Still We Stand: A Southend Story

[southend4eva]

I’ve never lived in Southend, I live in Newman, a mining town in the blistering red dust of the Australian Outback. Sixteen years under 40-degree summer skies, walking with Aboriginal friends and stories older than time.
And yet, somehow, a part of my heart beats in the stand at Roots Hall.

Back in the ’90s, I wasn’t just looking for a football team. I was looking for something real.
Not a club dripping with money or headline fame: but one with heart, blood in the soil and soul in the stands. That’s when I found you: Southend United. The Shrimpers. You had me from the first ShrimperZone post and every Chris Phillips match report that followed.

In 1999, I moved to Malawi, a decade deep in a place of poverty and community.
In a world where luxury was rare and struggle was constant, every match-day report became an anchor. BBC Essex dropping in and out through the African evening, Roots Hall lighting up my imagination as the sun set behind the hills of rural Malawi. Those were hard years personally. ShrimperZone became more than a forum. It became shelter. A place I felt I belonged.

Then came January 2014. I walked the High Street in winter. Stood on the pier with my Son. And now I was finally at Roots Hall for the first time. And I felt it. This club wasn’t just a Stadium, it was home.

But like all families, we’ve had our struggles. The rise to the heights of the Championship, when we dared to believe. And the fall and the slow slide, to non-league. Where the dream turned into a nightmare of stripped points, unpaid wages and broken promises. Managers revolving. Dreams deferred. The Fossetts Farm Fantasy. And a painful scoreboard that told more truth than the chairman ever did.

But we stood. We sang. We stayed. And now it’s 2025.

This time last year, it looked like the end again. Silence. Flatline. But then; it shifted. The new consortium didn’t just bring money. They brought hope. The hope, that is Southend. We stood up again. And somehow, miraculously, Wembley waits. Not as a consolation. Not as a novelty. But for what it means to never give up or give in.

This isn’t just a final. It’s a statement: We. Are. Still. Here.

For every fan who stood when there was nothing left to stand on.
For every child who wears blue because their dad, mum, or mate did.
For every generation yet to wear it:
This moment is everything.

This is what belonging looks like: Not just winning, but loving something enough to hurt with it, to wait with it, to rise with it. Because Southend isn’t just football. It’s all of us: past, present, future. Its names etched in memory. Not just the players, but people. It’s grief and glory in the same breath. Not just a badge, but blood.

To the players:
You carry more than tactics. You carry the stories, the sacrifices, the soul of this club. We see you and know the price you’ve paid. We believe in you.

To the management:
You believed when belief looked foolish. Rebuilding from nothing to something. We are proud of you.

To the fans:
The reason this club breathes. Singing in the shadows and now you stand in the sunshine. Never giving up and never giving in. But still standing and still believing.

To the consortium:
You didn’t just walk into a football club. You walked into history, heartbreak and hope barely hanging on. You inherited more than debt and despair. You inherited dreams that refused to die. Because this isn’t your club now. It’s our club, together. And what we build next, we build as one.

We may not know what comes next. But this? This is what hope looks like. This is what rising from the ashes feels like.

So here’s to all who came before.

Here’s to those still standing.

Here’s to what may come.

Southend United. Our club. Your club. My club.

Not just still standing; but now daring to dream. Again!

 

[Shrimp and two veg]

Love it.
It really did feel like a family on those open terraces last night. Been through so much together in one season to last a lifetime.
Just like Wycombe at Wembley, as soon as we score that equaliser we knew we had them beaten when it came to the penalties, and you look around at the faces around you, the disbelief that this was happening, that feeling. Then that roar, the defiance, youre not beating us tonight.
Glad you're feeling it brother, lets enjoy our day at a sunny Wembley. Hope youre coming over.

 

[dusterman]

I’ve never lived in Southend, I live in Newman, a mining town in the blistering red dust of the Australian Outback.
Sixteen years under 40-degree skies, walking with Aboriginal friends and stories older than time.
And yet, somehow, a part of my heart beats in the stand at Roots Hall.

Back in the ’90s, I wasn’t just looking for a football team. I was looking for something real.
Not a club dripping with money or headline fame: but one with heart, blood in the soil and soul in the stands.
That’s when I found you: Southend United. The Shrimpers.
You had me from the first Chris Phillips match report and every ShrimperZone post that followed.

In 1999, I moved to Malawi, a decade deep in a place of poverty and community.
In a world where luxury was rare and struggle was constant, every match-day report became an anchor.
BBC Essex dropping in and out through the African evening, Roots Hall lighting up my imagination as the sun set behind the hills of rural Malawi. Those were hard years personally. ShrimperZone became more than a forum. It became shelter. A place I felt I belonged.

Then came January 2014. I walked the High Street in winter. Stood on the pier with my Son. And now I was finally at Roots Hall for the first time. And I felt it. This club wasn’t just a Stadium, it was home. But like all families, we’ve had our struggles. The rise of to the heights of Championship, when we dared to believe. And the fall and the slow slide, to non-league. Where the dream turned into a nightmare of stripped points, unpaid wages and broken promises. Managers revolving. Dreams deferred. The Fossetts Farm Fantasy. And a painful scoreboard that told more truth than the chairman ever did.

But we stood. We sang. We stayed. And now it’s 2025.

This time last year, it looked like the end again. Silence. Flatline. But then; it shifted. The new consortium didn’t just bring money. They brought hope. The hope, that is Southend. We stood up again. And somehow, miraculously, Wembley waits. Not as a consolation. Not as a novelty. But for what it means to never give up or give in.

This isn’t just a final. It’s a statement: We. Are. Still. Here.

For every fan who stood when there was nothing left to stand on.
For every child who wears blue because their dad, mum, or mate did.
For every generation yet to wear it:
This moment is everything.

This is what belonging looks like: Not just winning, but loving something enough to hurt with it, to wait with it, to rise with it. Because Southend isn’t just football. It’s all of us: past, present, future. Its names etched in memory. Not just the players, but people. It’s grief and glory in the same breath. Not just a badge, but blood.

To the players:
You carry more than tactics. You carry the stories, the sacrifices, the soul of this club. We see you and know the price you’ve paid. We believe in you.

To the management:
You believed when belief looked foolish. Rebuilding from nothing to something. We are proud of you.

To the fans:
The reason this club breathes. Singing in the shadows and now you stand in the sunshine. Never giving up and never giving in. But still standing and still believing.

To the consortium:
You didn’t just walk into a football club. You walked into history, heartbreak and hope barely hanging on. You inherited more than debt and despair. You inherited dreams that refused to die. Because this isn’t your club now. It’s our club, together. And what we build next, we build as one.

We may not know what comes next. But this? This is what hope looks like. This is what rising from the ashes feels like.

So here’s to all who came before.

Here’s to those still standing.

Here’s to what may come.

Southend United. Our club. Your club. My club.

Not just still standing; but now daring to dream. Again!

Marvellous.

 

[B.B.The Legend Lives On.]

I’ve never lived in Southend, I live in Newman, a mining town in the blistering red dust of the Australian Outback.
Sixteen years under 40-degree skies, walking with Aboriginal friends and stories older than time.
And yet, somehow, a part of my heart beats in the stand at Roots Hall.

Back in the ’90s, I wasn’t just looking for a football team. I was looking for something real.
Not a club dripping with money or headline fame: but one with heart, blood in the soil and soul in the stands.
That’s when I found you: Southend United. The Shrimpers.
You had me from the first Chris Phillips match report and every ShrimperZone post that followed.

In 1999, I moved to Malawi, a decade deep in a place of poverty and community.
In a world where luxury was rare and struggle was constant, every match-day report became an anchor.
BBC Essex dropping in and out through the African evening, Roots Hall lighting up my imagination as the sun set behind the hills of rural Malawi. Those were hard years personally. ShrimperZone became more than a forum. It became shelter. A place I felt I belonged.

Then came January 2014. I walked the High Street in winter. Stood on the pier with my Son. And now I was finally at Roots Hall for the first time. And I felt it. This club wasn’t just a Stadium, it was home. But like all families, we’ve had our struggles. The rise of to the heights of Championship, when we dared to believe. And the fall and the slow slide, to non-league. Where the dream turned into a nightmare of stripped points, unpaid wages and broken promises. Managers revolving. Dreams deferred. The Fossetts Farm Fantasy. And a painful scoreboard that told more truth than the chairman ever did.

But we stood. We sang. We stayed. And now it’s 2025.

This time last year, it looked like the end again. Silence. Flatline. But then; it shifted. The new consortium didn’t just bring money. They brought hope. The hope, that is Southend. We stood up again. And somehow, miraculously, Wembley waits. Not as a consolation. Not as a novelty. But for what it means to never give up or give in.

This isn’t just a final. It’s a statement: We. Are. Still. Here.

For every fan who stood when there was nothing left to stand on.
For every child who wears blue because their dad, mum, or mate did.
For every generation yet to wear it:
This moment is everything.

This is what belonging looks like: Not just winning, but loving something enough to hurt with it, to wait with it, to rise with it. Because Southend isn’t just football. It’s all of us: past, present, future. Its names etched in memory. Not just the players, but people. It’s grief and glory in the same breath. Not just a badge, but blood.

To the players:
You carry more than tactics. You carry the stories, the sacrifices, the soul of this club. We see you and know the price you’ve paid. We believe in you.

To the management:
You believed when belief looked foolish. Rebuilding from nothing to something. We are proud of you.

To the fans:
The reason this club breathes. Singing in the shadows and now you stand in the sunshine. Never giving up and never giving in. But still standing and still believing.

To the consortium:
You didn’t just walk into a football club. You walked into history, heartbreak and hope barely hanging on. You inherited more than debt and despair. You inherited dreams that refused to die. Because this isn’t your club now. It’s our club, together. And what we build next, we build as one.

We may not know what comes next. But this? This is what hope looks like. This is what rising from the ashes feels like.

So here’s to all who came before.

Here’s to those still standing.

Here’s to what may come.

Southend United. Our club. Your club. My club.

Not just still standing; but now daring to dream. Again!

Fantastic words John,
Wow!! hard to believe it was all those years ago when you were over with Michael at Roots Hall.
Hope this finds you all keeping well, "Keep the Faith"
Cheers Dave,xx

 

[RHB]

I’ve never lived in Southend, I live in Newman, a mining town in the blistering red dust of the Australian Outback.
Sixteen years under 40-degree skies, walking with Aboriginal friends and stories older than time.
And yet, somehow, a part of my heart beats in the stand at Roots Hall.

Back in the ’90s, I wasn’t just looking for a football team. I was looking for something real.
Not a club dripping with money or headline fame: but one with heart, blood in the soil and soul in the stands.
That’s when I found you: Southend United. The Shrimpers.
You had me from the first Chris Phillips match report and every ShrimperZone post that followed.

In 1999, I moved to Malawi, a decade deep in a place of poverty and community.
In a world where luxury was rare and struggle was constant, every match-day report became an anchor.
BBC Essex dropping in and out through the African evening, Roots Hall lighting up my imagination as the sun set behind the hills of rural Malawi. Those were hard years personally. ShrimperZone became more than a forum. It became shelter. A place I felt I belonged.

Then came January 2014. I walked the High Street in winter. Stood on the pier with my Son. And now I was finally at Roots Hall for the first time. And I felt it. This club wasn’t just a Stadium, it was home. But like all families, we’ve had our struggles. The rise of to the heights of Championship, when we dared to believe. And the fall and the slow slide, to non-league. Where the dream turned into a nightmare of stripped points, unpaid wages and broken promises. Managers revolving. Dreams deferred. The Fossetts Farm Fantasy. And a painful scoreboard that told more truth than the chairman ever did.

But we stood. We sang. We stayed. And now it’s 2025.

This time last year, it looked like the end again. Silence. Flatline. But then; it shifted. The new consortium didn’t just bring money. They brought hope. The hope, that is Southend. We stood up again. And somehow, miraculously, Wembley waits. Not as a consolation. Not as a novelty. But for what it means to never give up or give in.

This isn’t just a final. It’s a statement: We. Are. Still. Here.

For every fan who stood when there was nothing left to stand on.
For every child who wears blue because their dad, mum, or mate did.
For every generation yet to wear it:
This moment is everything.

This is what belonging looks like: Not just winning, but loving something enough to hurt with it, to wait with it, to rise with it. Because Southend isn’t just football. It’s all of us: past, present, future. Its names etched in memory. Not just the players, but people. It’s grief and glory in the same breath. Not just a badge, but blood.

To the players:
You carry more than tactics. You carry the stories, the sacrifices, the soul of this club. We see you and know the price you’ve paid. We believe in you.

To the management:
You believed when belief looked foolish. Rebuilding from nothing to something. We are proud of you.

To the fans:
The reason this club breathes. Singing in the shadows and now you stand in the sunshine. Never giving up and never giving in. But still standing and still believing.

To the consortium:
You didn’t just walk into a football club. You walked into history, heartbreak and hope barely hanging on. You inherited more than debt and despair. You inherited dreams that refused to die. Because this isn’t your club now. It’s our club, together. And what we build next, we build as one.

We may not know what comes next. But this? This is what hope looks like. This is what rising from the ashes feels like.

So here’s to all who came before.

Here’s to those still standing.

Here’s to what may come.

Southend United. Our club. Your club. My club.

Not just still standing; but now daring to dream. Again!

Absolutely super post mate, I must admit there was a tear in my eye at times reading this. Keep posting and come back and visit any time. You are one of us.

 

[Cricko]

I’ve never lived in Southend, I live in Newman, a mining town in the blistering red dust of the Australian Outback.
Sixteen years under 40-degree skies, walking with Aboriginal friends and stories older than time.
And yet, somehow, a part of my heart beats in the stand at Roots Hall.

Back in the ’90s, I wasn’t just looking for a football team. I was looking for something real.
Not a club dripping with money or headline fame: but one with heart, blood in the soil and soul in the stands.
That’s when I found you: Southend United. The Shrimpers.
You had me from the first Chris Phillips match report and every ShrimperZone post that followed.

In 1999, I moved to Malawi, a decade deep in a place of poverty and community.
In a world where luxury was rare and struggle was constant, every match-day report became an anchor.
BBC Essex dropping in and out through the African evening, Roots Hall lighting up my imagination as the sun set behind the hills of rural Malawi. Those were hard years personally. ShrimperZone became more than a forum. It became shelter. A place I felt I belonged.

Then came January 2014. I walked the High Street in winter. Stood on the pier with my Son. And now I was finally at Roots Hall for the first time. And I felt it. This club wasn’t just a Stadium, it was home. But like all families, we’ve had our struggles. The rise of to the heights of Championship, when we dared to believe. And the fall and the slow slide, to non-league. Where the dream turned into a nightmare of stripped points, unpaid wages and broken promises. Managers revolving. Dreams deferred. The Fossetts Farm Fantasy. And a painful scoreboard that told more truth than the chairman ever did.

But we stood. We sang. We stayed. And now it’s 2025.

This time last year, it looked like the end again. Silence. Flatline. But then; it shifted. The new consortium didn’t just bring money. They brought hope. The hope, that is Southend. We stood up again. And somehow, miraculously, Wembley waits. Not as a consolation. Not as a novelty. But for what it means to never give up or give in.

This isn’t just a final. It’s a statement: We. Are. Still. Here.

For every fan who stood when there was nothing left to stand on.
For every child who wears blue because their dad, mum, or mate did.
For every generation yet to wear it:
This moment is everything.

This is what belonging looks like: Not just winning, but loving something enough to hurt with it, to wait with it, to rise with it. Because Southend isn’t just football. It’s all of us: past, present, future. Its names etched in memory. Not just the players, but people. It’s grief and glory in the same breath. Not just a badge, but blood.

To the players:
You carry more than tactics. You carry the stories, the sacrifices, the soul of this club. We see you and know the price you’ve paid. We believe in you.

To the management:
You believed when belief looked foolish. Rebuilding from nothing to something. We are proud of you.

To the fans:
The reason this club breathes. Singing in the shadows and now you stand in the sunshine. Never giving up and never giving in. But still standing and still believing.

To the consortium:
You didn’t just walk into a football club. You walked into history, heartbreak and hope barely hanging on. You inherited more than debt and despair. You inherited dreams that refused to die. Because this isn’t your club now. It’s our club, together. And what we build next, we build as one.

We may not know what comes next. But this? This is what hope looks like. This is what rising from the ashes feels like.

So here’s to all who came before.

Here’s to those still standing.

Here’s to what may come.

Southend United. Our club. Your club. My club.

Not just still standing; but now daring to dream. Again!

This should be in the new book @Suffolk Shrimper In Dorset

 

[overseas shrimper]

This should be in the new book @Suffolk Shrimper In Dorset

Already alerted.

 

[greyerfox]

I suggest that the heartfelt words of John are printed and prominently displayed in the home changing room at Roots Hall and at the training ground. If I was Kev I would make certain the squad read the piece before Wembley. As a rallying cry I can think of no better. It encapsulates perfectly what it has meant and continues to mean to be a Shrimper. Just superb. And Andy Leeder is on the case for it to be included in "Shrimpers' Tales", the hugely anticipated new book to be published later this year. Order your copy now!

 

[Mad Cyril]

I knew a Wembley final would bring out the plastics and glory hunters.

 

[Suffolk Shrimper In Dorset]

I'm pleased yo say that southend4eva has agreed to adapt his piece here for our book 'Roots & All' that we are currently working hard on.

 

[greyerfox]

I'm pleased yo say that southend4eva has agreed to adapt his piece here for our book 'Roots & All' that we are currently working hard on.

Great news, Andy. Sorry to have got the book title wrong above. Must keep up!!

 

[Smiffy]

Somebody send this to Kev, the players and COSU please. Just brilliant.

 

[Swiss Tony]

Going on holiday late July is there a chance I could be reading this around the pool? If not is there date for the release many thanks.

 

[greyerfox]

Somebody send this to Kev, the players and COSU please. Just brilliant.

See post #8 above for similar ideas

 

[southend4eva]

Thanks everyone for your comments and encouragement. There are many of us, scattered across the world. Exiles who wear the badge like a heartbeat, who follow from afar yet feel every rise and fall as if we were right there on the terraces. We’ll be with you all, even though we’re far away. UTB’s