Alex Callow would not swap ‘Typical Brentford’ for all the joys of East London.
On the other side of London from UEL, it is often said that West is best. Hardly surprising, given the wealthy football clubs and wedding cake houses to be found there. But Brentford FC players Harlee Dean, Tony Craig and Sammy Saunders may beg to differ. I bet they can’t wait to get back to where they came from – East London – after they were involved in one of the most heartbreaking matches of all time.
Sammy Saunders and Harlee Dean are both graduates of the Dagenham and Redbridge academy, and Tony Craig is a Millwall hero. They all moved West in search of riches and glamour, but their dreams turned to nightmares on the last day of the 2012-13 season when Brentford had to win to go up….
I won’t give the game away right now, but as a Brentford fan and a Wessie studying in East London, let’s just say it was the worst day of life.
The scenario was simple. Win and we go up. Lose or draw and it’s the dreaded playoff – and we have a record of seven playoff finals and seven losses.
The match was a sell out. The four pubs next to Griffin Park were packed to the brim with fans young and old singing ‘Hey Jude’ at full volume; everyone hoping that Brentford would finally reach the dazzling heights of the Championship, having lingered in Leagues One and Two for what seems like the whole of modern history.
Kick-off, and the atmosphere was tense. Raucous, boisterous chants were replaced by nervous energy. ‘Don’t fuck it up’ were the words on everyone’s lips. The sound of fans biting their fingernails was almost deafening..
With both teams understandably nervous, it was a poor match. The only real chance of the first half came from Brentford’s Bradley Wight-Phillips, who hit the The real drama came after the 95th minute when Brentford were awarded a penalty. We celebrated like the goal was already scored.
I’m not a religious man, but when Marcello Trotta was stepping up to take the pen I did pray that God would guide the ball into the net. In the week before the game I tried to get my karma levels up. Obviously helping old ladies with their bags down the stairs and cleaning my room wasn’t enough.
After the celebrations for the penalty award, the place turned deathly silent. One kick will decide whether Brentford will go up to the Championship for the first time. Some people couldn’t look as Trotta stepped up. I had my head in my hands, my legs were shaking. I held my breath….
I heard someone shouting ‘Fucking Fulham, Fucking Fulham’ – complaining bitterly about the club which loaned us Trotta, the penalty taker,
Trotta’s penalty had smashed off the bar, the Brentford players were too emotionally shattered to get up for the rebound; and Doncaster broke and scored to win the League One title, condemning us to another season below Championship level.
On the train back, my two friends wanted to talk to me but I was in my own bubble, where the sounds were muffled. Trying to get my head around it, all I could come up with was the saying we have around here: Typical Brentford.
It’s a way of acknowledging our numerous setbacks without making them explicit.
For a brief moment I thought of going against type and turning my loyalties East. I am an East London student, so why shouldn’t I support an East London team, preferably one that’s wining?
But I had to revert to Brentford, typical or not.