The Guessing Game

You can say what you like about the Belgian regime, but there are always those worse off than yourselves. And they came to the Valley on Saturday, in droves too. Leeds United have always had large (and in the main, good) support, whether travelling from Yorkshire or London based and once again they filled the Jimmy Seed to support what is in all honesty right now, a shambles of a club. But I'm not in the mood to start pulling apart football club owners. They came to the capital, got bladdered and made plenty of noise prior to the the match, then created a great atmosphere for three quarters of the game, only to venture home far quieter.

On arrival at a very sunny London Bridge I fancied I just had time for a very quick pint to quell my thirst in the Grapes before heading to Charlton, rather than suffering the generic lager inside the ground which was the other, slightly less appealing, alternative. As I made my way up St Thomas Street I had to dodge two very young lads dripping burger sauce down their Sergio track tops as they expressed their wit and charm on every female walking past them. With my shoes free from relish, I continued my journey to find their older travelling ensemble swamping the pub. In good voice and swaying (although not from song) I realised that the plastic glass of piss in SE7 suddenly seemed so sensible compared to a thirty minute struggle to the bar through, what would inevitably be, my new found chirpy train companions. From the tales of others, I gather these were not the only merry Leeds fans in London. Those at Greenwich had no idea what side of the tracks they needed to be to get a train to Charlton, and that was obviously worthy of a song in itself.

Great numbers to see a rather meaningless mid table end of season affair indeed. Unlike the home areas, which in my part of the Upper North seemed full of empty red seats. And who can blame the absent, the team have certainly been dreaming of their summer holidays since at least Good Friday, why shouldn't we?

During the first half Charlton had the look of a pre-season friendly about them as Leeds dominated, creating plenty of chances to fire themselves in front. A combination of poor finishing and a stunning penalty save from 'player of the year' front runner Stephen Henderson kept the lacklustre Addicks in it for majority of the first half but (thankfully?) Leeds did go into the break a goal to the good with Steve Morison's superb volley direct from a corner. Sometimes it needs an opposition goal to get us going. It certainly needed something on Saturday.

Whether it was the shock of going behind, the arrival of Gudmundsson for Eagles, or an uplifting message from Luzon in the dressing room, the second half was a different ball game from Charlton's perspective. A stunning ball from the Icelandic international found Tony Watt free on the left of goal to volley home, and he came close himself five minutes later shooting from distance, Igor Vetokele winning a penalty from the resulting keeper's parry. It was a great burst of energy from the striker to get to the loose ball matching a similar burst earlier in the game where he lunged out in similar fashion for a booking. Yoni Buyens was as cool as the proverbial cucumber slotting away the spot kick. As good as he is from twelve yards, he's really struggled with the pace of the English game. It turned out a good victory, three points snatched from the grip of defeat yet, except for the last twenty minutes, we were debating what would be an acceptable time to leave and frequent a public house. You'd take tenth place over a relegation dogfight every day, but I'm craving some true excitement and hysteria. That final game against Bournemouth could be hard to watch. Good luck to them and all that, but I don't really want to stand by and witness a party I'm not invited to.

When it isn't going well on the pitch, as it wasn't during the first forty five minutes on Saturday, my mind tends to wander. I started to ponder on which of our European bench warmers would hang around and which would once again board the fairground ride. Then there are those homegrown lads who have broken into the first eleven, what would become of them in the Summer? One or two could get snapped up and enjoy a big money contract. Gudmundsson and, er, well Gudmundsson must be on a few clubs shortlists after his efforts in SE7 this season. Of course there is always talk of the big boys watching our youngsters but I'd be shocked if anyone really came in for the likes of Morgan Fox. I watched him and him alone for about fifteen minutes of the first half and was genuinely surprised as to how much room he let the visitors have to attack on their right hand side.

I fully expect the majority to move on, and it's a certainly a shame to have to say that this really doesn't bother me. I've not easily bonded with any of them. Yes, Igor and Tony Watt have given the crowd something to cheer of late, but they're definitely no Andy Hunt. Chris Solly isn't a patch on the player he was, and the one true Charlton spirit in the squad, skipper Johnnie Jackson can't have long left at this level. I do ask the question though, that with the revolving network door surely a permanent fixture in the foreseeable future, will we ever truly love again as we did with the likes of Rufus and Robinson? Is Johnnie Jackson the last of the line in this respect?

On the whole I'll miss the majority of them about as much as I'll miss that rotten kit we've played in all season. Thank goodness that has now made it's last appearance at the Valley. Maybe Gudmundsson will still be here in August, maybe he won't, but I guarantee he wont reach Johnny Robinson's three hundred odd appearances. As Tennyson quite rightly said, "It's better to have loved and lost than to never to have loved at all."

Stereotypes

Upon hearing the name Fulham, for some of us, it conjures up the notion of 'jolly hockey sticks', a game of 'rugger' with the chaps, and a certain comedy character from the nineties. You know the one, "What an absolutely, thoroughly, bloody nice bloke!" For others of us we immediately think of Danny Murphy's wife. But we are football supporters and if anyone is going to milk the phrase 'stereotype' it's football fans, heaven knows, the Daily Mail readers are mindlessly tarring us with absurd regularity. Yes, I know what I did there.

Surely though there has to be some basis behind stereotypification? Well if I should have ever fancied a game of 'rugger' myself, the 19.01 train to Charlton from London Bridge last night was packed with suitable team mates. Harry Enfield couldn't have mimicked the accents any better, it was a public school outing into unknown territory, a thoroughly exciting time which was to be had by all. I say unknown territory for one lad, speaking to his father (master?) spotted our train pulling into Deptford and proudly proclaimed we had arrived in the Isle of Dogs. Another two were scrolling their smart phones looking for team news. They 'goshed' and 'guffawed' at the away sides selection, yet stared in puzzlement at the Addicks starting eleven. Not one of these fellows had they heard of! Terribly nice lads to share a train with certainly, but bloody dim.

Thankfully around fifteen hundred of them managed to find their way to the ground from the station to watch their side take a step closer to Championship safety. With Rotherham and Millwall both winning over the Easter weekend Fulham had found themselves back in serious contention to join Blackpool in League One next season. I'd like to think if we found ourselves in such a situation (again) we'd manage to encourage slightly more to make a short hop across the capital to rally the troops.

If Fulham are up for the fight we definitely gave some assistance and made it look easier for them. An early soft goal set the tone, to which they could have added if it wasn't for a couple of fine saves from Henderson in either half. If you thought the dreadful day in Bermondsey on Good Friday was just a blip, be warned, we've taken our foot well and truly off the gas and have an eye firmly planted on the June sunshine and sand of some far flung destination. And who can blame them. We've worked our socks off over the past couple of months to ensure safety, now the end can't come quick enough.

In the Charlton way and true to form this wasn't going to be just an end of season game to forget. We've long memories in SE7, Fulham and bad refereeing decisions go hand in hand. Poetic justice then that our equaliser rustled a few Fulham feathers as they believed a flag should have been raised for offside. A lot of us thought the same but, well, what goes around and all that.

Then of course there was Scott Parker. If you wanted to go down the stereotype road again you'd presume we'd boo him all night long. Well, long memories to the rescue again, we did. I've seen articles today on forums and other such dreaded places I really shouldn't venture near stating that it's time we grew up, he was a young lad influenced by pound signs before the eyes. Well I say bugger that. He knew what he was doing and he could have moved on to the 'big time' with a lot more class than he did. But of course that's all water under the bridge for him isn't it? Judging by the way he squabbled and made gestures to the supporters in the North stand he despises us more than we do him. My biggest grumble was our choice of song. "One greedy bastard" sang the covered end choir forgetting of course that there is Jermaine Defoe in a similar bracket and Diego Poyet too for that matter. Perhaps "Average greedy bastard" would make him feel less superior should he ever return? However, the chorus of "that's why you're going down" after the most calamitous of quick free kicks was nothing short of superb.

A Fulham free kick on the edge of the box in stoppage time had the makings of a Parker finale but thankfully we were spared the arrogance as he left it for a teammate to kick high and wide. A point a piece and on reflection a fair outcome. The last floodlit fixture at the Valley of the season and the last late night train ride home. As we queued by the shut platform gates we caught brief moments of conversations around us. This Fulham chum was mentioning something about how both he and his lady friend had shed a tear when they went to see Les Mis. I kid you not. But as my comrade Jim quite rightly pointed out, next time we are stood here it will be in the middle of a group of Leeds fans. Now if you're going to start talking about stereotyping...

One Day I'm Going To Soar

I've never really thought I'd soar far myself, I lack that necessary type of drive and ambition the movers and shakers of the world posses. Add to this a relatively large lack of faith (often unfounded) in my own ability to achieve anything worthwhile and you can see why I don't choose to label myself as upwardly mobile. Besides, I'd willingly sacrifice my own success and the rewards that come with it to help achieve a more financially balanced community, a fairer world for all; you can imagine how I'd wow the judges at a beauty pageant with sentiment like that, until the swimwear round of course.

Perhaps that's why I took a sabbatical from my virtual pen during the past few months, the drive had shriveled up and gone. I could give up part of my Sunday to grumble (and there are only so many ways you can do that whilst keeping it fresh) about what has happened to my football club, or I could pour a drink, pick up a novel and escape from these things which set about destroying my weekends. But I'm back for now, and not just because the results have improved beyond expectation, but because I look at my bank statement each month and realise I can't afford to become alcohol dependent just yet.

Last night upon my return home from the game I watched Dexys' 'Nowhere Is Home' film that was on BBC4 Friday night. The superb Kevin Rowland said "I'm not here to be your mate, I just do what I do to the best of my ability. If you like it, fantastic, if you don't, fair enough." And that's a bit like blogging, we're not all geeks, or heaven forbid think we're all experts, we are just regular lads expressing our opinion for primarily our own benefit in more than one hundred and forty characters. If you make it to the end fantastic, if you don't fair enough.

Kevin Rowland soared, the film is essentially the show of the album which has titled this piece, and you have to feel Charlton could soar also if left alone this summer. And herein lies a problem. The results have turned around and yesterday we saw a football display that was a joy to behold. A flowing, passing game from the home side and a first touch unrecognizable to that of which we're more familiar. The transfer policy has changed and so much for the better, rather than the merry go round of below average misfits there are footballers arriving who not only have experience in this league but understand English football as a whole. We can finally rest worn out centre halves and broken strikers with confidence. Next season this team could challenge, but will they be allowed to continue together or will Roland Duchâtelet emulate Mike Reid with his shout of 'Runaround now!' during the break?

Tony Watt is different class (we've almost forgotten Yann Kermorgant), Alou Diarra, a resurgent Frederic Bulot, Roger Johnson, Joe Gomez (possibly a far hotter prospect than Jenkinson and dare I say it Solly), this team has certainly gelled like no other under the Belgian's reign. Guy Luzon, it's fair to say, has been dealt a better hand than his predecessors but credit still has to be acknowledged. The first half yesterday wasn't by any means a bad performance even going in a goal down to Reading, but we came out after the interval on fire playing some of the best football the Championship has seen all season and could have won 6-1. In true form though they still managed to give the loyal fans a scare at the end as Reading tried to clinch a truly undeserved point.

It never fails to amaze me how different match days can be. Yesterday I didn't have to work a morning shift so therefore didn't struggle with trains, I met true good friends for pie and mash and a few ales finishing off with football that was worth more than the ticket price. Normally I'm stressed with the London Bridge disruptions, late for the kick off and subjected to football that wouldn't always be fitting of Conference South prices. A lot of disappointment for a large outlay all round.

Results on the pitch won't change the heart emotion, we'll enjoy them but remain cautious. As Rowland discovered during one of the album tracks, it's all or nothing and not an open relationship. We can't just come and go (I know, I've tried) and no matter how much I flirt with non league football I always return for it is of course true love. So for now I'll find the energy to give this club of ours a little piece more of my spare time and try to enjoy not just watching the football but reminiscing about it too. Dexys waited over twenty years to soar again, no matter how long it takes Charlton I want to hang on and enjoy every minute of it when it comes. 

Queensbury Rules

It was reminiscent of Fulham the weekend before, the slow lazy start, giving the opposition the invitation to lead, requiring a fiery half-time team talk to produce some passion. The difference being Fulham have a new found will to succeed, Sheffield Wednesday are just treading water.

Michael Morrison had made an escape to Birmingham City during the week to find himself a couple of months first team football, his place on the bench quickly filled by a former American international centre half, Oguchi Onyewu. A former Owl himself, he has signed up for the two months Morrison is away but being without a club could very easily make that contract a lot longer. There was to be no dream debut against his former employers yesterday though, and in case you were wondering how he happened to find himself at the Valley, you'll be none too surprised to hear the club he enjoyed his longest ever spell at was of course Standard Liege.

Having impressed during a late cameo at Craven Cottage, Karlan Ahearne-Grant was rewarded with a home start although he would only last the first half, while Yoni Buyens and Rhoys Wiggins both returned to the starting line up. As my ageing eyes testify, they are all quickly becoming little more than red shirts to me now; Ahearne-Grant was as I said replaced at the interval by Johann Berg Gudmundsson, and I could have sworn the number seven had been on from the start! Later when Igor Vetokele received the ball in the centre of the box to slide home a much deserved equaliser, I thought it was Cousins and not Wiggins that had made a darting run up the left flank beating men as he went before executing an inch perfect ball to the returning super sub. But this was all a million miles from what we had to suffer during the first forty five minutes.

It may have started briskly but that didn't last long giving way to plenty of stoppages interspersed with Wednesday attacks helped by a referee who wanted to touch the ball more regularly than our midfield. When they did score it was former Real Madrid man Royston Drenthe winning the ball just a couple of yards into our half, then running with it not so closely watched by Wiggins (I'm pretty sure this time) all the way before shooting home to the delights of two ends of the ground.

Wednesday had brought a good number, they always do, but there was certainly room to accommodate a couple more bums in the Jimmy Seed stand. One Charlton supporter though thought it wise to let a couple of travelling Owls sit next to him in the Upper North, it was around this stage that they were discovered. Now it's not much fun being in the wrong end, I witnessed a Sunderland lad get walloped at Wembley in 98, I had an awful time at Elland Road back in the terracing days of my late teens that I'd never wish to repeat, and I was never part of a mob 'taking an end' when that was all the rage. But these lads yesterday were certainly made to feel unwelcome when they showed glee at a time all when around them had their head in their hands.

It would turn comical, once upon a time a burly fellow would have marched straight up to them and helped their speedy departure from our midst, not now. Lots of shouting, gesticulating and name calling but little action although some were quick to find a steward and tell on them. It's a family club and all that, I know it's polite to warn the authorities and let them do their job, but I can't help feeling there was something a little embarrassing about the whole situation. But don't despair, there really was a Charlton legend on hand to give each one of us a lesson on class. The three culprits were escorted down the staircase and were about to depart for the concourse, but in their way was one grey haired old gent. He quickly adopted the pose before letting fly with a good old fashioned punch to the nose, and it rocked it's recipient. The fellow then calmly just sat back down, his work done. A quality moment I shall never forget. What a firm we must have had back in the sixties with this Gent at it's helm!

The second half as I previously mentioned found us deploying more of a threat going forward, corner after corner we certainly had the visitors worried but once we found the goal we failed to really push on and finish the job. Tucudean delivered his customary overhead kick attempt a fair few feet from the ball, Wilson found the net only to be denied by a linesman's flag, and for all we threw at them they looked just as likely of snatching something when opening us up on the break. The result was to be expected, these two teams had become the draw specialists of the Championship and it's a long time since Wednesday have returned from these parts without anything to show for their efforts.

Remember Jose Semedo, the former Charlton player that bled red and white? Well he was in the Wednesday team yesterday, although I wasn't aware of this until the eightieth minute when someone pointed him out to me. Perhaps I need to move my seat a little nearer the pitch. Not too close to our geriatric hooligan though, I'd be too scared to enjoy the match each week!

Soul time

Fulham away or a film? Granted, not the sort of choice many of us have to make but when entering the last week of the month and the pay-packet has all but dwindled away a man needs to prioritize his disposable folding in a manner most beneficial to him. And this was no ordinary film.

So I forwent a drinking blitz in Putney and a stroll through the park to Craven Cottage, settling instead for live coverage of the match on 'the home of football', the bloody awful Sky television. A London derby, television cameras, it wasn't as if I was going to miss something magical. My feet were planted firmly on the floor.

Those that did venture west on Friday night were certainly in full voice and enjoyed the evening far more than the 3-0 scoreline would suggest. At home one could here nothing but the Charlton following singing from the first to the last minute, they threw down the gauntlet to the team showing far more soul than the players during the first forty five minutes. Thankfully the team accepted the challenge and were for the second period the more threatening side.

With Igor Vetokele still out we just didn't look like capitalizing on all this pressure, attack after attack just seemed devoid of direction and other than Lawrie Wilson's effort against the post, a rather fragile Fulham defence got away scot free. There were plenty of positives, Karlan Ahearne-Grant came on with a quarter of the match left and attacked, chased, and ran at everything and everyone showing confidence that belittled his seventeen years. Johnnie Jackson, emulating Stuart Balmer with a head bandage, skippered the side from the front and was in the thick of just about everything while Jordan Cousins enjoyed his chance to play a more central role in place of the suspended Buyens.

Another youngster, Morgan Fox, had moments of pure brilliance briefly mixed in with more wayward passes than I witness when watching Combined Counties League football. I'm still undecided which is the more atrocious, the passing, that dreadful orange kit, or having to witness Scott Parker basking in victory.

The scoreline wasn't a true representation of the game as a whole but was a true representation of clinical unselfish finishing. Fulham's first touch passing at the start was delightful, in contrast we kept getting bogged down with the ball, and no amount of booing was going to stop Parker running the show and displaying what a wonderful footballer (if not person) we developed.

That was Friday, Saturday night I still had my weekend spending money in my pocket and was going to, to.......the pictures? But this, again I say it, was no ordinary film. This was Northern Soul and I'd been waiting a long time to watch it.

A small British independent film, the release had been delayed for months before finally hitting the big screen a week ago, yet major cinema corporations had turned their noses up at it even if Steve Coogan and Ricky Tomlinson had both been recruited for small cameo parts in an effort to raise it's prominence.

Had I wanted to watch it during it's first week I'd have had to travel to Victoria, by waiting it came to Horsham, still the only place between London and Brighton showing it and even this was in a small cinema screen on the side of the theatre.

The time had come though, I had arranged a pre-film pint with a Crystal Palace supporting fellow scooter rider that I knew through work, Northern Soul doing again what it had done the first time around - breaking down barriers!

I'm no film critic, believe me I just manage to survive muddling through writing about football, but this was all it promised and more. Set obviously in a northern town during the early seventies at a time of general gloom, it dealt with issues such as bullying, racism and general hatred and distrust of the system by bonding the young people of this and surrounding towns with unknown soul music from across the Atlantic.

The film was a very close representation of the time, the clothes, the school, the attitude, the murkiness, but also surprised me with one or two things I wasn't aware of. I knew about the amphetamines (how else could you dance all night long?) but wasn't aware of the needle epidemic being around then, I always presumed that came later.

The storyline mirrored the gloominess of the surroundings with a darker undercurrent and moments of true sadness, yet at the heart of it all was some great dancing and even better soul music (about forty different tunes). I may have been shocked when it opened up to the hippie sounds of Melanie singing but that was soon blown away when the first soul record was spun in the local youth club.

It's already available to buy on DVD, ask for a copy for Christmas if you can wait that long, it was well worth missing a football match for. Northern Soul wasn't just breaking down the walls of heartache, it was breaking down the walls of bigotry, fascism, boredom and depression. Quite monumental when you think about it.

All quite fitting really when you realise that Fulham used their fixture against us on Friday night as their 'Season of Action' game to promote Kick it Out, an organization combating racism and discrimination in football. I shouldn't think playing Northern Soul would be a good idea at the Cottage though, I can't imagine that stand at the Putney end is strong enough survive the dancing!

Bolt on extras

The departure of Dorian Dervite was for me, almost as huge a loss to the club as that of Yann Kermorgant. Alongside Michael Morrison and Leon Cort, I thought Dervite to be a solid centre half who also looked equally comfortable playing just in front of the back four. And then he came up trumps with the odd crucial goal to boot.

Fast cars look fancy, perform well and even excel at corners, but at the base is a solid chassis holding the whole contraption together. The cornerstone of the car. The heart of the defence for any football team needs to have that solid, industrial foundation. How was I to know that during the Summer we'd acquire two men that would not only consign Dervite to the deep recesses of my memory, but I think I'm justified in saying this, equal the heady partnership of Richard Rufus and Eddie Youds.

Tal Ben Haim and André  Bikey-Amougou have been a revelation at Charlton during these opening months of the season. It's obvious for all to see how the likes of Chelsea wanted the signature of Ben Haim when he was at his peak, yet is Bikey that frequently stands out as colossal, both in stature and pose. Against Bolton Wanderers last night he was tough, resilient, and often mopped up the mess his team mates kept creating. Now it certainly wasn't a one man show, even if the former Cameroon international did find himself on the left wing after one surging attack, and as team efforts go everyone played their part, but the defence soaked up a ridiculous amount of pressure as the statistics will show. Twenty one shots and fourteen corners, it's highly commendable that we kept the visitors down to one goal but it's not the first time we've been under the cosh for such large periods of a match.

Bolton played a great passing game and their movement off the ball was superb. Former Palace midfielder Neil Danns was a handful in the middle, never afraid to take a player on during his mazy runs, and Lee Chung-yong and Jermaine Beckford both had chances they should have done better with. Half the reason they passed the ball so well was the time they had on it. I've seen it before this season, we don't close players down and they have time to look up and pick out the perfect pass. We get the ball in the middle and the opposition are on us before we've even begun to think what to do with it and inevitably give possession away. At one point last night Danns received the ball and four red shirts stood off him while he took note of all his options. If we keep persisting to play like that it's no wonder we'll continue to find ourselves defending desperately.

The two goals we did score were both of superb quality and both involved the 'marmite' man of the squad, George Tucudean. The Romanian executed the first skillfully to put our noses in front and then got booked for performing the greatest of all goal celebrations, running into the crowd. Early in the second half he was part of a two pronged attack on the Bolton area and neatly passed it sideways to Johnnie Jackson to double our lead. Bolton it would transpire, were not as beaten as we were expecting them to be. A low shot through a sea of players got them immediately back into the match setting up a nervous final forty minutes.

With the amount of corners they had, Dervite spent more time in our area than he did his own, thankfully he hadn't read what was obviously written in the stars. Yet for every set piece dealt with, we handed them another. Wiggins was shaky as was Bulot, not to mention his replacement Fox. The first job Fox had was to mark a Bolton player from a set play who proceeded to win a free header. With the squad starting to get stretched due to injuries we are seeing youngsters who, if they were actors would be extras with non speaking parts, filling the bench and being put under immense pressure when coming on to defend for their lives. That said, they did defend and they thoroughly deserved the three points for sheer determination. We had chances, Bolton had chances, we took ours.

If every visiting manager can show us as little respect as Neil Lennon did with his 'perennial strugglers' comment, we should remain fired up to prove these doubters wrong no matter how many corners they win.

Unless someone takes the reigns in the next day or two it will be caretaker Kit Symons in charge of Fulham on Friday night as we head to the Cottage. Go on Kit, say something juicy!

And I guess that's why they call it the blues.

I've had some bad days at work. I've had days when I've never wanted to go back, I've had days when I've almost run to the pub upon knocking off for an alcoholic comforter, and I've even had one or two days where I've needed that stiffener before going in in the morning. Clayton Donaldson knows what I'm talking about.

Imagine letting your teammates, hundreds of travelling supporters and worst of all yourself down with one moment of madness. Koby Arthur had done enough to score his first goal for Birmingham City skipping away from a Johnnie Jackson lunge and poking an effort past our sprawling goalkeeper. But as he wheeled away he knew immediately something was wrong. Henderson had managed to get a hand on it, albeit not enough to turn it wide, yet Donaldson was loitering on the goal line and couldn't help himself giving it the final push into the back of the net, thus interfering with play and subsequently becoming offside.

Watch it again, with his back to the post it all happens on his left, if the ball had come to his right it still wouldn't have gone wide. It's stupid, it's a technicality, it goes against common sense, it's the rules. I can't imagine he knew where to look during the half time team talk. I doubt the Birmingham defence were feeling much happier with themselves either.

Charlton took the lead after eleven minutes, Bulot crossing from the left and finding Igor Vetokele to nod home. The Charlton striker had endured a lean period recently after his flying start to the season and welcomed the vast space given to him from the stationary Birmingham rear guard as an absolute blessing in getting himself back onto the score sheet. He couldn't really miss, it was the perfect centre forward goal and his smile lit up the Valley more so than the floodlights during gloomy afternoon skies.

If we were to take an early advantage in the first half, it was Birmingham that quickly embraced the second. A corner for the Blues was played out across the edge of the area when David Davis tried his luck and watched the ball go through an assembly of legs before finding the net. A deserved equaliser that should have been a winner. As the game fizzled out, the last of very few talking points was an injury for Jordan Cousins who was stretchered off with some very concerned faces watching nearby, a sight no football fan wants to see.

A seventh draw, but how can Charlton turn these into victories? A smash and grab may be wonderful at places like Norwich but that shouldn't be happening on your own turf. After our goal we became sloppy. Passes went astray, either too long or too short, we were muscled off the ball and allowed the other side to dictate the match as we sat back inviting them forward, much as we did for the visits of Watford and Middlesbrough recently. Yoni Buyens was for me the biggest culprit, he had a shocker last week and did little better yesterday. He was making headlines in Belgium and reportedly was the man to watch back in August, I can only presume he had far more time on the ball there; in the Championship he needs to think fast or risk keep getting caught out.

We do remain unbeaten as we go into an international break, and we are a hard side to beat. Defensively it's been a long time since we've looked so solid, Michael Morrison came in and gave a great performance yesterday, and none of the top sides have really managed to break us down, which considering a few frailties in the middle of the pitch makes that even more remarkable. If we can just stop being clumsy and a little pedestrian we could easily turn these games around and what would have been defeats last season become victories this.

A special shout out must go the the group of Norwegian supporters I spotted in the Royal Oak prior to kick off. In extremely good voice they laid into the Jager bombs with menace and were steaming by three o'clock. Spotting them on the way out they looked a complete mess; it's a long way home to Norway from South East London when you're hammered and you've little idea what bus to catch. Heaven only knows where they are now.