Pinkie Vetokele

During the week the great Sir Richard Attenborough sadly passed away, a man I shall forever associate with bringing the wonderful character of Pinkie Brown to life. Pinkie was a cold-blooded young criminal in Brighton with a ruthless streak the like of which hadn't been seen on the south coast again until a merciless Igor Vetokele nearly stole three points from right under the Albion noses yesterday afternoon.

My first visit to see the Seagulls, not only at the Amex but since the Goldstone days (I even missed the Withdean chapter), saw Charlton continue their unbeaten start to the season and walk away with a solid point that we'd have gladly taken at three o'clock. Many of the travelling support would have taken just a shot on goal as a positive from a fixture that has never brought the best out of us. But you don't head to Brighton to see Charlton win, you head to Brighton to experience the comprehensive array of characteristic public houses. And we did.

Making the most of both being my most local fixture and the subsidised travel costs, my train fares for the day amounted a whopping £6.70. I was determined to put my savings back into the community in exchange for alcoholic refreshment. We did this first at The Cricketers and then secondly at The Quadrant where we were served by a charming Amy Winehouse lookalike. Two smashing pubs I shall frequent again on one of my regular scooter forays on the town. The Queens Head by the station after the match however was a haven for plastic beer vessels and abusive inebriated middle aged women, not the quality of venue we'd quickly become accustomed too.

The need to not stray too far from the station was the locality of the ground, a couple of stops along the line at Falmer. The train was pleasant enough, but the shepherding at Brighton took some fathoming to understand its benefits, and made us later than expected to walk to the far side of the ground to queue for entry. Having undergone over zealous stewarding, we entered just in time to see Igor snatch Charlton an early lead. With the goal up the other end and a few pints of local bitter inside me, I'll leave it to you to witness the goal on television rather than try to describe it. My celebrations were cut short as a chap was quick to tell me I kept backing into him, this same fella then proceeded to watch the match sat on two seats! I always get them, every time I go away.

Brighton were a far better side on the day, they spent the majority of the first half teasing our defence and there was little more action to be had at the far end of the ground. Henderson was called into action more than once with fine stops, but Brighton continued to ask questions of our full backs. Unfortunately although the quality of Chris Solly is still evident, his pace has long gone since the injury. Once our stand out player in the team, he now looks a little ordinary but that may also be due to the company he currently keeps.

Half time came, and being a goal to the good needed celebrating with a pint. The concourse at the Amex is certainly visitor friendly, staff in Charlton t-shirts, the Addicks badge proudly displayed all around the kiosks, and as welcoming as that is, it did give the impression they've money to burn. The young families may appreciate these touches but the average football fan can't be too concerned about such niceties can he? Or am I stuck in the 80s? It was good to catch up with Messrs Gebbett and Garvey. Two good lads I hadn't shared a beer with for far too long.

The second half saw Albion embarrass our defenders, their slack defending from a corner allowing Brighton defender, Lewis Dunk, a free header to equalise. But Igor wasn't content without the win, he latched onto a ball from wide delivered by Church, turned a defender inside out on a sixpence and then shimmied it past the keeper in front of a chaotic away end. In the aftermath I manged to headbutt a friends young daughter, amazing how such elation affects us all differently. She looked far less happy a quarter of an hour later when Dunk repeated his earlier effort with almost the last action of the game. That hurt her far more than I was capable of. Yet again sloppy defending and acres of space. But we couldn't complain, Brighton certainly didn't deserve to be losers on the day.

With the transfer window closing tomorrow it seems less likely that we'll see the number nine shirt filled as the Andy Delort saga appears to have come to an end with the striker signing for Wigan. I'm quietly relieved, the lad had done nothing but wind me up with his antics of the past few weeks and I'm of the reflection that he wouldn't have worn the Charlton shirt with the necessary passion. Frederic Bulot however has been captured before the deadline, a midfielder who likes to play wide, Bulot is here for a season long loan from parent club Standard Liege. He'll arrive knowing plenty of faces already then.

Bulot wasn't signed in time to face Brighton so, with the international break, he'll have to wait a fortnight to get into the action. If he's any sense he'll watch some local football next Saturday and support the national 'Non-League Day'. A great opportunity for fans of some of the biggest clubs to inject a few quid into some of the smallest. I'll be going to my local club Horley Town as they entertain Sevenoaks Town in the FA Vase. This is one of the greatest days on the footballing calender, there's no excuse for not spending the price of a couple of pints to watch local lads playing the game they love. Which game takes your fancy?

A load of Belgian waffle.

Football as a sport is built on defining landmark moments. An FA Cup final in the blazing sunshine of May, a Tuesday night trip to Plymouth in the freezing January rain, a hectic Christmas festive football frenzy marking the halfway stage of the season watched by grown men in club colour-matched Santa hats. These different junctures of the campaign all contrive equally to delight us with a hobby and lifestyle we couldn't replicate elsewhere, even if the actual game play so frequently disappoints.

It's a long time since I've managed to complete a whole Christmas fixture list, family commitments (read 'a wife that would never forgive me') taking precedence over a Boxing Day jaunt to SE7. This year, as has become the norm, was spent with family in Tunbridge Wells, Rusthall to be exact. A village to the west of the town immune to mobile phone signals and hosting frustratingly sporadic internet connections. A refreshing break from social media therefore opened out far more traditional Christmas entertainment, but it was a good twenty four hours after the final whistle before I managed to read of Lawrie Wilson's brace and the enthralling team effort to go with it that saw off Brighton & Hove Albion.

If I couldn't attend Boxing Day, there wasn't a cat in Hell's chance I was going to miss The Valley's second festive fixture, this time against a rather large club from Yorkshire. Christmas is renowned for throwing the simplest of travel plans into chaos, never more so than this year with abnormal weather and huge Southern Railway maintenance plans. Every football supporter dreads the words 'rail replacement bus' yet despite their efforts to the contrary, I still arrived at the Richard The First in Greenwich in plenty of time for a few pre match ales.A good job too, I was in danger of sobering up for the first time in four days.

Chris Solly had returned for the Boxing Day fixture, but a heavy pitch had obviously taken it's toll on the full back as he was missing for the visit of Sheffield Wednesday three days later. Rhoys Wiggins was also absent but this due to the birth of his first child. Could the momentum of Brighton be carried over to this mid season relegation heavyweight six-pointer clash with such disruption to the team? Perhaps a far bigger question, could an area of grass that you wouldn't want to walk a dog on host a Championship football match?

During my break from the online world I had missed the news of Belgian businessman Roland Duchâtelet and his intentions to buy the club. As tempting as it would be to immediately have the finest Belgian blonde and wheat beers pumping through the North Upper concourse, the first job after tying down the staff with new contracts for any prospective buyer has to be investment in the playing surface. Quite frankly that pitch is shocking and an embarrassment to the Championship, a statement that could also be used for match officials but more on that later. If it isn't puddles of water stopping a pass reaching it's recipient, it's the mud. Yes, I agree they used to play top flight football in these conditions in 1974 but that was forty years ago. The way the game is played has changed since then, technology has moved on, even if the weather hasn't. I find it very difficult to believe this day and age that professional people keeping a professional football can struggle so much. If the kit man were equally poor with his results would the club happily send the players out in pink shorts after the red in the shirts had run?

So could such a surface host a football match? Just. The first half was dreadful, as dire a forty five minutes as you'll see all season but Dale Stephens would turn on a little style to surprise us all just after the restart. Collecting the ball directly from a Wilson throw on the edge of the box he dropped his shoulder, took it inside the defender then out-witted the oncoming keeper using the outside of his right boot. It was delectable, and as they so often say, a goal that could grace a cup final. The sort of goal Simon Church dreams of. Church, perhaps the 'unluckiest in front of goal' of a long line of Charlton front men spearheaded our campaign to not increase our lead. As we started to sit back on our lead Wednesday started firing shots vaguely goal-wards but mainly towards the corner flags. We felt deep down as we so often do that it was only a matter of time.

The table doesn't lie, these two sides are poor and that is why they find themselves consistently in the bottom six. I never like to slate the officials, it's an easy option but it is becoming harder by the match as referees and their assistants continually both falter with and show little fluidity to many match changing decisions. That said, to some extent you make your own luck in football and if you continually fail to take the chances you create and if you play half your matches in terrible conditions you won't be sitting pretty on top of the pile.

The Sheffield Wednesday equalizer certainly hinted at offside and the more you watch it the clearer it appears to the point where you wonder how anybody could have missed it in the first place, yet it's arrival was ultimately an inevitability. We defended in numbers, so much so that we seemed to get in each others way, our only option going forward was to catch them on the break. The obvious thing to do would be to bring on a centre half come very defensive midfielder and a wide man lacking in competitive practice.

Again Mr Duchâtelet, I beseech you, should you spend your pennies in this corner of London, whilst arranging an annual summer pre-season friendly at Standard Liège, could you invest in resurrecting the reserve team. An occasional Wednesday morning behind closed doors friendly is never going to be enough for the squad's fringe players to find that aggressive edge. Perhaps a short time in the 'stiffs' would also ease the likes of Solly (and all those with recurring injuries) back into the first team for a more prolonged period of time.

A dismal effort from Church at the end again begged the admission that no matter how you dress it up, we struggle to score goals. I've said this before but it seems poignant on the weekend when he found himself reaching double figures, but surely now is good time to give Michael Smith a chance providing it possible to recall him. He certainly knows where the goal is, albeit two divisions below, but regular competitive football is certainly keeping him sharper than the bench warmers above him in the current pecking order.

As much as we like to moan, it is just a matter of perspective. We are unbeaten in three and who wouldn't have taken four points from the two festive home games a week ago? So it is with this vision that I shall bode a farewell to 2013 and welcome the new year full of Belgian hope.

That's if the takeover talks don't collapse on the second of January. Happy New Year!

Handball!

Some of the best in the world are guilty of it but in the words of Jake Burns and Stiff Little Fingers, it doesn't make it all right.

I lost count of just how many times myself and those around me in the Covered End screamed at the referee and his partners in crime for being so oblivious to this blatant flouting of the rules. We even got to give an ironic cheer as Leeds had an opportunity to claim for the same infringement late on. Handballs aside, this wasn't to be a happy anniversary for Leeds United who ten years ago this weekend had an unfortunately far too memorable victory in SE7 to the tune of 6-1. The Leeds side of today led for the moment by Charlton old boy Neil Redfearn aren't a patch on that team.

Momentum certainly favoured the home side, an historic comeback against Bolton last week followed by a gutsy draw at Brighton on Tuesday evening had let the pride and commitment of this famous club shine brightly through. Leeds on the other hand had lost their last three and only gained three points from the last six games.

Chris Powell reverted to the eleven that started (or perhaps didn't start) against Bolton a week before. Yesterday they came at Leeds from the off. Charlton had the better of the first half, great chances fell to Michael Morrison who thought he'd try his hand at rugby conversions and Callum Harriott who ran circles around a couple of defenders before unleashing a great shot from distance which whistled past the post. I felt upbeat at half time, we were on top and had shown we were capable of making that pay.

Three thousand travelling Leeds supporters had been in good voice during the first forty five. As football fans go, Leeds come in for more than their share of critics but full credit to them yesterday. With the team faltering on the pitch and very little in real terms left for them to play for, they packed the away end travelling down alongside Barnsley who were at Selhurst yesterday. The M1 services may have been interesting to the casual observer!

How quickly three thousand men in full song can be silenced. Andy Hughes, a Leeds cult hero (who didn't put a foot wrong all day) struck a well placed shot into the box which caught an outstretched Leeds leg, Charlton skipper Johnnie Jackson was there to calmly deal with the loose ball and put the hosts in front. If we continued in this vein I couldn't envisage any way back into it for Leeds.

Now let me put my hands up and admit I was the first to slate Chris Powell when he made his first substitution. With just the one goal cushion and us still looking confident enough to add to the tally he hauled off Ricardo Fuller for Salim Kerkar. Fuller really didn't want to go and looked as bemused and disgruntled as we did in the stands. I'd picked holes in the Bolton tactics last week for 'going defensive' with only a small margin, and here we were seven days later doing the same, albeit bringing on an attack minded midfielder rather than a defensive one.

Four minutes later and 'I told you so!'. Luke Varney (it would be wouldn't it) had come off the bench and equalized. There was far more than just a hint of handball in the build up yet the man in the middle who resembled an old chap on a roller coaster missed it completely. Must have been the cheese sandwiches. We'd sat back a little, invited them to bring their game forward and they had punished us. Rightly or wrongly, they were level and we had once again been the architects of our own undoing.

Slate Chris Powell's tactics at your own risk though, he still had a little joker up his dapper sleeve by the name of Jonathan Obika. Charlton had been rallying to the cause, Chris Solly being denied twice with great efforts must have wondered what more he could of done. Four minutes were added on for stoppages, Charlton pressed but must have thought they had ultimately been cheated out of all three points.

Leeds didn't enhance their reputation on the pitch when their full back went down under a collision with Kermorgant, the visitor reeling around like he'd been shot. Most of the four minutes seemed to be spent getting him off the field and it seemed an age before the referee started proceedings again. Then with just seconds left on the clock Rhoys Wiggins sent in a beautiful cross (and there was me, earlier during the game, wishing for a return from Cedric Evina) which Obika, completely unmarked, nodded home. No matter how much you thought the place erupted last week after pegging back Bolton, nothing but nothing compared to this. This was justice, this was right, this was lawful football winning through to keep us all absorbed and immersed with the beautiful game. This was OUR Charlton, the one you can't describe to anyone who doesn't understand.

Seven points in a week, top half of the table, can we now please stop all this talk of not being safe. There are so many clubs who would gladly trade places, Chris Powell under his hardest test to date has come up smelling of roses and guided us to another year of Championship football. I don't need it to be mathematically sound to state that either.

After the game I enjoyed a rare visit to Bartram's for a post match pint with a couple of faces I haven't seen for far too long (you know who you are) before setting off for home feeling upbeat and with perhaps too much of a spring in my step. Once at London Bridge i decided to try the impossible of running for a connection which was due to leave at the same time as the train I was pulling in on. Sure enough I missed it, and tumbled into a heap in the process as I lost my balance sprinting across the footbridge. It goes without saying that every single person at the busy station watched my fall from grace, my embarrassment far outweighing any pain and I darted for some dark shadows to examine my wounds. My hand was bleeding badly on each knuckle, it had taken the brunt of the impact.

To the untrained eye it looked like a hand that had been hit by a fast moving football on the build up to an illegal Leeds goal.

Milestone

Big games come and go, yet milestones arrive with a deserved fanfare and live long in local folklore. I am old enough to remember December 5th 1992 quite clearly, many who were young children then (or even not born at all) will feel like they were there, such was the enormity of the day and the achievement.

Years of exile finally over, nomadic Charlton were back in SE7, the blood sweat and tears had paid off. Move on twenty years and the corresponding weekend of the season saw another club with a migratory history rather fittingly, Brighton and Hove Albion visit The Valley to join in with our self indulgent (and quite rightly so) party atmosphere.

Before the kick off and before my arrival, former Charlton greats were introduced on the pitch amidst a bevy of red and white balloons, the club produced another bumper edition and one day collectable(?) matchday magazine (formally known as a programme), the carnival may not have been in town in body but the significance of that day wasn't lost on a soul.
Brighton to their credit showed us some respect, also parading former greats and wearing their blue and white striped shirts which of course don't clash rather than following suit with modern football and wearing an away strip regardless.

A very fine touch, the brainchild of a good friend and fellow blogger Hungry Ted was a spontaneous round of applause at seven minutes past three, the time of the goal from twenty years before, followed by a rousing rendition (still sung far too quickly though) of Valley Floyd Road. I could see Chris Powell in his technical area happily clapping along but it was a tad harder to see if he joined the covered end choir for the anthem.

December, being not only the finale to the the year but also a rather special month in the Christian calendar is always a hectic time for me, blogging plays second fiddle to just about everything else. Hence we had played twice since my last posting, a rather uninspiring win at home to Peterborough and an electric, if slightly undeserved, point at arch rivals Millwall.
The Seagulls were in South London for the second week running and were on the back of a defeat at Selhurst Park. That would have hurt them greatly and consequently seen Charlton as fair game to both turn their fortunes around whilst raining, if not pouring on our parade.

The most noticeable absence from the starting eleven was Leon Cort. Dervite and Morrison were flanked by Solly and Wilson. Kermorgant was on the bench allowing Haynes to partner Hulse up front. My preferred pairing i'm afraid all you Yann lovers!

We survived the 3.07 applause, conceding then didn't bear thinking about,  and five minutes later the home side embraced the fairytale scenario with aplomb. Lawrie Wilson nodded home from a Dale Stephens cross sending the 16,000 Charlton fans into hysteria. This was almost too good to be true.

Brighton had packed the Jimmy Seed stand and just before the half hour mark they erupted as the dangerous Craig Mackail-Smith pounced on an awful (but thankfully rare) Michael Morrison mistake. All level at the break, even if the visitors had the luxury of an extra man in the official. I'm not normally one to get on the back of the referee, it's a job i don't envy, but Mr Sheldrake had an abysmal day at 'the office'. Far too keen to play an 'advantage' when it wasn't always just that, yet happy to blow up every time it benefited the visitors.

Charlton again got their noses in front during the second half. A sublime ball from Dale Stephens to Hulse, in turn setting Jackson up on the left hand side of the box, wrong footed the entire Brighton team. The skipper played it in to Bradley Pritchard who scuffed and stumbled his way over the ball before finding a path for it goal bound. His first goal at The Valley and you could see how much it meant to him as he hung back in front of the north stand and punched the air for all of us.

The delirium was short lived though as Morrison again was the culprit, allegedly upending Ashley Barnes right on the edge of the box. Yann Kermorgant came on before the free kick was taken, i noted to Jim next to me that it was no different a platform to that cardinal sin of making a substitution whilst defending a corner. The change of personnel, the 'dubious' (well from my view anyway) decision in the first place, this ball was going into the net. LuaLua stepped up and used the Charlton wall to his full advantage deflecting the ball past a hapless Ben Hamer. LuaLua somersaulted his way across the pitch in spectacular, if not a little dated, fashion.

Brighton sensed the win was there for the taking and although both sides had chances to snatch the victory it was a relief when the final whistle was blown. It was a good spectacle to watch and a point was a fair return.

With three thousand Brighton supporters expecting to catch the same train as us, we decided to have a post match beer at the Rose of Denmark rather than one of the usual  London Bridge haunts. The quieter train a little later was, however, nothing of the sort. A Brighton 'firm' had decided to hang around SE7 and then join me on my journey back. Not having had enough 'action' last week against Palace obviously, they wanted some more and were desperately trying to arrange another meet. I figured rather than join in with their anti Palace songs i was better off reclining in my anonymity, London Bridge station couldn't come quick enough! A very small minority of course and nothing like the Brighton fans i chatted to on my way to the game drinking their Marks and Spencer Belgian lager. A different class.

Two away days follow, no more home games until Boxing Day. I said a month or two back that we'd be top half by Christmas. We are now.