Score like a Bee
Football, is it really beautiful or is it only a game? I never liked it. Standing in a water-logged field with sheets of iced rain cutting into my eight-year-old legs didn’t sell the experience. With no team, the Saturday afternoon results on the telly made as much sense to me as the shipping forecast. The Match of the Day theme registered like the close-down beep.
Tom is the opposite, a man composed from particles of pure football. He suggested going to a match ages ago, and curious to find out what all the fuss is about, I thought I’d give it a go. Tom’s team is Brentford FC, aka The Bees. West London’s finest might only be six or so miles from Stamford Bridge, but they’re long way from the footygarchy of the Premier League. It’s a proper, bling-free community team.
“Are you ready for the promotion party?” asked Tom down the phone. What can he mean: some sort of marketing event promoting a product? I’ve obviously been working for the man a little too long, as it turns out the ‘promotion party’ is the celebration when Brentford finally win promotion into League One. I sure am ready. Victory is assured, as they’re playing Accrington Stanley and who are they? Although we’re not allowed to mention ‘that’ ad.
It’s a blue-skied April Saturday, good football-watching weather. The ground is on a typical London terraced street, guarded by bustling pubs at each end. People have their red shirts on, booze is being drunk, families are out. The crowded street is buzzing with expectation. Greg Dyke wanders past: the team’s chairman.
Inside the ground we manage to get a place near the front, in the middle. It turns out Brentford supporters are tiny little creatures - they must be, because I have great difficulty wedging my legs in to the red plastic seat. After some milling about on the pitch, the game starts.
“What an amazing header!” I exclaim, this is the first thing that strikes me about the game – the amazing skill with the bonce. I always had trouble using my foot to make the ball go where I wanted, so using the head as a sporting implement seems the height of skill. At half time I find out that all those headers are not good – they display a lack of control.
Sparkling acid green, a pair of glowing boots stood out amongst all the standard issue black and white footwear. These dandyish boots were attached to Sam Williams, a player on loan from Aston Villa, who soon put them to good use and scored the first goal. Cheering, we rise to our feet.
Tom mentions that he’s seen the The Damned United, the new football-themed film. “Keep it down” snaps one of the fans behind us. Ooops, better keep quiet, no ‘arts and culture’ here.
Both teams seem to have a fairly equal control of the ball, but Accrington are a long way from scoring. It seems a wonder that anyone gets a goal, but somehow Ryan Dickson scores a one just before half-time. In the second half we have to strain to see the Bees who are swarming round Stanley’s goal down the other end. Soon there’s a third goal for the Bees. The ball hits the stadium roof a few more times and Stanley have a couple of near misses, but nothing budges and the game finishes with a Bees victory of 3-0.
Retiring to the pub to the sound of ‘Hey Jude’, Arsenal are playing Chelski on the telly. Let’s hope I don’t OD on this stuff. This game, seen from a bird’s eye view, is much more orderly than the one I’ve just seen. It’s always clear who’s got the ball: blues, blues, blues [tackle] reds, reds etc. The ball also stays much nearer the ground.
Through the window, players soon start to troop past in their tracksuits. A few of them stop off for some jerk chicken from the stand opposite. I don’t know if they’re going round the corner to get a taxi, catch the bus or just walk home, but I doubt there are any limos ready to whisk them back to a gated community. Finally, one last player, with sports bag slung over his shoulder, disappears around the corner to enjoy the walk home with greasy chicken and his son by his side.
Tags: Football Brentford_FC Accrington_Stanley Greg_Dyke