Diaz, Drew and me, too
Patrick West
BRENTFORD is one of those places that the press is fond of calling 'unglamorous'. Driving towards Heathrow, one can discern its presence by six grey-brown tower-blocks and a giant GlaxoSmithKlineBeecham building. It is a place most people go through, or over, but rarely to. Unless, of course, they are Cameron Diaz.
According to the Observer, Diaz, star of There's Something About Mary and Charlie's Angels, is a loyal Brentford FC supporter, and has even gone to some games. She was introduced to the club after meeting its former chairman, Dan Tana, who now owns a Hollywood bar. Mr Tana is keen on telling his celebrity clients about Brentford's fortunes, and alleges that all Diaz and Drew Barrymore want to do now is 'talk about how Brentford are doing'.
I can empathise with Diaz. I, too, fell for the charms of this west London club through a barman; in this case, my mate John. My conversion to the club similarly aroused much bemusement, albeit in less exalted circles. Friends were divided as to whether I was being weird, pretentious or masochistic. Let me explain why there is something about Brentford.
According to one report, Diaz loves the club because it is an underdog in a world where sport has become overrun by big business. I thought the same way back in 1997. I had gradually grown weary of my childhood team, Chelsea, which had metamorphosed into a corporate monster. It was ridiculously expensive, and I could derive little excitement from watching a team of over-age, over-paid foreign mercenaries. Brentford, John's team, were a small club struggling in the second division. Yet they and their fans had an old-fashioned charm, and, being a student, I could support a comparably lame team and pass it off as ironic.
Watching a team like Brentford is like being back in the 1980s. In contrast to sanitised, all-seater Premiership stadiums, at Griffin Park there are old terraces, it is relatively cheap, smoking is allowed, the football is erratic and muscular, and there is an ample supply of local pubs. Yet it still incorporates some of the decent innovations. Hooliganism is practically unheard of, and there are plenty of female and black fans.
It is the away games that bring out the best in Bees supporters. It may seem uncivilised to start drinking at nine in the morning, but they do it in style. Our little crew always starts off with wine and cheese, or, in the case of last month's train jolly to Wrexham, champagne and smoked salmon. There is also a love affair with Chomp bars, which used to be hurled in great numbers on to the pitch to the tribal chants of `Chomp! Chow! Chomp!'
Yet even if it is moronic, the fans' behaviour is always light-hearted and accommodating. Brentford supporters will offer away-fans drinks and cream crackers, and, rather than yelling 'No surrender to the IRA' or 'You're going to get your f g head kicked in', can be heard singing 'Kumbaya, my Lord' and the Village People's gay anthem 'In the Navy'.
For this weekend's crunch game at Queen's Park Rangers, Bees fans were originally going to dress as the Village People, but we will now be going as Hollywood stars instead. So, residents of west London, if you see an open-top bus on Saturday afternoon, with grown men dressed as Cameron Diaz, Marilyn Monroe, Denzel Washington and ET, give us a wave.
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