A few weeks ago, during our trip down south, I attended my first professional football (soccer) game in half a century. Back in my teenage years, whenever my local team was playing a home game I’d make the journey to their Griffin Park stadium to watch the action. Brentford (aka the Bees) weren’t very good in those days, barely hanging on in the fourth division of the English Football League. But the team’s mediocrity didn’t bother me one bit – going regularly to the football was a window into the world of adults, and offered the chance to escape for a while from the pressures placed upon me by a school that had exceptionally high expectations of its pupils.

So, for six or seven years, my mate Pete and I stood behind the goal at the Royal Oak end of Griffin Park, watching the football and hoping for a miracle. This taught me a lot about how to manage disappointment, but rather less about the joys of what is somewhat bizarrely known as the beautiful game. Football as played by Brentford was invariably disappointing, but rarely – if ever – beautiful. Pete and I would try our best to urge them on, yelling “COME ON YOU BEES!” at the top of our voices every time it seemed possible they might score, but it never did much good. Some teams are clearly destined to succeed; sadly, Brentford, in the late sixties and early seventies, was not one of them.

But all good things come to an end, and so too did my devotion to the Bees. At eighteen I moved away from London to go to university, and never lived in the city again. Brentford was no longer my local team, but I had in any case fallen out of love with soccer. I never attended another professional football match…until last month!

Brentford is my godson Mark’s local team, and although he’s recently moved a little way out of London, he still travels in by train to watch them play. And these days, there’s an added incentive – after decades in the doldrums, Brentford are doing well. They are now a Premier League team, and play their home games at a new, ultra-modern stadium. At last, the Bees are buzzing!

Knowing that I had once – long before he was even born! – been a devoted Brentford fan, Mark kindly invited me to go to a game with him. I was pleased to agree, intrigued to see if, deep within me, the fire of soccer fandom still burned. The stadium was amazing, totally unlike my previous experience. For the first time ever, I was able to sit down to watch a football match – back in the “good old days” almost everyone attending a Brentford home game had to stand up, which was a bit uncomfortable but at least meant we could escape quickly once the final whistle had sounded!

Another shock was the big screen, which makes it possible for spectators to see video replays of goals and other major incidents during the game. Such a thing would have been unimaginable when I was a big Brentford fan. Sadly there were no goals on the day of my visit – Brentford were playing Fulham (aka the “River Rats”), and the final score was a disappointing nil-nil draw. However, at least spectators could console themselves by stuffing away some tasty snacks and drinks bought from one of numerous food outlets scattered throughout the stadium. I don’t remember anything like that when I was a regular at Griffin Park 50 years ago.

I was also surprised by the large, well-stocked merch store, which was stuffed full of items that were obviously designed to separate the dedicated Brentford fan from his hard-earned money. It looked great but served as another reminder that, these days, professional football isn’t just a game, it’s big business.

And that, I think, is my problem with it. The sums of money involved in modern top-tier professional football are enormous, even obscene. The “beautiful game” has morphed into big business, and however entertaining any one game might be I can’t help thinking a lot of the money that oils soccer’s wheels would be better spent supporting community causes and local people in need. I did enjoy my trip down memory lane to see Brentford play once more. I would happily repeat the experience, but watching the game a few weeks ago confirmed for me that although nostalgia ensures the Bees will always remain dear to my heart, soccer will never again be as important to me as it was back in my teenage years. Football has moved on, and so have I.