It is not so much the ground itself but what she stands for. Architecturally, Griffin Park represents a time warp. The Bees director of football, Rasmus Ankersen, summarises it perfectly:
"While football has become ever commercialised, invaded by suits and sky boxes, Griffin Park, seemed to have gone under the radar, almost deliberately resisting to change. It was a football experience the original way."
Traditional terracing is an artefactual idea in the higher divisions of English football today. Stands only meters away from the pitch: where you can be sure that every shout of encouragement and abuse - often creative, poetic and beautifully articulated, given the likely ale induced nature of the taunt - has been heard on the pitch. The floodlight pylons, the only thing indicating that there is a football ground tucked away amongst the terraced houses in this little West London town. While football has been busy trying to rush itself into the 23rd century, Griffin Park remains in an era consigned to yesteryear.
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| The floodlights are the only clue that a football stadium is tucked amongst the houses |
It is this element of steadfastness in an ever changing world, that brings comfort and routine to those who pilgrimage there every week. The ground itself has stayed the same, and so has the routine of its fans. When I think about what I will miss most about Griffin Park, it is the consistency of knowing that you will see the same faces, in the same place on every visit.
On the walk from the pub to the ground, it might be the slightly longer stroll if we have been in the Globe, or the short trip down Braemar Road if the Griffin was this weeks choice, the familiar faces will begin to appear. Little nods, hellos and handshakes as you click through the turnstiles into the Braemar Road forecourt.
Amongst the large crowd you know where everyone will be. You can find who you want for a quick two minute catch up or, just as usefully, you know where the people you want to avoid are! You talk to them outside the Hive, there's still time for a quick pint you think... then you remember that its nigh on impossible to get served within twenty minutes in that little bar!
On the walk from the pub to the ground, it might be the slightly longer stroll if we have been in the Globe, or the short trip down Braemar Road if the Griffin was this weeks choice, the familiar faces will begin to appear. Little nods, hellos and handshakes as you click through the turnstiles into the Braemar Road forecourt.
Amongst the large crowd you know where everyone will be. You can find who you want for a quick two minute catch up or, just as usefully, you know where the people you want to avoid are! You talk to them outside the Hive, there's still time for a quick pint you think... then you remember that its nigh on impossible to get served within twenty minutes in that little bar!
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| You know who will be where as you enter the Braemar Road forecourt |
Round to the terrace you walk, you might play a little game of "which card in my wallet can I flash at the stewards patrolling the Ealing Road entrance today?" - my organ donor card, driving licence and oyster have never let me down - before going up the steps past the terrace bar... nope, still no chance you're getting served in time for kick off!
One of the overlooked beauties of Griffin Park is the little open concourse behind the Ealing Road terrace. Sandwiched in between the corrugated metal of the stand and the back gardens of houses, the smoking contingent are out having their last cigarette before kick off.
Just beyond the floodlight, leaning on the back of the terrace, is a gentleman wearing a Brentford bodywarmer, cigarette in hand. To me, this gentleman epitomises a Griffin Park matchday. He will be there, at around 2.45pm, every game. We always say hello, little nod of the head and hand shake, as I proceed down the open concourse to the far entrance of the terrace where I stand. I cannot remember the first time we acknowledged each other, it must be at least four or five years ago now. I do not know his name nor does he know mine. But that small interaction will be taking place all over the ground, in every stand, at every game. We all have people like that, see them in their same spot every game, little hello and on with your day. We don't know their names or when the interaction began but it is a given that you will see them, a weekly routine.
Past my unnamed friend, I walk further down and turn left into the terrace. Like entering the forecourt, you see the terrace subdivided into its little pockets. Same groups, stood in the same place every week. A few people I went to school with will be dotted about, other regular faces in their spots. Quick two minute chat, often nothing to do with the football "don't tell me you've come all the way down from Liverpool just for this game, you must be mad!" before squeezing through the crowds to the back of the stand.
Occasionally, there will be someone you have never seen before stood where you usually do. "Bet he's only started coming since we've been good", you tell yourself as you begrudgingly stand a whole one step in front of where you usually would.
Handshakes, hugs and hellos with my mates who were not in the pub, before everyone decides it is too warm and that all of our coats must be thrown onto that long metal rack at the back of the stand. Tallest person is always on throwing duty... so that's me ruled out, before the players finish their warm up and, for ninety minutes, the actual football takes over from the social.
Everyone will have their own variation of that routine. You don't think about it, you have just been doing it for the last ten, twenty, thirty years so it has become second nature.
So the mourning and the elegies are not just for the ground itself, but to something that has been consistent to so many for as long as they can remember. That sense of community and togetherness that cannot be found in any other walk of life has been shared at Griffin Park since 1904.
Saturday was not just about saying goodbye to a football stadium. It was about saying goodbye to the gentleman in the body warmer with the cigarette. You know who your body warmer man is, chances are you are that person to someone else too, without even knowing it. Because when football does resume and we are in our new stadium, he will be dotted somewhere else amongst the 17,000 seats. No longer leaning on the back of the terrace, body warmer on, cigarette in hand, no longer there to say hello, shake your hand as you walk past, no longer part of your weekly routine.
Just beyond the floodlight, leaning on the back of the terrace, is a gentleman wearing a Brentford bodywarmer, cigarette in hand. To me, this gentleman epitomises a Griffin Park matchday. He will be there, at around 2.45pm, every game. We always say hello, little nod of the head and hand shake, as I proceed down the open concourse to the far entrance of the terrace where I stand. I cannot remember the first time we acknowledged each other, it must be at least four or five years ago now. I do not know his name nor does he know mine. But that small interaction will be taking place all over the ground, in every stand, at every game. We all have people like that, see them in their same spot every game, little hello and on with your day. We don't know their names or when the interaction began but it is a given that you will see them, a weekly routine.
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| With standing terracing, Griffin Park represents a time warp |
Past my unnamed friend, I walk further down and turn left into the terrace. Like entering the forecourt, you see the terrace subdivided into its little pockets. Same groups, stood in the same place every week. A few people I went to school with will be dotted about, other regular faces in their spots. Quick two minute chat, often nothing to do with the football "don't tell me you've come all the way down from Liverpool just for this game, you must be mad!" before squeezing through the crowds to the back of the stand.
Occasionally, there will be someone you have never seen before stood where you usually do. "Bet he's only started coming since we've been good", you tell yourself as you begrudgingly stand a whole one step in front of where you usually would.
Handshakes, hugs and hellos with my mates who were not in the pub, before everyone decides it is too warm and that all of our coats must be thrown onto that long metal rack at the back of the stand. Tallest person is always on throwing duty... so that's me ruled out, before the players finish their warm up and, for ninety minutes, the actual football takes over from the social.
Everyone will have their own variation of that routine. You don't think about it, you have just been doing it for the last ten, twenty, thirty years so it has become second nature.
So the mourning and the elegies are not just for the ground itself, but to something that has been consistent to so many for as long as they can remember. That sense of community and togetherness that cannot be found in any other walk of life has been shared at Griffin Park since 1904.
Saturday was not just about saying goodbye to a football stadium. It was about saying goodbye to the gentleman in the body warmer with the cigarette. You know who your body warmer man is, chances are you are that person to someone else too, without even knowing it. Because when football does resume and we are in our new stadium, he will be dotted somewhere else amongst the 17,000 seats. No longer leaning on the back of the terrace, body warmer on, cigarette in hand, no longer there to say hello, shake your hand as you walk past, no longer part of your weekly routine.
