A Terry-ble week (From Croydon Guardian)

A Terry-ble week

2:10pm Wednesday 28th November 2007

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A week ago I was listening to the God-awful 606 programme on 5Live.

It was the night Engerland were humiliated by Croatia. As yet another supporter droned on witlessly about foreigners in the game and a lack of the bulldog spirit, I was quickly losing the will to live. But then my ears were pricked...

"Look, I'm a Brentford fan."

Not words you hear every day on a national radio station.

"I pay £17 a week, but at least I know I'm going to be watching rubbish."

My thoughts entirely, sir.

Supporting Brentford is enough of a drain, without having to follow another bunch of useless tossers as well, particularly such a ridiculously vain, inept and greedy bunch as the England team.

In contrast I can take one crumb of comfort from following the Bees this season - I can relax safe in the knowledge that none of current set of Brentford players are being set up for life by their sorry excuses for football careers.

No, they will have to struggle long and hard to make ends meet once they hang up their boots, all due their collective lack of guts, determination or skill. If there was any justice at all they will all end their days in a Dickensian poor house, with nothing but rags for clothes and gruell for sustenance.

As you may have noticed I'm feeling unusually bitter this week. Mainly because I spent my Saturday afternoon watching Brentford capitulate, like an Italian soldier, at London Road.

Occassionally television videprinters spell out an outlandish scoreline just to make sure everyone is clear and there can be no mistake.
I wasn't there to witness Brentford's result against Peterborough roll in on the TV so I didn't get to see the seven goals scored by the Posh spelled out for me.

No, I had the honour of watching the debacle in glorious 3D technicolour instead.

I'll resist pointlessly poring over the gorey details. Brentford are, after all, just a football team, not a dead Princess in a Paris tunnel. But when the best thing you can say about your day was that the tea was very nice, you know you are in trouble.

We are now out of the cup too, which is wonderful news. It's not as if we need the money...

Something I've noticed about the famous commentator (and occassional football manager) Terry Butcher, apart from the fact he has the tactical acumen of a lobotomised Steve McLaren, is his worrying tendency to bring whatever he is talking about round to the subject of alcohol.

In pre-season he told a press conference his favourite formation was 4-4-2 "four bottles of red, 4 bottles of white and a couple of bottles of brandy" and in his "personal message to the fans" on the club's website this week he witters on about how we all needed a drink after the Posh game.

Mr Butcher, I understand on account of your apparent predeliction for boozing, you may not be in a fit state to get behind the wheel of a car at this precise moment, so, I'll cut you a deal. I'm happy to pay for a taxi to take you anywhere you wish, on the one condition that it is many miles away from Brentford.