No. 46: Field Mill [Mansfield Town]

Saturday, 22nd August 2015 
Mansfield Town v. Oxford United [League 2] 1-1

My dad was born in Mansfield and bred in its rural surrounds, so for this trip I invited him to spend the weekend with me in his hometown, visit some family and show me the sights. It was a memorable weekend all round.

We arrived Friday afternoon, checked into our B&B a short walk from the town centre, then went off to meet my uncle for an early evening beer in a pub my dad used to drink in 50 years ago.

Field Mill Stadium behind rows of houses.

Back then, it was called the Horse and Jockey. In an effort no doubt to make it seem a bit more upmarket and trendy, it was now called "...and why not?". It certainly looked a lot more posh than it did in the 1960s, my dad thought, with its craft beers, velvet drapes and padded benched booths.

Almost as soon as we arrived though and took a seat in the outdoor area, a fight broke out amongst a bunch of female drinkers that ended with a cocktail being thrown in one of their faces and a storming off from all 4 of their number leaving smashed glass and strewn chairs in its wake.

Clockwise starting Left: '...and why not?' pub; fight aftermath; I♥Mansfield; Miner Statue.

Initially taken aback by the scene, my uncle soon reassured my dad - "You are back in Mansfield now Dennis!". And truly we were.

Mansfield is in origins a working-class market town that grew in line with the main industrial output of this part of the East Midlands - coal mining. As such, you'd expect it to be a little rough around the edges. Although like many similar places since the decline of mining and the depression that came to the area as a result, the town has made efforts to pick itself up, redevelop the centre and smarten itself up a bit.

Mansfield Town Centre, looking towards Railway Viaduct

There are still a run of boarded up shops and former pubs on Leeming Street as you walk towards the market square. But as you turn right and pass under the imposing arches of the Great Eastern railway viaduct passing high above the town centre, there are signs of gentrification.

On the corner of Dame Flogan Street, there is the CAMRA-approved tiny 'Beer Shack' for a start - which was a swarm of hipster beards, waxed-moustaches and intelligent conversation as we walked past.

Olde Ramme Inn: Rustic Charm.

This new place wasn't for us on a nostalgia tour - instead we headed to The Olde Ramme Inn, another former haunt of my father's from back when it mattered not what the pub looked like or who else was in the pub where you drank your beer.

I'm glad to say that the 'Ramme' has kept those traditions up a treat - featuring a table of youngsters who looked like heroin-users, the pub itself looked like an absolute shithole. It had also added 'smelt like' to that impressive roster of charms in the intervening years since my Dad last sank beers here.

Still - we had a couple in here chatting away to the friendly barmaid, and my 67-year-old father was even approached by one of the scag-heads asking him if he was single as she was looking for a sugar daddy. Hmm.

I managed to drag my father and uncle away from this delightful young lady and we went looking for some food.

As ever, I fancied a curry. My uncle hadn't ever had an Indian meal before, so I was a little worried that Mansfield may not have somewhere good enough for his first taste. How wrong I could be.

Up near the arches again and past the Beer Shack was another gentrified establishment - a newly-opened restaurant called Mangrove that we'd been recommended. We were lucky to get in to be honest - the place was absolutely rammed but they fitted us in for a quick sitting.

Mangrove Indian Bistro, Mansfield. Inset: a man's first curry.

It was excellent - I had a Chicken Mirch Masala - which was a cheeky number that was creamy and yet had an extremely spicy chilli kick to it. My uncle had a korma (probably wise for his first time) and I'm glad to say enjoyed it immensely and had no reported side-effects the next morning. Which was more than can be said for me.

That was quite enough for one night - we said goodnight to my moderately-spiced uncle and my dad & I staggered home to the B&B to sleep off the Mansfield ales.

Saturday morning was up bright and early for breakfast and then off to drive around the many places my dad managed to live in during his childhood in Mansfield. First was the council house he was born in near the town centre, then the place he lived in from 3-7 years old out on the Bull Farm estate, then another a few streets away for another year, then his fondest childhood memories on Howard Road from when he was 8 till about 12.

A selection of my Dad's childhood Mansfield homes. Plus Social Club his dad was barred from.

I knew my dad had spent his early childhood in Mansfield but hadn't realised quite how many places he'd lived in. Why was it you were always moving, I asked him?

"I'm not sure, but I think it was because my dad was always upsetting the neighbours so the council kept moving us!".

This doesn't surprise me - my granddad was a bit of a rogue by all accounts, as I continued to find out on our day driving around residential Mansfield.

"Here is where he had a fight in the street which stopped the traffic."
"Over there is the Social Club he was barred from."
"On that corner he threw a horse-drawn ice-cream cart onto its side, including both tethered horses and owner still inside, because he wouldn't serve your auntie another ice cream after she dropped it."

A pattern had certainly emerged!

What also emerged was my dad's amazement at how much of Mansfield's green-belt that he'd grown up in was now housing. Fields that he and other children had frolicked in beside their newly-built post-war council estate homes were now islands of ever-expanding concrete and expanding home-ownership.

A walk around Newton: Five-Pits Trail and Tibshelf Ponds.

Our final stop before the football was the ex-mining village of Newton just over the county border in Derbyshire, where my grandparents moved their expanding family of 8 children when my dad was 12 and this village remained their home until the late 1980s.

Newton in the 60s was a little different to today's pretty green rural village - there were still 5 pit-heads operating then and my Dad and his siblings' walk to school across the muddy treeless fields was the same path trodden by workers heading into the mines for a hard day of dusty toil.

Today, dense woodlands that my dad said didn't exist 50 years ago have have taken over, and the paths and railway tracks of old are now set aside for walkers tracing paths through the woods on the Five Pits Trail, or anglers at Tibshelf Ponds - which stand today on the site of an old colliery.

Pint of Mild & Bag of Scratchings: East Midlands Classic.

Having done a good couple of miles' walking around the trail in scorching sunshine, we returned to the village for a welcome pint of mild at my granddad's former home from home, the George and Dragon.

On hearing our story of re-tracing my Dad's childhood, the landlord pointed us in the direction of an old man in the corner who'd been using the pub for 60 years.

"Do you remember my father, Dennis Mason?" asked my dad.
The old man did a double-take, flinched slightly (my dad does look a lot like my grandfather did), then said with a smile "Oh aye. Every bugger in Derbyshire knows Dennis Mason!".

Field Mill: Corner of Ian Greaves Stand & Quarry Lane End.

I wasn't going to stop and ask for any more stories as to why everyone knew him! So it was finally time to head back into town and off to the football.

Mansfield Town's 'One Call' Stadium, or Field Mill as it actually should be called, designates itself the oldest professional football ground in the world. I haven't actually checked this for veracity but having definitely hosted football since 1861, I'd believe them.

The newest bit at Field Mill - The Ian Greaves Stand.

Not much remains of course from these days. The two end stands were redeveloped in the late 1990s, and the impressive Ian Greaves (west) Stand opened in 2001. This two-tiered cantilevered 5,500-capacity stand would look good enough at many Championship grounds.

This is in stark contrast though to the dilapidated and closed-off Bishop Street Terrace which runs the length of the other side of the ground. As regular readers will know, I'm a lover of older 'characterful' terraces that are sadly diminishing around the country.

Bishop Street Terrace: Closed.

But this, in its current state at least - isn't one of them, sadly. Cracked corrugated iron, smashed glass and weeds growing through the broken concrete terracing, this has been closed for as long as I remember and is clearly in no fit state to be opening again anytime soon.

Apparently there is even a hole in the roof of the stand which the MTFC supporters association have sponsored as a comedy gesture!

I'm sure the club would love to knock it down and develop it in line with the other stands, but the rows of terraced housing behind make that look unlikely. A shame though that some thought couldn't be put into smartening it up a bit and re-opening some of the terrace section, if you ask me.

The Quarry Lane End. Inset: Stickers on Turnstiles.

Being rather hungover from the night before, I was hoping to be able to sit in the corner of the away end and doze off for some of this game. That wasn't going to happen with the boisterous travelling Yellow Army in full voice after an unbeaten start to the season, was it?

And it became even more unlikely when the game kicked into life straightaway, as the home side took advantage of a very sluggish start from Oxford; Craig Westcarr slotting home a low drive into the bottom left corner after only 3 minutes.

Oxford were not in the races and Mansfield were driving forward trying to push home that advantage. On 7 minutes, Oxford keeper Slocombe committed a clumsy foul at the edge of his box and conceded a clear penalty.

Oxford attack late into the game.

This was unbelievably the first penalty Mansfield had been awarded in 86 games. Even more unbelievably, they missed it - when former Oxford Wembley hero and current Stags talisman Matt Green scooped the ball onto the crossbar. It was to be a painful miss for Mansfield.

Despite further first-half pressure and a couple of chances that Green should perhaps have also buried, Oxford were coming slowly back into the game.

It was honours even half-way through the second half when an absolutely atrocious foul just inside the penalty area by Mansfield's Reggie Lambe sent Callum O'Dowda flying about 6 foot in the air.

From where I was sat, it looked like one of the worst, highest tackles since the era of Billy Bremner. From the Mansfield seats, one Stags fan who messaged me after the game said this and the Oxford performance in general was one of the worst cases he'd ever seen of playing-up to the referee to get decisions!

Shows you how this is very much a game of opinions. However, I invite any Stags fan to view the above footage of said tackle (at about 1min 30) and declare on reflection that this is a fair tackle and/or a case of play-acting!

The resultant penalty was duly despatched and there, 30 mins later without too much further fuss, the match ended 1-1. A tale of two penalties, one taken, one not, the difference between the home side coming away with all 3 points and Oxford remaining unbeaten this season.

Keemar Roofe slots home Oxford's equalising penalty.

Another night in Mansfield was still ahead but thankfully, my Dad was feeling as jaded as I was so I could just blame it on him and not stay out too late two nights in a row!

We had just the one destination, and thankfully it wasn't the Ramme. The weekend finished as it had begun, in the "...and why not?" with my dad and my uncle, my cousin, and a few Stags & Oxford friends of old who popped in to say hello before heading off for an evening of alcohol-fuelled hedonism into the Mansfield night.

For me, this trip wasn't about getting pissed up post-match for a change, it was about spending time with the old man and visiting family and the sights of his childhood. And getting pissed up with him as well of course!

I've tried to find something special about each town I've visited on these trips around the 92 for the past year - and my dad's connection to Mansfield is certainly what is most special to me.

With thanks to Sam Binch (@MTFCMusings), Danny Catling (@owzatdan) Danny Mason & Dennis Mason.

NEXT TIME OUT - BRISTOL ROVERS! Sun 6th September!

No. 85: Liberty Stadium [Swansea City]

Saturday, 15th August 2015
Swansea City v. Newcastle United [Premier League] 2-0

First new ground of the season and it was a trip to visit Wales' premier football club Swansea City for their first home game of the season at The Liberty Stadium.

The last time I saw Swansea play was in December 2004 in the season they were promoted from League 2. The first game they played the following season in League 1, a decade ago in August 2005, was their first in their new spangly Liberty Stadium.

What a lot can happen in 10 years of football. Their opponents that afternoon were the much-fancied Tranmere Rovers. Tranmere are now in The Conference, and Swansea were officially the 8th best side in the land last season.

Swansea's Liberty Stadium: 10 years old this month.

I decided to take advantage of Mr Kingdom Brunel's marvellous Great Western Railway rather than drive the entire length of the M4.

A wise choice. After a few hours I had emerged from the Severn rail tunnel into the ancient Welsh county of Glamorgan, bounded to the North by the coal-mining towns and valleys in the foothills of the Brecon Beacons, and to the south by salt-marshes and post-industrial port cities that stretch to the Bristol Channel and connected this region to the world in times gone by.

At Newport, an old couple got on the train and sat behind me, and although I don't like dealing in stereotypes, their conversation about the breakfast they just had in the station cafe was straight out of Gavin & Stacey.

Husband: "You had an egg, didn't you?"
Wife: "Do you know what I did. It was a bit runny mind, but it was alright."
Husband: "There was a grilled tomato. It was cut in half - then grilled. And the sausages were good too mind."
Wife: "Yes they were."

*long pause*

Wife: "Shame about that butter though."
Husband: "Yes, shame."

This part of the country has its knockers. But the countryside, rural villages and their grand stone churches that the South Wales railway passes through are a beautiful sight.

Something that can't be said for the first impression of Swansea arriving by train. Truth is, the city centre has seen regeneration around the marina, including museums, shopping centre, and apartments overlooking the bay - and this shouldn't be discounted.

Swansea station and a few of its nearby inviting hostelries.

But the immediate vicinity around the station is a run-down area with boarded-up pubs, empty shops and on one side-street I walked down, a rough-looking local letting his Staffordshire bull terrier shit right in the middle of the road before walking off. But not before giving me a "I'll rub your fucking face in it if you want?" stare when I did a double-take to confirm that yes, he was going to leave that steaming pile of dog's mess right where his beloved Bella squeezed it from her angry anus.

On the way home I overheard a Newcastle fan saying that Swansea was an awful, ugly place. But he was wrong. Like most visiting fans he probably holed up in a Wetherspoons before and after the game, and had I done the same and my only experience of local culture was Bella's expulsions I might have thought the same. But on these trips I'm trying to dig a little deeper - and I'm extra glad I did on this occasion.

Swansea Bay viewed from Mumbles: Beautiful.

I have a few friends who went to University here so I had a bit of insider knowledge. I sidestepped the dog-doo and headed straight to the bus station to catch the No. 2 (I won't do another poo joke here) to The Mumbles.

The Mumbles is 5 miles from the city centre along Swansea Bay - and the first thing you notice is as soon as you hit the waterfront, this place is stunning. Stretching all the way from the city down to the Gower Peninsula are stunning views back across the bay towards the city and the South Wales coastline I'd just travelled along. I'm ashamed to say I really wasn't expecting this of Swansea.

View of Mumbles seafront from Oystermouth Castle [Inset].

The Mumbles itself is a busy yet still quaint coastal resort town with a promenade stretching its front - framed at one end by a pier and the other by a hilltop castle. This Oystermouth Castle and its commanding view of the bay was my first stop. Built 900 years ago, the castle was there to subdue South Wales by the new Norman rulers of England as the Marcher Lords pushed west across the border.

The Welsh flag now flies atop its turrets and its repressive origins, although not forgotten by the restoration team, do seem a thing of the past.

It was a gorgeous summer's day by now, and I walked off to the pier along the promenade, joined on my walk by families, cyclists, fishermen and boating types.

Mumbles Promenade. Nothing to see here.

Verdi's Ice Cream: Good.

South Wales is rather oddly synonymous with Italian ice-cream of course. Yes, it is. See article here if you don't believe me. So I had to dive into Verdi's Ice Cream Parlour at Knab Rock and grab myself a couple of scoops for the trek to the pier - and I can honestly say that this was the best ice cream I've ever tasted. Genuinely. And I've eaten a lot of ice cream, so take my recommendation and head to Knab Rock for a scoop of the Honeycomb!

There wasn't much at the pier itself - the obligatory amusement arcade and souvenir shop, and an overpriced cafe selling seaside favourites, but the view back towards Swansea and across the bay was worth the walk.

Mumbles Pier: View back to Mumbles. Inset: You Tell Me. I think it's something from a nightmare.

On the walk back I had a quick pint in The Pilot, which would today be the last stop on the once-famous 'Mumbles Mile' pub crawl. In its heyday, the Mumbles was packed full of stag and hen parties here for the challenge of a pint in one of each of the 20 pubs along the mile - usually culminating at the nightclub at the end of the pier. The sad wave of pub closures in Britain hasn't left Mumbles out though as only about 9 remain open.

The Pilot, Mumbles: CAMRA Welsh pub of the Year 2014.

The Pilot is probably the best of these though so not having time to fit in 9 pints I'm glad I stopped here for a pint brewed on site in CAMRA's Welsh pub of the year 2014. They also don't fuck about if wasps fly in the pub.

I had a disappointing lunch in Mumbles that I didn't even finish - Chaplin Steakhouse makes a very disappointing burger. I probably should have gone for the steak. Or the Cockles and Laverbread special. Ho-hum. By now time was ticking and the whole point of this exercise wasn't to eat ice cream or eat seaweed, but to watch football - so I got myself a taxi straight to the ground.

Liberty Stadium Pre-Match Drinks.

I had a very talkative and friendly taxi driver who described how exciting a time it was for the city because of Swansea's recent footballing success. He also told me how much the city had changed in his lifetime - as we drove inland along the banks of the river Tawe, he told me that the dense tree-cover lining its banks and the adjacent mountainside (his words - I thought it was a hill to be honest) were only 20-30 years old.

He in fact remembered helping plant some of the saplings whilst at school. Before that time, the river banks all the way in land were a wasteland - nothing would grow due to the pollution of the factories and the barges taking copper and coal down the river to port. In his lifetime, the city had changed immeasurably from an ugly industrial shithole to an emergent green, prosperous place energised by renovation and investment.

Liberty Stadium: A Packed West (Main) Stand.

And Swansea City's establishment as a Premiership Football team has come hand-in-hand with that civic rejuvenation. I'm not sure which has come first but I'm sure they have mutually influenced each other as this is a city and a club riding a crest of pride at the moment.

There was nothing to dampen that pride this afternoon - Swansea pretty much swept aside Newcastle as if it was a pre-season game. On top from the start, Swansea's dreadlocked French striker Bafetimbi Gomis rounded and slided past Krul in the Newcastle goal after only 9 minutes. 

Despite a brief resurgence from the visitors just before half-time, the sending off of Janmaat just before the break for persistently fouling man-of-the-match Jefferson Montero ended the game as a contest.

Liberty Stadium: East Stand pre-Match.

The Ecuadorian winger Montero tore Newcastle ragged in a traditional winger's role down the left, and as the bloke sat next to me so frustratedly put it: "If he keeps playing this well we'll struggle to keep him!" It's a strange thing to be annoyed your best player was so dazzling, but does highlight that for all Swansea's success, they will always be looking over their shoulder.

This is also a club that has gone to pains not to milk their success - even announcing this season that they are subsidising away travel for their own fans so that no Swansea fan will pay more than £22 at any Premiership ground this season. An amazing gesture given the price of following football these days.

Swansea attack the Newcastle goal. Inset: Cyril the Swan dejected after half-time penalty miss.

This is something that perhaps a club with such recent roots in lower leagues can do more easily than an established top flight club, but nonetheless a sell-out crowd most weeks and expected expansion of the 20,000 capacity stadium over the next few years to satisfy current demand would suggest they are on the right track. And good for them too.

But I'm also reminded of my taxi driver earlier in the day. He remembered all too well when Swansea were in League Two just 10 years ago. As such, he was mindful that the fickleness of football meant that Swans fans should not take their current seat at the top table for granted. They needed to enjoy it now, as in another 10 years - they could be back where they once were. Wise words.

After a 2nd half that had one early goal and Newcastle on damage limitation parking the bus throughout as Swansea played keep-ball, I walked the 1.5 miles back into the City and grabbed some food before my train home.

Smoke Haus Ribs: Delicious.

This time the food wasn't a disappointment - some bloody lovely baby back ribs down at The Smoke Haus, where I devoured this sticky BBQ covered meat whilst watching all the hen parties in their pink sashes and heels walk up and down the many bars of Wind Street. It was still early but it was clearly time for me to go - I didn't want to be here to see if any of these lot were drunk enough to take the lead from the Staffie I saw earlier that morning.

So - a surprising visit to Swansea where I found a lovely seaside suburb to this city with an undeserved reputation. For all other visitors who follow, may i suggest you rhoi'r gorau, arhoswch i edrych* a little further afield before you judge this place. 

It's actually rather nice. And the football team aren't so bad either, these days.

*stop, wait & look

With thanks to Howell Brown (@DTHB_)

NEXT UP: 22nd August MANSFIELD TOWN v. Oxford!

No. 4: Griffin Park [Brentford]

Tuesday, 11th August 2015
Brentford v. Oxford United [League Cup 1st Round] 0-4

"Greg Dyke!
Dean Gaffney!
Richard Archer of Hard-Fi!
The Drummer from Status Quo!
Cameron Diaz (apparently?!)... Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Your boys took one HELL of a beating!!!"

Well Bugger me with a stiff-wire brush, I wasn't quite expecting that score line.

Saying that, being the pessimist that I am I probably was expecting Brentford, 5th last season in the Championship, to bang about 4 past my beloved yet lowly League 2 mid-tablers Oxford.

OK, so Brentford fielded an under-strength side, including 8 new starters - but you can only beat what is put in front of you and League 2 Oxford thrashed Championship Brentford to absolute fuck.

That's the review of the game covered then - now, onto the padding!

Griffin Park: Braemar Road Main Entrance.

Brentford isn't a new ground for me. In fact, it was the very first away game I visited watching Oxford, back on New Year's Eve 1994 when I was a fresh-faced 16 year old.

From the outside, not an awful lot looks to have changed at Griffin Park in the intervening 20 years since my first visit. Indeed, the double-decker Brook Road Stand allocated to away fans, with its shallow terrace below upper-tier seating hadn't changed one bit since 1986 when it was opened.

Oxford Fans in the Brook Road Stand.

Known as 'The Wendy House' to the locals, the travelling Yellows housed in its bowels certainly had a whale of a time recreating their own London Road home terraces c.1986 - the year that Oxford won the League Cup that they were challenging Brentford in this evening. It's a long way from a Wembley return, but Oxford fans can be allowed to dream.

Neon Lucozade: Welcome to London

If you are used to driving into London along the M4 from the west, you'll recognise Brentford instantly as the bit where London really begins, as you head onto the Great West Road flyover that darts in-between and beneath the shiny glass offices of Sega and GlaxoSmithKline, the many advertising hoardings and the ugly tower blocks. I always treat the glimpse of the Lucozade sign as confirmation that you have arrived in London.

Despite a protracted time exploring the no parking zones around Griffin Park I was early enough to bag a spot in a side-street about half a mile away and set off in search of something to fill a few dead hours pre-match.

The annoying thing about mid-week games of course is I'm not going to have time to fit in anything 'cultural'. So a trip to the Brentford Museum of Water & Steam will have to wait for the next visit. As would the apparently stunning Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, somewhere I have been meaning to visit for a long time.

So what else is Brentford famous for? Well, for being the only football ground to have a pub on all four corners, of course! So what better way to start the evening than a pint in each you say? Well, perhaps a half of weak ale in each - considering I was driving post-match and didn't fancy driving off that M4 flyover into a giant neon bottle of Lucozade.

Corner 1: The New Inn.

First stop, The New Inn, a nice old-style place with plenty of sports memorabilia to gaze at as I sunk that first half of Young's Bitter. No point hanging around when you've 4 pubs to visit - straight onto the next one on the corner of Braemar Road - the Princess Royal.

Corner 2: The Princess Royal.

Well I wish I had hung around in the first pub - this was a bit of a shithole. 'Spit and Sawdust' comes to mind. Still, I was on a mission so necked my half of London Pride outside rather than linger on the sticky lino inside and set off past the main entrance of the football ground to the next corner.

Corner 3: The Griffin.

This was The Griffin, made famous by notorious football hard-man Elijah Wood in his unlikely role in the most fantastical fantasy adventure he's ever been in - Green Street. Despite this, The Griffin is as good a pub as you might wish to find on the corner of a football ground, and I decided to push the boat out and have a full pint in here as I chatted away to some old faces I knew amongst the travelling fans. It felt good to be back into football season mode, once again!

Corner 4: The Royal Oak - CLOSED!!!

Keep Brentford Tidy, yeah?

But I still had the final corner to tick off, so walked past the away turnstiles to the final pub - The Royal Oak. As I rounded the corner and saw the most tucked-away pub of the 4 and its classy faux-Tudor woodwork I thought I was in for a right treat of a place to finish up in. As it was, the fucker was closed, boarded up, ceased trading! However you like to say it I wasn't getting any alcohol from this place.

I found out later from talking to some local Bees that it shut its doors at the end of last season and doesn't look likely to re-open. What a shame - even more so for trivia fans and pub quiz compilers everywhere, Griffin Park has also lost a little of its charm as a result. Ironic considering this probably wasn't the most charming establishment in itself.

I trudged back dejectedly along Brook Road towards the Albany Fish Bar, where I had been told that the chips were 'the business' by one of the Brentford fans I'd spoken to.

Albany Fish Bar: Chips = good. Saveloy = unpopular.

The verdict? Pretty good chips in truth - worth the 20 minute queue. The less said about the sorry-looking lonely saveloys the better though.

That's enough pre-match culture then. Chips and beer - what more do you want? It was time to get into the ground and soak up the magic of the cup under the floodlights - is there anything better?

Streamers & Smoke Bombs: View from the Brook Road Terrace.

Griffin Park will soon enough be no more, as Brentford plan to move to a new 20,000 capacity ground for the 2017-18 season, about half a mile away next to Kew Bridge station. It'll be a sad day for Brentford and for all visiting fans when they do, as English football will lose another cracking old ground of character.

The basic structure of the ground isn't ancient but showing some signs of wear in places. But a lot of recent updating has made this one of those places that combines a few mod-cons such as 'seats' and a 'roof' without losing too much of the original ground's character.

A Rare Brentford Attack. Repelled.

Opposite the away end, the Ealing Road Terrace was up until 2007 an uncovered terrace that for many years housed the visitors, including on my last visit in 2005 when the Oxford fans were pelted with eggs from the road behind!

These days, the home fans aren't scraping yoke off their jackets, but instead enjoying a rare treat in this now roofed end - watching Championship football every week standing on a terrace.

If there were any eggs to be thrown tonight, it would have been from these home fans at their own players. Just 12 minutes into the game and the visitors were 3-0 up, including something of a wonder goal from Oxford's Kemar Roofe, lobbing the Brentford keeper from 40 yards having taken just one touch. It was so remarkable that most in the ground took a few seconds to realise it had actually gone in.

Oxford go 3-0 up, 12 mins gone. Delighted fans.

It was only when Roofe wheeled away to celebrate that the Oxford fans realised that yes, that did go in. Remarkable.

A humiliating night for Brentford, but they will get over it. This is very much a club on the up, and pre-war years aside most Bees fans probably feel last season's journey to the Championship play-offs was their best ever; and every Bees fan I've spoken to doesn't believe they've peaked yet.

Brook Road Stand Entrance.

The club are certainly a far cry away from the middle of the last decade when they were trying their best to get relegated out of League Two and fans were rattling buckets outside Griffin Park just to keep the club afloat.

Long-time fan Matthew Benham has slowly taken control of the club over the past five years and although not popular in all circles of fandom, there is no denying the man's love and ambition for the club having been a regular on the terraces since a child.

He has also sunk a sizeable portion of his own professional gambling fortune into Brentford (£90m since 2012, according to this article), including securing the land for the new stadium. He brings with him a statistical modelling approach to managing and recruiting players - utilising mathematical data from his own company Smartodds to draft in players that fit the team perfectly from nowhere.

Still early days but seems to be working so far, given their success last season. It'll be interesting to see how far maths triumphs over traditional methods in the long-run. Could be the future, all eyes on West London, where the premier team these days isn't QPR or Fulham - but little old Brentford FC.

Maths can't bring perfection though. Tonight the score didn't need a slide rule or mathematical modelling to work out Brentford got it wrong.

1+1+1+1 = 4. That's all the maths I need to worry about!

With thanks to Lisa O'Brien (@lobsteruk), James McGeoghan (@jimmymack84) & Sarah Packer (@Beesbabe1975)

NEXT GAME: SWANSEA CITY v. Newcastle! Saturday 15th August 2015.