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The sun has just set on our second season in the Premier League, and we only have two weeks and two days until next season’s fixtures are published. For the last two years I have looked forward to Announcement Day like a kid at Christmas time and have been up early, sitting excitedly by my phone from 7am. Yes, I know that this is silly since the announcement isn’t made until 9am. No, it doesn’t stop me from doing it.

“Second Season Syndrome,” they said.

“Going up is one thing, but can you STAY up?” they said.

“Brentford is a one-man show; can you manage without Ivan Toney?” they said.

I think we have successfully answered those questions. (Well, the first one wasn’t really a question, but you know what I mean.) We have hushed the critics who dared to suggest that our first season’s success was a combination of beginners’ luck and other teams not knowing enough about us to be able to stop us. We can match – and HAVE matched – our Premier League competitors and, in many cases, we have bettered them. We didn’t quite make it into Europe, but who cares?

The highlights are plentiful; one could say that it was the season that kept on giving, right up to the final whistle. But here are a few of my favourite moments:

  • The opening game at Leicester, and coming from behind to draw 2-2. That game – or, rather, the journey home afterwards – signified the birth of our “Tinnies in the Car” tradition, i.e. me staying sober and taking the wheel like a chump whilst the husband, in the passenger seat, knocked back the beers. It was then that he phoned 606, proof that callers to radio shows don’t have to have anything meaningful to contribute; they really will accept absolutely anyone.
  • Beating Manchester United 4-0 at home – or “That Brentford Game”, as pundits now refer to it whenever talking about Manchester United – and Bryan Mbeumo’s cracking Goal of the Season. Cristiano Ronaldo’s face after being demolished by Aaron Hickey was also a sight to behold; you can’t beat a dollop of princessy melodrama, accompanied by a hefty dose of, “Don’t you know who I am?”
  • Being a couple of double vodkas under at the pub, and stunning a group of Everton fans by singing one of their chants to them (that one that goes “Evvvv-er-ton STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP never shone so brightly”). I thought I did a fine job, even if I say so myself. Their facial expressions suggested otherwise.
  • Beating Chelsea again. My Chelsea-supporting friend is still not speaking to me, even though I gave it a more-than-respectful three days before messaging him to gloat commiserate.
  • The hilarity of West Ham fans singing “Saïd Benrahma, he left ‘cos you’re shit”. Erm, how many points have you taken from us, my dudes?
  • Dancing to Freed From Desire after every home win, and explaining to my English-as-a-second-language friends that it doesn’t matter if your lover’s got no money, as long as he’s got his trampolines.
  • FINALLY beating Spurs.
  • I have saved the best for last as, it seems, did The Bees: doing the double over league winners Manchester City (or the TRIPLE, if you count our Young Bees beating their Elite Development Squad). In fact, we were the only team to beat them home and away, across all competitions, including cup games and those weird European leagues that I don’t really understand.

As for next season, this is what I’m looking forward to:

  • Seeing all the teams’ new kits and laughing at the ugly ones. Liverpool and Chelsea have each done their time with the horrible beige; I wonder whose turn it will be next?
  • Starting again in Fantasy Football, after I Artetad it right up the last time (i.e. was league leader for a fair part of the season and then stuffed it at the end).
  • Watching the husband set his stopwatch when they announce added time, knowing that he will forget about it and only remember days later (by which time it will show 9,084 minutes, or some such thing).
  • Hoping the club will recruit a player whose name rhymes with “tequila”, so that we can all sing that song.
  • Walloping Leeds again. Oh, wait …

If you are following our Bees to the US this summer, have a wonderful time. And, in the same way that romantic poets describe parted lovers gazing at the moon whilst oceans apart, I shall be thinking of you all on 15th June, as we gaze wistfully at the same list of dates and dream about the joys that the third season will bring.

“Did you end on a high?” said the last notification of the season from the Premier League app. We did. Thanks for asking.

Nemone Sariman