United in Sheffield

Five thousand Londoners stood side by side and in fine voice, united in rare hope of a day at Wembley as their football club embarked on taking apart the red side of Sheffield having already condemned the blue side to once again 'concentrating on the league'. Their football club is the mighty Charlton Athletic, perennial FA Cup underachievers.

A twelve o'clock Sunday kick off thanks to the fat walleted controllers of British Telecom would prove the smallest of barriers to cross as South London proudly boasted the largest away following of the weekend. A fleet of coaches and a stack of cars drove up on the morning whilst many made a weekend of it and went up the night before. We chose the latter, myself and Jim, as the thought of him clinging to the back of my scooter as we wobbled up the motorway struck me with the coldest and darkest of fears. No, men of our standing were going to travel and stay in the comfort we were accustomed to. Step up East Midlands Trains and Travelodge.

We met Saturday lunchtime at The Betjeman Arms at St Pancras to fill our bellies with familiar ale before the journey up. Without doubt the best two dressed gents in the establishment, we consumed fine Young's beer amidst the varied selection of Tottenham fans ready to invade Stamford Bridge later in the afternoon.

This set us up a treat, I bought a scotch egg at the station from a young girl who's sex I couldn't distinguish and stupidly addressed as sir, and we were off. The train journey was remarkable only for the old boy sat behind us with the strongest Yorkshire accent who got on at Derby. He was busily telling his disinterested wife that he was getting the earlier train as Millwall were at Pride Park adding a superb shuddering noise to emphasize this. I think she hung up on the poor fellow, a shame as I could have listened to him all afternoon. A top boy.

The trouble with an overnight stay is of course the paraphernalia involved as you attempt to travel light . One night on the beer followed by a football match shouldn't require hand luggage, but clean pants and socks have a part to play so on arrival in Yorkshire we found our accommodation and dropped the bag off to save losing it in a far flung Sheffield boozer. Now fair play to Jim, he took it upon himself to book everything and a fine job he did too, but McDonald's trainees have more stars on their name badges than Travelodge can boast in their brochure. The twin room was one bed and a disheveled sofa, whilst the heating was set at thirty degrees in an effort to kill off any bugs that may have lunched on the last occupants. What would Alan Partridge have made of this? I believe he upgraded from the Sheffield Richmond Travelodge to the Linton Travel Tavern for more reasons than it's accessibility to Norwich alone.

A short cab ride took us to The Fat Cat where we met Rod, Marco, Crispy and Bolts. A nice ale house where customers like to grow plenty of facial hair and eat their beer with fighting irons. From there Rod, quite expertly considering the alcohol intake, directed us to The Dada bar. I was a little worried as we walked in, a huge drawing of a penis with feet adorning the wall, but once again friendly bar staff, fine real ales and what should have been an eighties night had the DJ turned up made the experience superb. Turns out they have a Northern Soul night too, on a Sunday! There was just time for a curry before heading back to watch the teams around us all win and leave us bottom of the table on the BBC's Football League Show back at chez Partridge.

We may be bottom of the league, but we have games in hand and that's not just due to the state of our pool, but because of our continued advancement in the FA Cup. Oh yes, this was Sunday, there was the quarter final at Bramall Lane to get excited about, the purpose of our trip oop north. Feeling relaxed after such a good nights sleep (read fully hungover and a tad fragile), we checked out of our ring road residence with two hours to kill before kick off. There was no need to rush into a town full of closed pubs so we walked the four miles to the ground, enjoyeing the scenic suburban streets of a council estate with youths riding noisy motocross bikes up and down the road on the back wheel alone. The sun beat down on us, still dressed to the nines in fine coats and knitwear, as we dehydrated and fought that strong morning after urge for fried pig. By the time we reached the station we were almost hallucinating, it didn't bode well. A stereotypical northern cafe just a minutes walk from the ground (or seconds if you hadn't just trained for a half marathon) meant we finally dined on egg and bacon whilst the home supporters gorged chip butties.

And so we were there, a quick search on the gate as the steward peered at the dirty underwear in my bag, and we were inside the ground, side by side with five thousand others. Valley Floyd Road sounded as fine as it ever has, the hairs stood up on the back of our necks. This was going to be our year. What could possibly go wrong, we had beach balls.

Chris Powell interestingly picked a starting eleven that didn't include any of Duchâtelet's January signings from other outposts of his empire, Marcus Tudgay being the only starter that's been at the club less time than Roland. There would of course be rumours as to the reason for this later in the day, none of them making for pleasant reading. As it transpired, tactically we were inept and any plan the management team had for the fixture backfired monumentally. It seems almost unfair to pick out individuals but I suppose I must. United ran through our midfield unchallenged with more bravado each time. Diagonally they carved their way through the middle to box, Poyet, Morrison, Wood, all falling foul of their pace whilst up the other end Cousins looked uncomfortable out of his preferred central role and Harriott blundered frequently without any direction. The skipper puffed, his legs looking as shaky as mine at the time, and as for the reckless looking late challenge, what was he thinking? Tudgay really wasn't up for a return to his former rivals, Church chased as he always does but was then taken off with twenty five minutes still left on the clock. Chris Powell again seemingly failing to maximise the use of his substitutes. Two minutes later we were two down and our most likely goalscorer still putting his jumper on.

This is not me shouting Powell out. But I pay enough money towards this club every year to warrant being upset. Five thousand supporters bothered to turn up. Eleven footballers didn't.
Chris Powell said afterwards how goals change everything. Harriott had a chance, it didn't happen. United had them and took them. Underlying that though, they made their chances because they wanted to go to Wembley, they brimmed with confidence and they took the game to us. We looked like rabbits in car headlights, we froze on the day. If the incentive of Wembley doesn't fire you up I really don't know what does. Of course I'll be back, twitter was full of keep the faith tweets all evening long, but right now I feel I deserve to wallow in the disappointment of witnessing a fourth FA Cup quarter final defeat. Something is going to happen, have no doubt. Powell is still in dispute with Duchâtelet over footballing matters and that new contract remains unsigned, unrest reigns behind the scenes and as loyal supporters I expect us to go through more heartache before the tide turns.

An adventure that started for me in August in Chipstead as I watched Whyteleafe beat Epsom and Ewell in the replay of their extra preliminary round tie finally ended with a spineless no show. If I'd had a tin foil cup it would have found itself damp with tears and discarded in the waste paper basket of The Sheffield Tap as we solemnly drowned our sorrows waiting for the train back to London. It must be pointed out here that Sheffield United are a fine football club. They have a superb old fashioned football ground the atmosphere when full is bursting and the noise they made when they scored simply deafening. Nigel Clough is proving to be an equally adept manager as his father and I know it's commonplace to wish your conquerors luck, the phrase 'I hope they go on and win it' is so overused, but nobody can begrudge the red half of the city their day at Wembley.

That season ticket renewal pack will be through the post soon. There's a rather bizarre Crossbars package option should you choose to go that route. It's my opinion there won't be many paying an extra £230 on top of a possible League One season ticket. Many may not renew at all. Chris Powell included.

"Good Form"

A phrase that can be equally applicable to both team and supporters, although usually preceded by a few other words unless you speak like it's still 1952.

Charlton are certainly in a rich vein of this form as they picked up another three points on their travels yesterday at St Andrews. With the win at Blackburn and the draw last Sunday against Wigan, it's seven points out of nine for the Addicks and unbeaten in five. Once again, in repetition of last season, our away form looks likely to becoming vital in carrying us through the winter months. If we can turn those draws into victories back home we could be in for an easier ride that we may have predicted a couple of months ago.

With Yann Kermorgant back in the treatment room, Chris Powell approached this match with a slightly more defensive approach, Simon Church being the only recognized front man in the starting eleven. Johnnie Jackson spearheaded a five man midfield while Dorian Dervite partnered Michael Morrison at the centre of the defence in place of Richard Wood.

Dale Stephens scored the only goal in a game which Charlton were in control of for the main part. After an initial strike from Cameron Stewart was parried by former Charlton goalkeeper Darren Randolph, Johnnie Jackson was then denied before the ball fell for Stephens making no mistake from just a few yards out. I think it's fair to say Birmingham aren't the force they were a year or two back, they themselves must be desperate for fortunes to change if they want to pull clear of the lower reaches of the table. Their fans are certainly disgruntled, a barrage of boos met the team at the final whistle. A different story to the reception that greeted the Londoners at the same stage. Small in number they may have been, huge in stature they stood proud, dominating the surroundings as this you tube clip shows. Without doubt the travelling supporters were in good form, and this after having to endure sharing trains north with Crystal Palace supporters heading for The Hawthorns.

It was indeed a heartily welcomed moment of good fortune for the club, the negativity dominating the news during the previous week being put to bed.

Nobody can have failed to hear about the seven Charlton Athletic supporters jailed on Wednesday for racist chanting on a train after an FA Cup match at Fulham. I don't for one moment claim to know all the facts, I've heard stories from some saying that evidence was inconclusive, that sentences were too severe and that some were just guilty by association. That aside, there is no place for racist chanting, or for that matter any threatening behaviour towards the general public. I do know one of the lads, admittedly not as well as I used to, but suffice to say he has had a record for disturbances previously and has certainly from time to time mixed in less desirable circles.

The video from yesterday proved how superb our support can be, there is very little in life that compares to out-singing the opposition in representation of your team. This really doesn't have to 'cross the line' though. I still join in with choruses of  'we forget that you were here' and other such good humoured jests, but my days of hand gestures to the opposition fans are long gone. It doesn't make me any better than anyone else, it's just not my thing and I don't need the constant hostility and looking over my shoulder that once upon a time was a regular part of football. At the same time I do enjoy watching the lads with the flags and the flares, I love seeing new generations of young lads going to the game with their mates all dressed to the nines, there is still as much a place for these boys in the modern game as their is for the families that the clubs try to encourage, as middle aged men bring their wives and children for a nice (albeit expensive) family day out.

The good form of the supporters can change instantly though as I discovered on Tuesday evening in Sutton. My first visit of the season to Gander Green Lane was an FA Cup fourth qualifying round replay (my third FA Cup match of the season), Sutton United hosting Hemel Hempstead Town after the U's had drawn 3-3 four days earlier in Hertfordshire.

The kick off was delayed as the team coach carrying the visitors was delayed in traffic, fortunately it was ahead of the supporters coach, also stuck, a few miles behind it. Upon entry to the ground I was frisked, an entirely new experience for me at non league football. It transpired that Hemel Hempstead fans were prone to the odd flare; the stewards were certainly on edge and ready for confrontation on reputation alone. As the first half was just warming up the bulk of the away support arrived, they certainly made themselves heard. A large contingent of young lads, they sung their hearts out but you could sense the impending altercation.

Gathered behind the goal on terracing under cover, they soon accompanied their songs with rhythmic banging on the rear of the structure. In moved the stewards, from where I stood it certainly seemed that they were trying to eject the culprits with force. Then it happened again when a huge flag appeared over the heads of the more 'bouncy' section of the crowd, the stewards did their best to antagonize these lads with quite forceful reprimands.

There are rules, we all have to abide by them, but unlike flares none of this was dangerous to anybody and certainly there has to be a degree of common sense used. Following the rule book word for word is a modern policing philosophy that more often than not does more harm than good.

Sutton went on to win the match 2-0, and a great game of football it was too, but the seeds had been sown, what started as good humour became slightly more sinister by the end. Hemel Hempstead had superb support for this level of the game, they sung for ninety minutes and were the more audible even when Sutton's second goal went in. Leaving the ground individuals from both sides verbally attacked each other quite unnecessarily and I honestly believe this hostility was born from earlier treatment inside the ground. In the road outside groups from both sides faced each other taunting and provoking until the blue flashing lights descended, all very avoidable and unwelcome in the non league game, a place where supporters have always mingled with good cheer.

A slight dampener it may have been to proceedings, but a football crowd can be far more electric than any other. When the adrenalin kicks in there is no place I'd rather be than supporting my team, for ninety minutes I'm territorial, I'm part of the pack, but I wish no real harm. In true good form I'm delighted to enjoy a pint in the company of 'the enemy' before bidding them a safe journey home.

Mind me Bovril!

Last season, Charlton's trip to Vicarage Road was rather memorable. A thrilling victory, a good day on the ale, New Years Day celebrations and 'er indoors not speaking to me for a week after I'd promised to be home by the time she got in from work. I was still in Euston at six o'clock that day, my evening was cut very short and yesterday's 'fixture anniversary' appeared to be celebrated by my companions of nine months ago. They visited the very same pub where I received 'that' phone call on that fateful day, I just hope they raised a glass in my honour.

This season the fixture passed me by without much activity, or even I'm afraid to say, much interest. The trouble I endure is working in a trade where Saturdays are your busiest day of the week. Any other motorcycle shop and I'd be lucky to get an afternoon off so I count myself fortunate that I only have to work the mornings, despite it playing havoc with any potential away days. You can imagine how popular I'd be with the missus if I used my holiday to follow Charlton around the country, even if the boss did allow such sporadic days off. No, I'm afraid it's been nearly a decade since my regular outings to grounds up and down this land. A fact that has always grated when I've allowed it too much thought. Until now, that is.

I knew I couldn't get to Watford in time for three, in much the same way as I know I can't get to The Valley next week due to the early kick off, so I found a different game to go to, and only twenty five minutes away on the scooter. As two thousand Addicks made themselves heard in Hertfordshire, I was drinking Bovril just south of Croydon with just over a hundred others.

I've seen the highlights, the only professional game of the weekend that I have, and seen the Yann Kermorgant penalty, Watford (wearing possibly the best kit in the division) playing in their familiar and infamous 'Italian' style, and the now obligatory smoke bomb from the young travelling supporters. A hard earned and well deserved point away from home against one of the higher scoring and more fancied sides in the Championship will be seen as good reward and I'm sure if I'd been there myself I'd have bobbed along with the atmosphere and merriment of so many good friends together on another's patch. But I wasn't, I was in Whyteleafe, a place unheard of to the 3 network and not even a twitter feed to keep me abreast of  proceedings twenty eight miles away as the crow flies. Yes, I googled it.

Last week of course we delighted in Non League Day, seven days later life was back to normal and Absolute Radio were thriving on the return of the Premier League as if it had been reported missing months ago. They were almost wetting themselves on the prospect of a radio commentary of the Tottenham versus Norwich match as I wept into my morning tea break cuppa. I'd seen step nine football last week, loved it, and was going to watch some more that afternoon, listeners to this commercial radio station couldn't possibly know what enchantment they were missing.  An expensive group of foreigners may be strutting their stuff in North London for the benefit of the masses, a group of well payed Italian reserves may even be 'entertaining'  South Londoners with their theatricals fifteen miles (yes I did it again) north west of White Hart Lane, but I was going to watch my second FA Cup match of the season, and it's only mid September. The BBC barely recognise the competition has even started, yet part time footballers, certainly playing for the enjoyment as opposed to financial gain, were entertaining small crowds and their dogs in every corner of the country.

The first game I saw was an extra preliminary round replay between Epsom & Ewell and Whyteleafe three weeks ago. This time, two rounds later they entertained Horley Town in the first qualifying round. I'd chosen Horley last week for Non League Day and watched them lose 2-6 to Newhaven in the FA Vase. Surely their route to Wembley wouldn't be wrecked two weeks running.

Whyteleafe being just south of Croydon is deep in Crystal Palace territory. As I walked into the clubhouse for a pre match pint I was astonished quite how many red and blue stripy shirts greeted me. Their game at Old Trafford was shown on the big screen, I was informed that Selhurst season ticket holders were enticed to Church Road to watch the match with the offer of a free drink. There is obviously a good relationship between the two sides as signed framed Palace shirts adorned the walls. That was it, my mind made up, I was supporting Horley again today! I enjoyed a good pint of Revolver whilst chatting to blogging (and Whyteleafe) friends from the Sound Of Football podcast, keeping my back to the big screen yet basking in the fine ale on offer at the club.

I'd been warned about the playing surface at Whyteleafe beforehand, true enough it resembled a ploughed field. A 3G synthetic pitch is on the agenda for the club, not only much needed but also a very possible future money spinner for the Leafe. The rest of the ground looked very in keeping with the ruts and troughs of the pitch, the paint was flaking of every surface, the stands looked dark and cold in their age while it appeared that someone had been fly tipping on the far side of the ground. The love-in with Palace continued!

The match itself was very one sided. The Horley keeper looked shaky last week, he was little better yesterday and at fault for the first of the three goals they conceded, his gloves certainly seem to be coated with something more suitable to frying pans. It's a little dour admittedly but we wondered if perhaps he'd have more success with those big foam hands next week. The second had no bearing on the gloves as he chose to leave his goal line and advance forward just as experienced full back Anthony Jupp guided a perfectly executed looping headed backwards and over the keepers head. Jupp was recently rewarded by Horley Town for his wonderful service reaching five hundred appearances for the club, there can't have been a more well taken own goal in any of them.

The keeper, who was good naturally jeered by the half dozen Whyteleafe 'ultra's' during the first period did enjoy a far better spell during the second half pulling off some fine saves towards the end. Horley had their chances but never really threatened the goal, cup joy was dashed for successive Saturdays, I've seen them twice and they've shipped nine goals. They've certainly got all the attributes I normally require for my undying support. A long and miserable relationship could well blossom.

Once again the food we're usually subjected to at The Valley was surpassed by a team with far less resources. An above average cheeseburger accompanied by a large steaming cup of Bovril gave me plenty of change out of a four pounds, although the hard tackling part timers did their best to send it flying. Stood behind a heel clicking linesman, our refreshments were consistently targeted by the Whyteleafe full back and the Horley winger, both giving one hundred percent to every challenge and the ball hurtling in our direction with ferocious frequency. "Mind me Bovril!" shouted one supporter, a phrase rarely heard at the bigger stadium.

Level nine football has got me hooked. I was relatively used to two or three levels up at Sutton United and crowds of five or six hundred, but this is even more refreshing and even further removed from the things that irk the most about the modern professional game. I was always glum when Charlton supporters went travelling to see the team without me, jealousy raged deep, but know I've found something different that's slightly more honest, far more accessible and I bloody love it.

A massive shock!

Should you happen to glance at either the #cafc or #swfc hash-tags on twitter, you'll see very little love from either set of supporters towards their counterparts. Of late, Sheffield Wednesday have escalated in the rankings of Charlton's rivals to a level just below Crystal Palace and Millwall. Definitely up there with the West Ham's of this world.

There are many contributing factors to this. On one hand, the clubs have met four times as 'big fish' in League One before getting promoted together last season. On the other, the clubs have shared a fair few players including Morrison, Llera, Lita and Semedo who all got a run out yesterday. Perhaps the biggest problem from the south Londoners perspective is Wednesday's perceived status. They are often regarded as a sleeping giant, a team that should be gracing the Premier League and it's grand arena, Old Trafford, St James Park, Goodison Park and the multitude of new Lego stadiums that abound. So the likes of Peterborough, and last season Rochdale and Hartlepool, are seen by many as beneath them. At least that's the impression I get. With all football clubs, Charlton included, there will be eighty to ninety percent of supporters who know the game, respect one another and generally would be lovely folk to share a pint or two with. Then there's the rest, quite happy to sit at a keyboard or nestle their smart phone in their lap tapping obscenities to rival fans, idiotic enough to take these brave words to heart and retort with an equally obnoxious 140 characters of drivel. How many of us thought we were too big for League One?

Sheffield Wednesday may not be a 'massive' club, but they are certainly a famous old name plying their trade at one of the finest traditional stadiums I've ever had the pleasure to visit. Other than a League Cup win twenty years ago, success has however eluded them, even we have won the FA Cup more recently that the Owls! If truth be told I think both clubs have found their level and have returned to a division entitled to be called home.

All rivalries have to start somewhere I suppose. Having won three league games consecutively, Charlton's hopes to make it to the end of the month with a one hundred percent record were high. A defeat, and Wednesday's first double of the season, were out of the question weren't they? A team already caught up in a relegation battle against a side in a rich vein of form. That would be a massive shock.

With only the highlights available to view (stuck at work I had to make to with radio commentary) it did appear that the home side were in charge. In the first half Michael Morrison hit the woodwork from three yards out when putting it in the net would appear to be a far easier option. This of course was to the delight of the away support in the Jimmy Seed stand whose opinion of our centre half is probably lower than ours of our former Charlton defender Miguel Llera.

The second half began in suitable fashion when Johnnie Jackson found the net. A Chris Solly cross was perfectly controlled by Bradley Pritchard who brought the ball down and in the path of our ever improving skipper. A goal that would have caught many still returning to their seats. Unfortunately the woodwork would intervene once again preventing the home side from doubling their tally during the afternoon.

Wednesday had opportunities to draw level but when a wayward shot went over the roof of the Jimmy Seed, Charlton must have thought the one goal was more than enough of a cushion. The Owls, on a superb run away from home, had other ideas though with first Reda Johnson and then substitute Leroy Lita both finding the net in the last five minutes of the game. Charlton had been mugged, Chris Powell made three changes at once in the final minute to desperately try and claw a point back but it was far too late. Often criticised for his substitutions, I know, I'm a culprit, the final whistle blew to a tirade of boos.

Two sides in the same division, eleven against eleven, the result isn't necessarily a shock, the manner in which it occurred however most definitely is.

This game only went ahead because both sides fell at the first hurdle in this seasons FA Cup. Whilst we slogged out a league fixture we'll hope to forget, other sides were stepping into the headlines on this, the fourth round of the cup weekend. If you wanted a massive shock, this was the place to look.

Millwall started the weekend by compounding Aston Villa's misery and knocking them out of their second tournament in a week. Villa have become a shadow of their former selves, unsurprisingly parting company with Paul Lambert before the weekends end.

Queen's Park Rangers did their best to steal all of Villa's limelight on Saturday by getting a good thrashing from MK Dons (Wednesday's conquerors in the previous round) on their own patch. Liverpool went one better today by crashing out at League One opposition in the shape of Oldham Athletic. The Latics rewarded with a pop at the blue side of Merseyside next!

Brentford held Chelsea, Leeds beat Tottenham, wherever you looked the shocks kept coming. The real massive shock came in Norfolk though. Norwich City of the Premier League fell at home to Luton Town of the Blue Square Conference.

I've struggled with modern football for a long time, having a television station claiming to be the 'home of live goals' and Manchester United getting their 300th consecutive cup tie shown live, football needed a kick up the backside to appease the working class, ticket buying football going  chap. Bradford, Luton and co have done this to some extent although I'd be lying (and only from a truly selfish perspective) if I said I was truly happy with the Hatters victory at Norwich. No longer can I now say I was present the last time a non league side defeated top flight opposition in the FA Cup. The seventh of January 1989, three days before my eighteenth birthday remains one of my fondest footballing memories, closely tucked behind the 98 play off final in my affections. Sutton United have found their name banded about this weekend through no doing of their own, and let's face it, all publicity for a small non league club is good publicity, but the real sting in the tail is that Sutton (and myself) went to Carrow Road in the fourth round only to get a real pasting to the tune of 8-0. Of all the places for that great achievement to be equaled!

Luton's reward is that of a visit from Millwall who infamously visited the Bedfordshire town for a cup quarter final back in 1985. Like Sutton, they may well have had their moment of fame but it's truly well deserved. Along with Bradford City in the League Cup, these really are massive but very welcomed shocks.

You can keep your Champions League, despite the FA trying to schedule the final as just another game, the FA Cup has truly lost none of it's magic.

It's A Knockout

Stuart Hall used to laugh a lot. In fact if I remember correctly he used to laugh all the time. The action was certainly entertaining, never a dull moment and the winners would come back for another crack whilst the losers were forgotten forever. It's a knockout really was great family entertainment, unlike Charlton Athletic at The Valley today. The only similarity between the two is that the FA Cup is a knockout competition and that's exactly what happened to us. Even Stuart Hall would have found little to laugh at.

We fell at the first hurdle of the League Cup against Leyton Orient back in August and now we've fallen at the first attempt in the world's most famous knockout competition. It's fair to say we really aren't known as a cup side.

Speculation before the game centered around who would be not just rested but avoiding being possibly cup-tied too. Chris Solly was the high profile name absent from Chris Powell's squad, read into that what you will but Pritchard and Stephens, both of whom linked with Premier League moves this January ruined any chance of a cup final appearance today.

A disappointing crowd of just over six and a half thousand coupled with a below average (or rather below acceptable) performance saw Huddersfield walk out 1-0 winners, the gaffer was quite rightly annoyed and apologetic after the final whistle. He never dreamed of recreating the glory of 1947, although a little run in the competition would give a welcomed distraction for the squad. That quarter final appearance at Bolton Wanderers back in 2000 seems an eon ago now, a game you'll remember that Powell played in.

A defeat was of course no surprise to the majority of us Addicks, I had even predicted such an outcome earlier in the week when I was invited to be Buddy Bet's guest predictor.

Buddy Bet were gracious enough to sponsor the most recent Socrates bloggers meet up in London late last year where I met the very likable James King. James asked me to predict the outcome of eleven tasty looking third round ties for their 'Kicked Upstairs' blog. I correctly called Brighton's victory over Newcastle and West Ham's draw with Manchester United, beginner's luck you may say. Let's see who's still laughing when Mansfield beat Liverpool tomorrow and confirm my impeccable knowledge in such matters!

So it's back to the league for Charlton, a Wembley visit still ultimately possible as it's not too late to count out a play-off charge, especially if we can recreate the desire we showed at Watford when Blackpool visit The Valley next Saturday. This match is marked as the closest fixture to my birthday and a few ale's will be supped, hopefully in a double celebration.

I don't think I'll bother watching the fourth round draw tomorrow.

The 'magic' of the cup

It's fair to say that over recent years, many of the bigger sides in England have treated the FA cup as an also ran competition, one in which they can bleed new youngsters into the first team in front of half full stadiums. After all, it's not got the money in it that the Premier League has, or more importantly, the potential lucrative windfall that is Champions League football.

I can understand that, especially from a business point of view for club chairmen, and i can understand the lure and the possible furthering of careers for managers and players alike. In fact, everybody is quids in if you should be fortunate enough for a run in Europe's premier competition.

For the Football Association to belittle their own challenge cup competition however is another matter. A competition dripping with so much heritage and tradition, it is close to becoming a mockery. If I owned and ran the oldest knockout football competition in the world I'd keep to an age old formula and not bow down to peer pressure from Sky, ESPN, FOX 'soccer' channel, UEFA, FIFA or anybody else who fancies sticking their oar in. OK, so in real life it's probably a lot more complicated than that, but the FA once again appear to have no backbone let alone sense of dignity. Just look at the situation with our national teams managerial position. That job has been one of controversy since the Don Revie fiasco, and Cloughie proved they won't listen to anyone who knows, and speaks, his own mind.

I am of course a little put out by the late kick off of the final this season, but more of that in a bit. The semi finals beforehand produced their fair share of debate.
To have one at half twelve on the Saturday and the other, Sunday at six is bizarre enough. Add to this that the two sets of fans who have to travel miles get the early one is just crazy. Yes, i fully understand why Liverpool didn't want to play on the Hillsborough anniversary, but surely they could have kicked off at three on Saturday? Also, why so late for the two London sides on Sunday? That wasn't really an afternoon or evening kick off. There must be occasions, but I'm struggling to think of another game that's started at six. A little respect though for those who did come down from Liverpool, that game had a larger attendance than that of the local sides.

Apart from the awful scenes during the minutes 'silence' before Sunday's clash from some sections of supporters as ITV linked in the candlelit service from Anfield, every other travesty is surely the doing of the FA. This includes the fact that the semis were held at Wembley in the first place. Remember the bit about tradition?
Villa Park, Old Trafford, there are loads of grounds which are suitable for staging the seventh round of the cup. And plenty big enough they are too. If the Merseyside derby had been held in Manchester I'm sure every season ticket holding supporter, and other frequent visitors,  would have got in. Let's face it, these occasions are for the real paying fans who live and breathe their clubs, not the glory hunting arm chair supporters who come creeping out of the woodwork when they smell success.
I guess that it's all money spent elsewhere though and not going towards paying for our national stadium.
Get a big American stadium rock band to play a couple more gigs instead i say, and keep the things we love about this great old competition unadulterated.

May 5th does then see the grand final, the showcase of all that English club football stands for. Around the world millions of excited viewers will tune in, from luxury homes in Beverly Hills to villages gathered around one old television set in distant parts of Africa, all eager to watch the latest chapter in the history of football's most respected competition. Everyone that is except real football fans. The bread and butter fans that keep the FA's wonderful league structure of 92 professional clubs intact.
Yes, fans of League One and Two clubs will be watching their sides play their final game of the season. When Liverpool and Chelsea kick off on Wembley's hallowed turf, we will be boarding trains to make our journeys home.
Not to worry, at least i can watch Chelsea play Barcelona on the box tonight though, thank you all you rich large corporations that made this possible.

Except i don't really want to watch Chelsea play Barcelona. I want to watch an FA cup special of 'Question of Sport'. What i really want is to be able to know that the curtain is coming down on England's domestic season with the final game, the big one, the cup final. And i want this at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and when the final whistle went on every other game days beforehand.

As a kid i watched the television cup final morning from the minute the coverage started to the the moment it finished. Not only did i see the winners parading the trophy around the pitch in scarves and stupid hats, i saw them eating breakfast at their hotel hours earlier. Well not quite, but you know what i mean. I'd sit there with my Panini sticker albums spread out in front of me alongside the cup final special edition of Shoot! magazine. My Grandad would arrive later and sit in the armchair behind me grumbling about both the stupidly short shorts the modern footballers wore and their phobia of good old fashioned barber shops. It was an event that not only brought families together, but communities as well.
I could be wrong, but it would seem to me that Britain today could do with a bit more of that.

Hopefully I'll be celebrating Charlton's title win on that day, so will no doubt catch some of the match on the big screen of a local public house. It's very unlikely I'm going to watch much of it though. I can't watch it with my Grandad as he passed on many years ago and my Panini albums could be anywhere, they are now unfortunately just a distant memory, but me trying to turn the clock back misses the point. The FA turning the clock back doesn't.
This is the only FA cup game that should be played at Wembley, a prize reserved for the finalists, it should be at 3 o'clock, because that's when football kicks off, and all football fans should, if they choose, be at home to watch it.

Cloughie would agree.

Cup fever

If one of our South London rivals can win at Old Trafford, there is no reason why a team that plays far more attractive flowing football (most of the time) can't have a little cup run themselves.

An opportunity to treat a young family member to a rare trip to SE7 also gave rise to my own chance of a little FA cup action yesterday which earlier in the week i didn't think was going to happen.

Carlisle United was one of the least attractive cup ties i can remember in recent years, but after a four nil drubbing in the league back in October, at least goals were on the cards and my young companions 100% Charlton record wasn't in danger.
Even at half time i was still confident of both of these facts.

Little Harry, who will be nine in a couple of weeks time, was introduced to some of the crew in the Rose Of Denmark prior to kick off. Here he was dutifully fed plenty of E numbers opening many a opportunist door for showing off and the chance to behave like a right little geezer. Just like i did at the football at his age!
The quickest of trips into the club shop, just to tantalize him before his birthday, ensued and the conformation that it's the red home shirt (luckily as it's already bought and screen printed) that's top of the birthday present list.

We bought tickets for the west stand as the upper north was closed. In all the years I've been going to Charlton, i don't think I've ever been in the west before, and i admit it was one of the deciding factors. It's now just the north west corner that hasn't hosted my matchday experience, as Harry's last visit saw us in the family stand. Never again.
It is every kids right of passage to experience the atmosphere of a packed upper north in full voice. Next time Harry i promise.

A first half of very little note did nothing to dampen our spirits. For Harry everything was big and colourful, and an almost silent seven thousand odd crowd is still huge if you know no better. I say odd, mainly due to the bloke in front of me who didn't think December warranted long trousers. I was of course tempted to offer him an ice cream, if only you could buy such a thing.

The second half picked up and we got that chance to go crazy when Michael Morrison (i really like this lad) netted at the second attempt after Leon Cort's initial header.
Substitute Jason Euell cemented the win with a very popular goal in stoppage time meaning the number 64 ball in the hat had our name, and our name alone on it.

As far as the team went, Chris Powell picked a stronger side than most sat around me had expected. Cedric Evina and Bradley Pritchard grabbed the chance of a start and showed that we already have the makings of a championship squad with plenty of talent further down the pecking order.

The Carlisle players, staff and fans had a long journey home but the supporters we met were in good spirits on the train back to London Bridge. Early December for a second round cup tie you're expected to lose, and i think four hundred is great support for Carlisle, even if they didn't have any songs to sing!
Whilst we're on the subject of the visitors, they wore yellow for the second time at The Valley this season. Obviously blue clashes with red in these modern days of colour film.

Harry and I returned to the outback here in Surrey in time for a visit to the Laser Hub in honour of his sisters birthday. I gallantly played the part of Carlisle and lost.

Fulham away then in the third round. It's a couple of days before my birthday, so with a little bit of luck I'll be able to get my grubby hands on a ticket and make a day of it.
I feel it's a great draw and the perfect opportunity to see just how far Chris Powell's red and white army have come. A winnable game and an away day London derby. Heaven.

The only downer of the weekend was Sutton United losing at home to Notts County. Again! A decent crowd and the TV cameras of ESPN meant some well deserved cash coming in and from what I've read, Sutton certainly deserved to be on the same pitch as their more illustrious visitors.
The third round draw produced it's normal amount of gems today and once Christmas is out of the way we get to do it all over again.

The FA cup, i love it. Que sera sera............

Shocks in all the right places

As is always the way with these earlier rounds, i hate the term 'proper', of the FA cup sponsored by that dreadful American (with German roots) lager, there were plenty of shocks and more than a headline or two to embarrass the professional players in today's papers.

I was fortunate enough to see two games from the first round, one in person and one on the TV, both of which had favourable results and both turned out to be good games of cup football.

Gander Green Lane, Sutton, was first on the agenda Saturday afternoon. The U's are enjoying a fantastic first season back in the conference south (or bet square or whatever) and although they went into the game against Kettering Town from the conference premier division as underdogs, there were in fact only a handful of league places between the two sides.

It was lovely to see the ground looking so busy again, a crowd of over 1500 turned up. That's about twice the size of a regular Saturday down the lane.
I say 'again' as it brought back many a happy memory for me. I've seen that ground both empty and crammed full over the years, not to mention everything in between, and yesterday we had a wonderful atmosphere reminiscent of some great days in the clubs history.

I did most my growing up in Sutton and during my teenage years spent a lot more time at GGL than i did at Selhurst Park to watch the Addicks. It was a lot cheaper than league football which, for a YTS lad, was much kinder on the pocket.
I saw their first conference game against Telford, i was there for the big ones against Middlesborough and Coventry plus getting the coach to Norwich and the Boro replay. These were great times but i was also there for the Surrey senior cup matches in the rain midweek. I hardly missed a match in the late eightees. I was a big Sutton fan and i do feel sometimes that i don't get there anywhere near as much as i should, and perhaps I've in some way let the club down as we've drifted away from each other. There are however different seasons in our lives and Sutton United were definitely at the centre of that one of mine.

So this cup match was far too good an opportunity to miss. I took Heidi, my wife, as she had never witnessed non league football before. I doubt very much she'll be witnessing it again though. What i would call a buzzing atmosphere she would call intimidating, what i think of as a vital part of Saturday entertainment she's finds a chore.
She was most definitely in the minority as Sutton held their own against a physically strong Kettering side. The first period may have been a little slow but the crowd had value for money in the second forty five. On more than one occasion the poppies (most apt nickname of the weekend award) threatened the Sutton goal forcing Kevin Scriven to make a couple of first class saves.
Sutton aways looked threatening on the break however and got the goal we were hoping for with a tidy finish from Craig Watkins just after the hour. There could have been more for the hosts had the finishing had been a little better, but the boys in yellow were going to make us all sweat right up to the final whistle as Kettering continued to put the pressure on.
There were wonderful scenes of delight once the ref had blown for full time. This was a football match that meant so much to the fans and one in which the players showed bags of character. There wasn't the slightest chance that a certain friendly international afterwards was going to have anywhere near as much heart and soul as was on display here.

As M&S would say, FA cup success, priceless. And of course, with a good cup run,  it is all money in the bank.

Today saw my first love, Charlton, play (unlike Sutton) their first game in this years competition.
The ITV cameras rolled into Halifax hoping to see the conference north side take a major scalp, in the same way as Northwich Victoria did a couple of years ago, and give the baying mob of armchair supporters what they want.

Chris Powell's Charlton are a different side to that which fell before them and they left that particular version of the script at home.
Yes it was a tough game of football, it was never going to be anything else, but the addicks were professional about it and at no point looked nervous.

Matt Taylor's first goal for the club was a peach of a header before the interval and should have settled things down a little. Halifax were however unlucky not to go in level when they hit the top of bar just afterwards. This meant they were still feeling upbeat and came out for the second half looking very bright.
A couple more chances plus the introduction of a young lad, St Juste, on the left hand side and it was most definitely still game on.

With Euell and Hayes starting up front and neither looking like having the greatest of afternoons, it fell to skipper Johnnie Jackson to seal things for the Londoners. A neat little piece of footwork teamed with a low shot resulted in a deflation in the voices of the commentators. From that point on, you felt that ITV hated us more and more, almost like we'd gone back on some kind of unwritten agreement.
As Hollands and then Pritchard (after great work on the right from debutant Michael Smith) put away numbers three and four, the independent terrestrial channel of the year must have felt we were rubbing their noses in it. Shame.

I have tremendous amounts of respect for the supporters who got up at the crack of dawn to be there for a half twelve kick off, and also for the club laying on free transport. I'm proud of the players for a quality performance in front of all and sundry including those I'll see at work tomorrow, so i don't have to undergo a tirade of ribbing from smug armchair fans.
Andy Townsend however, and how i so wish he read this blog, i am neither proud of you or do i have respect for you. I speak for all of us addicks there I'm sure.

As for the second round draw, well for a moment i was getting a little worried. Balls 25, Charlton, and 26, Sutton, were both still in the hat and most had already been called. I could not imagine the two coming out together, not so much who to support but I imagined being in the covered end hearing the ones i love signing things about the ones i love. I may well have stayed away.

I need not have worried though. Sutton entertain Notts County once again, just as they did three years ago. This will be the third meeting between the two, and God willing, perhaps third time lucky. This could of course give ITV the opportunity to use some of that old Coventry footage again and bring their outside broadcast team to Surrey. I could yet get the chance to tell Mr Townsend of my feelings towards him.

Charlton got a much less glamourous tie at home to Carlisle. This is in all honesty the perfect tie from the clubs point of view, and may well set us up with a windfall third round gem in January. We shall see.

Next weekend it's back to league action and my first ever trip to Griffin Park. Excited doesn't even begin to describe it.
Come on you reds!