West Ham United are into the next round of the FA Cup, but they had to suffer for it, edging past Burton Albion 1-0 after extra time in a tie that stubbornly refused to open up until the 95th minute. For long spells at the Pirelli Stadium, Burton looked more comfortable, more urgent and—crucially—more likely to turn pressure into something meaningful.
West Ham, heavily rotated and often disjointed, spent large parts of the afternoon trying to find rhythm rather than dictating it. The Premier League side eventually got the moment they needed through Crysencio Summerville, whose shot took a telling deflection on its way in, and then had to dig even deeper when Freddie Potts was sent off soon after, leaving them to protect their slender lead with ten men for a tense finish.
The day had an odd, stop-start feel even before the football properly began. Kick-off was delayed by a few minutes due to a problem with the net, and later the match was paused again for a medical emergency in the crowd, adding to a sense that this was never going to be a smooth, routine cup afternoon. When play settled, Burton fed off the occasion brilliantly. They pressed with energy, snapped into challenges, and tried to make the pitch feel small—closing passing lanes and forcing West Ham into sideways circulation rather than clean progression through midfield. For a lower-league side, their belief was obvious: they weren’t just hanging on and hoping; they were actively trying to make West Ham uncomfortable, pushing bodies into duels and showing real intent whenever the ball went wide.
West Ham’s selection told its own story. With so many changes, partnerships looked unfamiliar and decision-making didn’t have the usual speed you’d expect from a top-flight team. They had plenty of the ball, but it rarely turned into the sort of attacks that force defenders into panic. Burton’s shape held, their centre-backs were aggressive in the air, and their midfielders kept recovering second balls—those loose, bouncing moments that often decide cup ties when quality drops and the game becomes a contest of concentration. Burton also carried a set-piece threat and, in the first half, they felt like the side more capable of landing a punch. There was a major flashpoint too, with Burton convinced they should have had a penalty during the opening period, but the referee waved play on and there was no VAR to intervene. That decision only fuelled the home crowd and Burton’s growing sense that this was there for them if they stayed brave.
For West Ham, the frustration was that even when they did work the ball into decent areas, the final action—one extra touch, one slightly overhit pass, one cross arriving a yard too close to the goalkeeper—kept killing moves. Burton’s defensive line rarely had to sprint toward its own goal, which is usually the giveaway that a favourite is truly on top. Instead, the match drifted through spells of control for West Ham and disruption from Burton, with neither goalkeeper forced into a sequence of saves that would suggest a goal was inevitable.
As the second half wore on, the tension grew. Burton, understandably, began to feel the weight of what they were chasing: this would be a famous scalp, and every near break, every half-chance, every corner carried the roar of possibility. West Ham, meanwhile, seemed increasingly desperate to avoid the extra half-hour that can level the playing field even further—fatigue blunts class, and one mistake can undo everything. Yet the 90 minutes finished goalless, and extra time arrived with both teams looking like they knew the next goal—if it came at all—would probably decide it.
Five minutes into the additional period, it finally did. Summerville picked up the ball, shifted across the face of the box, and struck through traffic. The shot took a deflection that wrong-footed the goalkeeper and suddenly the match had a narrative: West Ham had the lead, Burton had to chase, and the underdog’s dream was in danger of slipping away. It was the kind of moment that often separates levels: not a flowing team goal, but one player creating enough space to get a strike away—and fortune helping with the bounce.
If that wasn’t dramatic enough, the game’s temperature rose again shortly afterwards. Potts flew into a challenge and was shown a red card, leaving West Ham to defend for their lives. For Burton, it was an immediate surge of hope: a man advantage, a crowd sensing one last swing, and time to force the ball into the danger zone again and again. They pushed forward, pumped crosses into the box and tried to turn every throw-in and set-piece into chaos. West Ham’s response was exactly what you’d expect from a team suddenly thinking only about survival—clear lines, win headers, slow the game down, protect the central channel and accept that possession no longer matters.
Burton’s problem, cruelly, was the same issue that had haunted them earlier: the decisive final moment. They got into good areas, they worked opportunities to deliver, but too many crosses lacked bite, too many attacking decisions arrived a beat late, and when the ball did land in the box, West Ham bodies kept appearing to get something—anything—on it. It became a test of focus and organisation for the visitors. Ten men or not, they held their positions, cleared repeatedly, and relied on experience to manage the frantic rhythm that Burton were trying to create.
After the match, the managers’ reflections landed in two very different emotional places. West Ham boss Nuno Espírito Santo was clearly relieved to be through, but the tone of his assessment inevitably centred on improvement: the need for sharper combinations, a more ruthless edge, and better control so the team doesn’t allow opponents to grow into belief. He also leaned into the realities of cup football—how lower-league sides make you fight for every yard, how patience can become anxiety, and how once you finally score, you still have to defend the moment properly. The red card, in particular, turned the last part of extra time into a resilience exercise; from his perspective, that meant praising the concentration and work-rate his side showed after going down to ten, even if he’d rather not have needed that emergency response in the first place.
For Gary Bowyer, Burton’s head coach, the overriding feeling was pride mixed with frustration. Pride because his side competed toe-to-toe for 90 minutes and made a Premier League team look ordinary for long stretches; frustration because the game was there to be taken if the final ball had been cleaner or if one key moment had dropped their way. His view of the performance focused on the bravery Burton showed—pressing, staying organised, and refusing to be overawed—and on the thin margin that decided it: one deflected shot in extra time. He also pointed back to the big incidents that can define underdog stories, particularly the first-half penalty shout, and the fact that even with a man advantage late on, Burton couldn’t quite turn pressure into the single touch that changes everything.
In the end, West Ham progress, but they don’t leave with the aura of a team that cruised. They leave with a lesson and a warning: rotation and reputation mean nothing if rhythm doesn’t follow, and cup ties punish teams that assume the breakthrough will simply arrive. Burton leave with disappointment, but also with evidence that their approach, energy and discipline can rattle far bigger opponents. For 94 minutes they kept the dream alive, and for the final stretch they threw everything at it. The difference was one moment of quality—and one deflection—that tilted the tie away from a cup upset and toward hard-earned relief for the visitors.
