Sometimes the stars just align for you. I came to this FA Sunday Cup match expecting very little, and came away with a great deal.
My 12 year old, having previously displayed no interest in the game, suddenly discovered football last summer. The artifacts of his former passions – WWE wrestling, dinosaurs and Fortnite – were swept away without remorse, and replaced by Man City annuals, Liverpool shirts and Ruud Gullit posters.
Eager to fan the flames of this new hobby, I decided to take him to some live games. A trip to Telford United with his cousins at Christmas was a resounding success. Now we needed something a bit more local. I scoured the internet for nearby teams, and was disappointed to see our area somewhat under-represented in the Football League. But when I delved a little deeper, I was astounded to see just how many football teams there are. Hungerford, Oxford, Kidderminster - all names well known to me, but which suddenly gain a tantalising mystique when suffixed with the footballing qualifiers of Town, City and Harriers.
Yet that was just scratching the surface. Dig deeper and a wealth of footballing gems tumble out. Beaconsfield and Truro of the Southern League Premier South; Basingstoke Town and Marlow of the Isthmian League South Central. The amount of choices available is dizzying.
Unfortunately, none of these options were open to us, as we were busy on Saturday. I’ve become accustomed to the always-on nature of the Premiership, and just expected Sunday football to be available everywhere.
And so I found myself searching through the Sunday League depths of the internet, marvelling like an exploratory diver at the strangeness of it all. And finally, at the end of my journey, Burghfield FC, who are embarking on an adventure of their own.
Burghfield is a charming village just up the hill from my hometown of Theale. Their football club is represented by several teams in various leagues, including the Reading & District Sunday League. And that's where I found them. Intriguingly, their next match was a second-round tie in the FA Sunday Cup against Banstead Rovers of the Leatherhead & District Sunday League - to be played at the neutral ground of Burnham FC. A bit of Googling revealed that Burghfield are the last Berkshire team left in the competition, and that they are hoping to follow in the footsteps of the previous local side to win it – none other than Theale FC in 1992!
This was too good an opportunity to miss, I decided. I have a few friends in Burghfield, and just this summer I cycled up the hill to watch their band play at the beer festival. So I felt justified in supporting Burghfield for a day.
On our way to the game, I sought to manage my son’s expectations. “It’s not like Anfield, or even Telford”, I cautioned. “There won’t be a big stadium, so if it rains we’ll get wet. And they might lose.”
Such fears proved to be unfounded as we arrived to discover that Burnham FC is a delightful ground. Small enough to get close to the action, but with a stand that makes it feel like a proper match. We parked (for free!) and walked fifty feet to the turnstiles where I got in for a fiver (and him for free!) We picked a spot near the halfway line and chose from plenty of available seats. The sun was out, the atmosphere was friendly and excitable, and it felt like a great choice for our first match.
Until this point, I had promised myself that I wouldn’t be too invested in the outcome – we were neutrals, just here for the experience and to lend some neighbourly support. All that went out the window as soon as we sat down, as it turned out that our block was entirely composed of Burghfield fans. I think we were sat next to the parents of one player. For better or worse, our fortunes were tied to those of Burghfield FC.
Immediately after kick-off I realised that this was a daunting prospect. The opposition, Banstead Rovers, are a very good side. They were skilful, strong, organised, moved the ball around nicely, and straight away seemed to take control of the game. I am by no means a football expert, but I can see when a team is dominating a game. It seemed only a matter of time until Banstead scored.
Which made it all the more surprising when Burghfield took the lead on 15 minutes through Elliot Telford. My son was delighted and was convinced that Burghfield would now go on to win. As a Liverpool supporter he’s used to the first goal being the opening of the floodgates. I explained that this wouldn’t necessarily be the case. “Banstead will probably equalise,” I warned. “And that could be very demotivating for Burghfield”. He looked at me as though I didn’t know what I was talking about, which is certainly true.
My fears were confirmed when Banstead equalised ten minutes before half time. I’ve seen this before, I thought. One team score early, get carried away, and then lose their way when they get pegged back. Another goal now and their heads could go down; they might end up losing heavily.
Thankfully it was still 1-1 at half time. As we scoffed our way through hot dogs and chips, I wondered what the managers were saying. Whatever it was, it must have been effective, because in the second half Burghfield were a team transformed. Banstead were still getting a lot of possession and opportunities, and looking very strong, but succumbed to an unfortunate own goal on 57 minutes.
It was the classic setup for a nervous last half hour. I have suffered through too many England games to ever relax on a single goal lead. The agony of World Cups 1990, 1998 and 2018, and Euros 1996 and 2021, is always waiting for me to drop my guard so it can pounce once more.
But occasionally - rarely - the usual script gets thrown out and something remarkable happens. And today would be one of those occasions. Instead of the Banstead equaliser I was dreading, Burghfield were awarded a penalty on 75 minutes.
It felt like this was the moment in which the match could be won or lost. Score, and take a 3-1 lead that can be protected for the last 15 minutes. Or miss, and then concede a quick goal in the misery and distraction that follows. It felt dramatic and worrying.
My son was having none of it, and luckily neither was Josh Howell, who buried the ball with a superbly taken spot kick. The Burghfield fans went berserk, and so did we.
From then on there was no looking back. Banstead surged forward, but Burghfield were awash with belief. Their defence, excellent all afternoon, was solid to the end, and up front they were creating more and more chances. Banstead are so impressive with the ball, but it wasn’t their day. On 90 minutes they had a player sent off for a tackle that seemed more desperate than malicious. And immediately afterwards Rhys Iremonger put the result beyond doubt with a thunderous strike from distance.
At home later, my son recounted the match to his friend whilst playing FIFA.
“You should have seen the last goal,” he advised. “Such a sick strike. The attacker hit it with the side of his foot – from outside the box – and curled it into the top left corner!”
I have no idea how accurate this description is: like all goals witnessed first-hand, the details fade and only a sense of the event remains. Even for the player who scored it, over time the memory will doubtless become hazy. And of course, we’ll never see it repeated on television. This only serves to make such lost moments more precious.
So this was our first outing to a local game. I expected a lot less than we got. Football is usually a mixture of disappointment, boredom, and discomfort. But sometimes those stars just align.
And where to next? For Burghfield, the last 16 of the FA Sunday Cup and a possible date with destiny. For us, who knows? Our voyage into non-league football has only just begun. But I’ll always remember how it started: on a sunny January afternoon in Burnham.
