, comes from Kazakh words meaning “smoky-blue mountain” — kökşe (bluish) and tau (mountain). The name refers to the way the nearby hills always seem to turn blue in the haze, especially at a distance. The club’s colours and the blue of the horse are a natural follow-on. Only a team in blue could come from the Blue Mountains. This region sits close to Burabay National Park (also known historically as Borovoye), a landscape of pine forests, lakes, and granite outcrops that feels almost out of place in the flat steppe imagination. It is one of Kazakhstan’s most beautiful natural regions — and is dotted with luxury hotels and spas that cater to the capital’s wealthy on day trips. The final piece of the badge puzzle is the horse itself. On the Kazakh steppe, horses were never just transport. They were survival. Horses allowed people to move vast distances, migrate with the seasons, and respond to danger. They were central to the economy — used to herd livestock, traded across Central Asia, and providing food, milk, hides, and status. Wealth was counted in horses. Honour was proven on horseback. In war, horses turned steppe fighters into fast, flexible forces capable of striking and disappearing. This tradition linked the Kazakhs to earlier steppe powers: Scythians, Turks, and Mongols. Control of horses meant control of space. Culturally, the bond ran even deeper. Horses appear constantly in Kazakh poetry, folklore, and ritual. A rider and horse were seen as a single unit. Skill on horseback marked adulthood. Losing horse culture under imperial and Soviet systems was felt as a loss of freedom itself. FC Okzhetpes are not the richest club in Kazakhstan. They are not serial champions. But their badge holds together layers of history that stretch from Soviet factories to steppe legends, from wartime evacuation to ancient mountains, from industrial Torpedo to Kazakh cliffs.

Here in the deep south of Kazakhstan, where the steppe softens into orchards, trade routes bend towards Uzbekistan, and history weighs heavily on the land, sits a club whose very name carries a unique national meaning. FC Ordabasy are not just a team from Shymkent. They are a footballing manifestation of unity, survival and cooperation. So let’s #GetTheBadgeIn and take a closer look. FC Ordabasy are based in Shymkent, Kazakhstan’s third-largest city and one of its most important historical crossroads. The club plays its football at the Kajymukan Munaitpasov Stadium, named after one of Kazakhstan’s greatest sporting heroes — a multiple-time world champion in Greco-Roman wrestling and a symbol of strength, pride, and resilience. The club itself was formed through merger rather than sudden invention. Ordabasy emerged from the union of two existing sides, FC Zhiger and FC Tomiris, both of which carried long Soviet-era histories and identities. That act of merging matters. It mirrors the very idea behind the name Ordabasy: different groups coming together for a common purpose. Since adopting the Ordabasy name in the early 2000s, the club has established itself as a consistent presence in Kazakhstan’s top flight. Between 2011 and 2022, they collected two Kazakhstan Cups and a Super Cup, carving out a reputation as serious competitors rather than background participants. They may not dominate headlines like clubs from Astana or Almaty, but they carry a deeper, symbolic weight. Every nation has places that sit central to their national story. For Kazakhstan, Ordabasy is one of those places. Ordabasy is a real location — a hill and region not far from Shymkent — but it is also a moment in history. In the early 18th century, Kazakhstan faced catastrophe. The Dzungar a tribe from modern day Mongolia and Russia invaded from 1723 to1727. They devastated the steppe in a period remembered as “Aktaban Shubyryndy” — the Years of the Great Disaster. Kazakh tribes were forced to flee, barefoot and starving, leaving behind land, herds, and homes. It is a trauma still deeply embedded in Kazakh national memory. In 1726, representatives of the three Kazakh zhuz (tribes) — the Great, Middle, and Little hordes — gathered at Ordabasy. This was not guaranteed. The zhuz were often rivals, divided by territory, politics, and lineage. But at Ordabasy, they put those divisions aside. They met and formed a kurultai — a steppe tradition of discussion, debate, and collective decision-making — a tradition that continues today in Kazakhstan’s National Kurultai that sits besides the government, gathers together different groups and offers advice to the leadership. Back in 1726 this meeting led to a decision to unite the Kazakh tribes against the Dzungars. It was a turning point. Ordabasy became the place where survival trumped rivalry, and unity replaced fragmentation. That idea runs deep in Turkic steppe culture. Leadership was not absolute; it was negotiated. Authority came from agreement, not walls or capitals. In that sense, Ordabasy fits into a wider steppe political tradition — one that also echoes in places like Ukraine’s Cossack councils (called Rada). That comparison is not accidental. The word “Kazakh” itself comes from the Turkic qazaq, meaning free man or one who lives beyond authority. The same root gave rise to the word Cossack. Kazakhs and Cossacks share ancient steppe origins. That shared past helps explain why events in Ukraine resonated so strongly in Kazakhstan: there is a sense of shared experience, shared trauma, and shared frontier history. After Putin’s invasion – Kazakhstan doubled down on its own identity – and the trend now is to call the country itself Qazaqstan – which is the latin translation from the Kazakh language – not the Russian. But this is only one part of the club’s heritage. Shymkent as a city sits on the ancient Silk Road routes that once linked China, Central Asia, Persia, and beyond. This was a city of movement long before borders were drawn. It is also one of the natural homes of the wild tulip – which explains the club’s crest (and the city’s own modern tourist branding). Long before tulips filled Dutch fields and triggered speculative bubbles in 17th-century Europe, they grew naturally in southern Kazakhstan. The Silk Roads that passed near Shymkent made tulip bulbs ideal travellers — hardy, portable, and valuable. From here, tulips moved west through Persia and the Ottoman world before reaching Europe, where they would eventually fuel Dutch tulip mania. That botanical journey mirrors the cultural one. Shymkent has always been a place where ideas, goods, and traditions came together and were exchanged. Like much of Kazakhstan, Shymkent bears the marks of empire. Mongols, khanates, Kokand rule, Russian conquest, and Soviet industrialisation all reshaped the city. Factories arrived. Railways followed. During the Second World War, industry was evacuated east, and Shymkent became a manufacturing hub for the Soviet war effort. Lending the city some working class grit – and therefore the easy origins of a footballing tradition. FC Ordabasy’s badge and name pull all of this together. In a league increasingly shaped by capital wealth and modern branding, Ordabasy stand slightly apart. They represent regional pride, historical memory, and national symbolism grounded in real events and real places. They are a club from Shymkent — but they are named for a moment that belongs to the whole country.

Here on the northern edge of Kazakhstan, close to the Russian border and wrapped in long winters and wide skies, sits a club whose badge carries far more than football ambition. FC Kyzylzhar are a team shaped by riverbanks, empire, steppe tradition, and a bird that has ruled the Kazakh imagination for centuries. This is a club named for a place before it was a city. For a landscape before borders. And for a symbol that still soars over the modern Kazakh state. So, let’s do it properly. Let’s #GetTheBadgeIn. The name Kyzylzhar translates directly as “Red Bank”, a reference to the reddish cliffs and riverbanks along the Ishim River (known in Kazakh as the Esil). Long before maps labelled this place Petropavl or Petropavlovsk, Kazakh nomads knew it as Kyzyl-Zhar: a natural stopping point, a trading location, and a meeting place on the northern steppe. The Ishim flows through northern Kazakhstan and into Russia, and today it links Petropavl to the capital, Astana, further south. But for centuries, this stretch of river marked a frontier between worlds: nomadic Kazakh lands and the expanding reach of the Russian Empire. FC Kyzylzhar’s name anchors the club firmly on the Kazakh side of that story. Even as the modern city grew around it, “Red Bank” remained the local name — one that survived empire, Soviet rule, and independence. You can still hear it spoken today, and it lives on through the football club more clearly than anywhere else. Like many clubs in Central Asia, FC Kyzylzhar’s history is one of renaming, restructuring, and survival. Founded in 1968, the team passed through a long list of identities — Avangard, Metallist, Yesil, Aksess-Yesil, and others — each reflecting the industrial sponsors and Soviet-era structures of the time. The turning point came in the post-Soviet era. As Kazakhstan established its own league and football identity, the club eventually settled on the name Kyzylzhar in 2009 — a conscious return to local heritage and Kazakh language. That choice matters. It re-centred the club in place and history. On the pitch, FC Kyzylzhar are founding members of the Kazakhstan Premier League and twice runners-up, finishing second in both 1999 and 2000. While they have not dominated domestically like clubs from Astana or Almaty, they have remained a consistent presence at the top level — a northern standard-bearer in a league often shaped by southern and capital-based teams. They play at Karasai Stadium in Petropavl. That name too, is stepped in Steppe legend – Karasai Batyr was a 17th century warrior and commander who led the fight against the invading Dzungher Khanate (a tribe from modern day Mongolia/Russia). National symbolism therefore seems appropriate for this team. Which brings to the most striking feature of the FC Kyzylzhar’s badge – the eagle, set in Kazakhstan’s national colours of yellow and blue. Eagle hunting — known as Bürkitshi — is one of the most respected traditions in Kazakh nomadic life. For centuries, hunters trained golden eagles to hunt foxes, hares, and wolves across the steppe. It required patience, trust, and mastery of both land and animal. A good eagle hunter was admired not just for skill, but for discipline and balance. The eagle itself became a symbol of strength, freedom, and vision — all qualities valued in steppe societies where survival depended on reading the land and acting decisively. That symbolism lives on today. The golden eagle appears at the centre of the Kazakh national flag, wings spread wide beneath the sun. It also dominates the interior of the National Museum of Kazakhstan in Astana, where a vast golden eagle sculpture stands as a statement of national identity and continuity. By placing the eagle on their badge, FC Kyzylzhar align themselves with that deep tradition. This is not a borrowed European heraldic bird. This is a steppe eagle — a hunter, not a decoration. The blue and yellow reinforce that message. These are the colours of modern Kazakhstan, but they also echo sky and sun, freedom and endurance. The badge quietly bridges past and present: ancient nomadic culture rendered in clean, modern lines. Petropavl’s history explains why this symbolism matters so much. In 1752, the Russian Empire founded a military fortress on the site of Kyzyl-Zhar, naming it after Saint Peter. The location was chosen carefully: steep riverbanks, natural ravines, and access to trade routes made it defensible and valuable. From here, Russia could project power south into the Kazakh steppe. Resistance followed. So did compromise. Over time, the city grew into a major trading and administrative centre. Kazakh khans negotiated with Russian authorities. Merchants moved goods between Central Asia and Siberia. Railways arrived in the late 19th century, tying Petropavl into the Trans-Siberian network. The Soviet period deepened the city’s industrial role. During the Second World War, factories were relocated east to escape Nazi advances, and Petropavl became a manufacturing hub producing heavy machinery and military equipment. Waves of deported communities reshaped its population. Russian language and administration dominated public life. Yet the old name never disappeared. Kyzyl-Zhar endured quietly — in local speech, in memory, and eventually in football. Since independence in 1991, Kazakhstan has worked to rebalance that history. Names have shifted back towards Kazakh forms. Symbols have been reclaimed. Identity has been reasserted without erasing the past. FC Kyzylzhar sit squarely in this story. They are a modern professional club, playing in a national league, but their badge, name, and colours deliberately root them in Kazakh culture rather than imperial legacy. The eagle looks forward, but it also looks back — to the hunters of the steppe, to the riverbank where nomads once traded, and to a place that has always been a meeting point between worlds. In that sense, FC Kyzylzhar are more than a football team from northern Kazakhstan. They are a reminder that identity is not just built in capitals and megaprojects. Sometimes it survives on a riverbank, in a name that refuses to disappear, and in an eagle that still knows how to fly.

Here on the far edges of UEFA’s map, where the floodlights glow against endless grasslands and winter temperatures can stop a ball dead in its tracks, sits FC Astana. This is a club born not just of football ambition, but of place. Of geography. Of empire. Of roads that once stitched together the ancient world. Astana itself is a young capital built on very old ground. Today it is all glass towers, bold curves, and award-winning architecture rising sharply from the flatlands. But long before skyscrapers and state wealth funds, this was Bozok — a small yet vital waypoint on the Silk Roads. The steppe here stretches for thousands of miles in every direction, a vast natural highway where horses could refuel on lush grass and caravans could move faster than anywhere else on Earth. That sense of motion still matters. From their modern 30,000-seat stadium, FC Astana are one of Kazakhstan’s dominant sides, pushing out from the steppes into European competition. Along the way, they have picked up a curious recurring rivalry with Celtic, the two having crossed paths often enough for it to feel more than coincidence. Ancient tribal routes meet industrial Europe. So, it’s time to do this club — perched on the fringe of UEFA but anchored in deep history — the honour it deserves. Let’s #GetTheBadgeIn. The badge itself, in its modern form, is a simple but effective nod to its place in the modern national story (the colours are taken from the Kazakh flag) and its long held agricultural connections, dating back to the early days of man – and through the Soviet and modern eras. So to understand FC Astana, you have to start with the land. The Eurasian Steppe isn’t empty space; it’s a highway. For thousands of years, it linked China to Europe, allowing people, goods, ideas, and armies to move at speed. It was these same routes that Genghis Khan and his armies thundered along, reshaping history from Korea to Hungary. After Genghis Khan’s death, his empire fractured. From its western remnants emerged the Kazakh Khanate, heirs to the Golden Horde. They thrived here by controlling movement and trade, becoming renowned horsemen and skilled blacksmiths. Their saddles, weapons, and tools travelled far, valued across the steppe world. Then came empire again. In the 18th century, Russia pushed outward. Westward into Ukraine. Eastward into the Kazakh lands. Fort by fort, logistics followed muskets. One such fort, Akmoly, was built on the banks near modern Astana, intended to secure imperial control over the region. But the people of the steppe do not submit easily. In 1838, a Kazakh leader named Kenesary Khan, who could trace his lineage back to Genghis himself, led a rebellion. His forces attacked Akmoly, burned it to the ground, and drove the Russians out. It was a powerful moment of resistance — but ultimately a temporary one. The Russian Empire regrouped, returned, and eventually absorbed the region. The 20th century brought new upheaval. As the Russian Empire collapsed into the Soviet Union, Kazakhstan became part of that vast communist system. During the Second World War, the cost was brutal. Around 1.2 million Kazakh men were sent west to fight Nazi Germany. Roughly half never came home. The Soviets spared little thought for the lives of these brace Steppe warriors – sending them against Nazi machine guns and artillery with little more than the clothes on their backs. At the same time, the steppe once again became a place of refuge and movement. As German armies advanced into Soviet industrial heartlands like Ukraine’s Donbas, entire factories were dismantled and relocated east, piece by piece, to the safety of the steppes. Akmoly grew as an industrial and logistical hub, while deported communities — including so-called “Russian-Germans” — were resettled across the region. Post-war, agriculture followed the industry. The Soviet “Virgin Lands” campaign turned vast areas of grassland into wheat fields, and the sheaves that still appear on the badge speak to that transformation, as well as sporting glory. All of this history feeds quietly into FC Astana’s identity. The club itself is modern, but it is rooted in the new Kazakh nation. Formed from the merger and relocation of clubs from Almaty, it moved north when Astana became the new capital. Initially named Locomotiv Astana, the club reflected its ownership: Kazakhstan’s state wealth fund, which also controls the national railways (who were the team’s sponsor – hence the name). Soon, the club was folded into a wider vision. Under President Nursultan Nazarbayev, Astana became the centre of a multi-sport project known as the Astana Presidential Club. Football sat alongside cycling, basketball, and ice hockey — including Barys Astana, who compete in the KHL, a league dominated by Russian teams but stretching deep into Asia and China. With this shift came a visual reset. FC Astana adopted the clean white, teal, and yellow palette of the wider Astana brand — modern, corporate, and state-aligned. The badge followed suit: minimalist, controlled, and deliberate. Nazarbayev’s name remains on the crest, a reminder that this club is as much about national projection as domestic success. And yet, when Astana step onto a European pitch, all of that symbolism collapses into something simpler. A team from the steppe. A city built on ancient routes. A badge carrying empire, resistance, industry, wheat, rails, and ambition. They’ve faced giants. They’ve travelled vast distances for group-stage nights. And against clubs like Celtic, they’ve shown that the fringes of Europe are never really the edges at all. Because Astana has always been a crossroads. Long before UEFA coefficients, before floodlights, before skyscrapers, people passed through here on horseback, carrying silk, stories, and steel. FC Astana are simply the latest travellers to follow those routes — pushing west once more. Seeking glory.

No one likes us – we don’t care. Millwall. At the height of the football hooliganism phase in the late 1960s, Millwall were singled out by the media as some of the worst culprits. London newspapers written by society’s bigwigs decided the working class of the East End obviously had to be at fault somehow. That reputation has stuck for decades. But there is far more to this club and its heritage than just a handful of dockers beating unfortunate fans black and blue in cul-de-sacs on away days. Millwall is a club born in a factory, shaped by the docks, and carried by a working-class community whose identity has always been central to its badge. So let’s #GetTheBadgeIn and take a clear look at how Millwall came to be so notorious — and why on earth there is a lion on their badge. Millwall were founded in 1885 on the Isle of Dogs, not in Bermondsey where they play today. Their origins lie in J.T. Morton’s jam and preserves factory. Morton’s was not a local company; it was originally founded in Aberdeen, Scotland, in 1849 to supply sailing ships with preserved foods. When the firm opened its first English processing plant on the Isle of Dogs in 1870, it brought with it a large Scottish workforce, especially from the Dundee dockyards. These workers — many of them young, skilled, and used to physical labour — formed Millwall Rovers, the club that would later become Millwall FC. They adopted the dark blue and white of their nation’s colours, and it stuck. The first players were dockers, labourers, engineers, and lightermen — classic East End trades. Millwall grew out of these communities, and the club’s reputation for toughness was shaped long before it became a media stereotype. The Isle of Dogs was more than warehouses. It was a major centre of shipbuilding and heavy engineering, including the Millwall Iron Works, which produced steel and armour plating used in Royal Navy ship construction. At the Battle of Jutland, the largest — and most vicious, if inconclusive — clash of the battleship age, the Royal Navy threw over 1.5 million tonnes of steel into the fight. Much of it was moulded, beaten, and welded by Millwall fans. Crowds were difficult to build on the Isle of Dogs because few people actually lived in the area. After a series of basic early grounds, the club moved in 1910 to The Den on Cold Blow Lane. The Old Den became one of the most intimidating stadiums in the country, where the noise level and the closeness of supporters created the famous “Millwall Roar.” In 1993, the club moved a short distance to the New Den, the first all-seater stadium constructed in England after the Taylor Report, which stated that following the Hillsborough Disaster, grounds must provide more seating and be safer. It lacks the closeness of the Old Den, but that does not stop the supporters turning it into an intimidating place for visiting teams. So why The Lions? The common myth is that the lion comes purely from the Scottish founders. The truth is more mixed. Millwall were originally known as The Dockers, which makes perfect sense given their factory and shipyard background. The lion badge only appeared in the early 20th century, 30-40 years after the club was founded. It was a time when nationalism and pride in “Britannia” were booming after the bruising experience of the Boer War (where Britain initially got its arse handed to it by a bunch of Dutch farmers – before mass mobilisation of Britain’s workers levelled the score). The lion was the animal at Britannia’s side. It suited the club’s emerging identity, and over time the lion replaced the Dockers nickname. The artistic origin of the lion is a bit cloudy. The version used from the 1970s onwards may have come from an illustration in the Lion comic by Geoff Campion, but the club could not trace the original artist when trying to trademark it, forcing later redesigns. Others suggest it comes from the long tradition of the Red Lion pub sign in Britain. The red lion appears on royal coats of arms (today shown in yellow on a red background). Scottish heraldic lions were also popular — the Scottish FA fly a red lion, and Middlesbrough’s own red lion has similar Scottish roots. Millwall’s badges have taken many subtly different shapes. A single rampant lion (standing on its back legs) was used from 1978, though its quality varied on replica shirts. In 1992, Bukta introduced a roundel crest featuring the lion within a circle spelling out the club’s name. Later versions returned to more traditional shield designs with two lions and a football, before the modern rampant lion — almost reaching out of the badge and looking a little like the Detroit Lion’s badge — became the club’s long-term crest. Despite changes in shape, the underlying identity remained the same. Millwall is a club founded by Scottish migrants working in a London jam factory, shaped by the docklands and ironworks of the Isle of Dogs, and carried south of the river by supporters who walked through the Greenwich Foot Tunnel to follow their team. Their reputation — good and bad — is rooted in their industrial origins: hard jobs, strong communities, and a straightforward outlook on life. Nobody likes them. But they don’t care. With thanks to research from whatsbehindthebadge.com.