Cards for all occasions

Happy football supporters making their way to the match. I've no doubt this picture was re-enacted countless times yesterday, just with replica shirts replacing the rosettes, except that is in my world. In my world everyone else is getting along just fine making good time and drinking pre match ale, unaware of the trials and trepidations the Good Lord has put my way.

A fortnight ago, whilst we were in Brighton, London Bridge was shut for the week for extensive engineering works and I stupidly never gave it another thought. Common sense should have told me more was to come, and if I'd researched it in advance I'd have spotted the glitch immediately. But I'm not like that, I'll buy a can of beer, amble to the station without giving delays or cancellations a second thought and until now that laid back attitude has served me well enough. So what's changed? No Southern trains to London Bridge on weekends, that's what. And ditto every weekend for the foreseeable future too.

I don't knock off work until one o'clock on a Saturday, and that's not voluntary overtime, it's part of my regular working week just like it was for your Grandparents and their parents before them; It's why we play on a Saturday afternoon in the first place. The trouble is, the first train leaves my little station in the sticks at nearly half one, and this does not give me time to run across London to arrive at London Bridge from the opposite direction. Yesterday my train pulled into Charlton at sixteen minutes past three, I missed not only the goal but Charlton's best football of the game!

I'm in desperate need of persuading my boss to let me knock off half an hour early on matchdays and making it up during the week. Feel free to petition him for me, otherwise I may not see the opening twenty minutes of another game this season unless I start going to Selhurst and that's not an option.

When I did arrive I saw a friend on the concourse hailing the wonderful football he'd just witnessed us play. Get yourself up there Al, it's breathtaking. Sitting in the back row of the Upper North and climbing every last stair in the house, it frequently is! We may well have started the better, received a deserved penalty (just as I was rolling into Deptford), which Buyens duly dispatched with distinction, but my aura of stress must have shifted itself to the pitch as Charlton seemed adamant to make the rest of the afternoon as difficult as possible for themselves.

Apart from the on pitch activities I also missed the David Whyte tenth minute tribute. Whyte, just a couple of months younger than myself, had always been a troubled man even when he graced The Valley pitch. Depression and a lifestyle that didn't conduce itself to longevity of life didn't stop the striker from making a name for himself in SE7 with some superb goals. I always remember a home game to Oldham Athletic near the start of the 96/97 season. The one and only time I ever sat in the Jimmy Seed stand. It was a drab 0-0 until Whyte struck near the end and ran in front of us to celebrate. I swear blind he (whilst hugging Ricky Otto) looked me straight in the eye and winked. At least that's what I'm telling my grandchildren.

Watford played exactly the game I expected, one of the best sides in the division their football could be superb if it wasn't spoilt by the needless carping and polluting. The moaning and fouling has more than just European undertones and has become synonymous with the Hertfordshire club. Fortunately we are a little behind them when it comes to fielding another clubs reserve side and hopefully can stop ourselves from following their lead. That said, a card happy referee did dish out four yellows apiece. It's arguable that a couple could have been straight reds, but the constant interruptions disrupted what should have certainly been a benchmark display from two sides that can play good attractive passing football.

Stephen Henderson had his best Charlton afternoon to date in goal, Bikey was a rock in front of him. Chris Solly looked more sprightly than of late (possibly therefore reducing him to the bench on Tuesday) but it tells it's own story that our star men were at the back. We sat far too deep too often and stood off the opposition in their build up play. Last season Ravel Morrison wore the wrong boots when he came to Charlton with QPR, Watford stupidly had shopped in the same store. Henderson produced a couple of fine saves, as did the woodwork but otherwise their fourteen shots were wasted.

It was gritty from Charlton, we were second best for large periods but hung it out. Franck Moussa had two great opportunities to possibly snatch a second on the break but froze with stage fright on both occasions. Last season we'd have collapsed in those circumstances but good Championship teams, the contenders, pick up three points when they perhaps shouldn't. We've certainly got a bad patch ahead of us at some point to come but we are contenders. Derby, Wigan, Watford, they'll all second that statement. Come Tuesday night we can hopefully add Wolves to that list.

A couple of pints in my first visit in a decade to The Royal Oak afterwards helped even out my blood and stress levels back to some kind of normality. Trains, football referees, it's all sent to try us and it's hard to remember Saturday afternoon isn't the be all and end all until you lose someone special.

With deepest sympathy, God bless you David Whyte.

To be Franck

To be frank, the first home game of the season is always special. Yes, football has far more character and soul under the floodlit freezing rain rather than the late summer sunshine, but at no other time of the season do you travel to your footballing home without any disappointment or despair lingering and the forefront of your mind. You know they're around the corner, but for now only excitement and anticipation bubble up inside. Yesterday I left work with an extra spring in my step, eager to catch my first glimpse of  everything new, bright and revitalized about Charlton Athletic.

To be frank, first impressions were dubious. After entering the turnstiles of the Upper North stand to darkness, one felt a need to joke about nothing being left in the kitty for the electric meter. Then there was the 'new' catering, the same dire beer, a lack of chocolate and similar pies just in a different wrapper. Minor glitches, the stadium does of course look as magnificent as the photographs had hinted. A new playing surface that shows very little evidence of the allotment it replaced dazzled in the sunlight, as did the painted staircases and new red seats. Yet every photo I'd seen during the Summer had been taken from the south west corner, and for good reason too. The pink seats still adorn the West Stand whilst Jimmy Seed's name gracing the roof of the South Stand is fading in colour as quickly as those that remember the great man. But I wasn't here to pick holes and when the teams walked onto the pitch, like a child at Christmas I soon forgot all about the packaging.

To be frank, I fully expected Bob Peeters to start with the same eleven as he did at Brentford last week. But for a lucky deflection (we'll get back to those), the points would have been all ours that time out, so his favoured line up deserved a sterner test in the shape of Wigan Athletic. One of the bookies favourites for league, Wigan certainly showed flashes of ability amidst a real confidence on the ball, yet very few would argue we didn't match them all across the park. Jordan Cousins early goal was sublime, Yoni Buyens (who from the back of the stand resembles Shelvey) in the middle made a constant nuisance of himself whilst parading both deft touches and quick thinking in equal measure while Igor Vetokele looked menacingly hungry in attack. A warning came though when Rhoys Wiggins jumped for a ball he was never likely to reach allowing the ever talented Callum McManaman to get in behind him, turn him inside out and then equalise from the craziest of angles.

To be frank, in such circumstances I've seen Charlton collapse more often than I care to remember. Peeters though attacked the match, never settling for the Charlton philosophy of late and just defending the draw. Even when goalkeeper Henderson was apparently injured and replaced by Nick Pope, Peeters didn't feel the need to protect his young substitute by overloading the defensive line. That was the Charlton Wigan knew of old! Tucudean, who does seem to go to ground a little easily, came off for Franck Moussa and Charlton attacked the last ten minutes as if their livelihood depended on it. Chance after chance was created but spurned, Vetokele was through one on one with the keeper but fluffed his lines, Wilson rushed into the box linking up with Solly to centre the ball for Gudmundsson but Wigan cleared. Eventually, quite fittingly, Moussa shot from distance, the ball taking a huge deflection before looping their keeper Scott Carson and hanging in the air for an age before finally nestling itself in the net.

To be frank, it was the ending we deserved. I struggle to remember celebrating like that at all last season, let alone during the first home fixture. As usual one or two marred a great occasion by spitting at Carson immediately after the goal, quite understandably enraging the player, but that was drowned out by the jubilation that engulfed the ground. I think I could faintly hear the East Stand at one point.

To be frank, I expected the hoards that moved to the far end of that stand to express the glee in their financial savings by way of vocal encouragement. In the Upper North you couldn't hear a murmur from them. I can't imagine for one moment they sat in silence, it must be down to the acoustics, and I'm certain the small Wigan contingent across the netting listened to a song or two once that injury time winner went in. They may well have also heard the bust up between the managers as Uwe Rosler squared up to Peeters complaining about the Belgians over the top goal celebration. Peeters to his credit said they'd be sharing a beer by the end of the day. The big man already has a lot of Charlton about him. I doubt he took his counterpart to the hostelry where we ventured though, more likely a quiet pint in his Bexley local.

To be frank, I love a good ale. What I'm not so keen on is this trendy real ale that tastes likes grapefruit juice. We started in The Old Loyal Britons in Greenwich, the company was great but the beer decidedly poor. I doubt I shall return. We ended up back on familiar territory, the Grapes at London Bridge with plenty of Millwall that had been on a boat trip to Fulham. Far more worrying to the health than a dozen middle aged drunk Millwall was a character parading up and down St Thomas Street wrapped in a duvet. You didn't dare look into his eyes, he'd seduce you with the pain and torment locked inside them. A true psychotic on the prowl, he could have done with some of that Charlton joy to put an unbelievable shine on his weekend also.

To be Franck last night would have been to be a hero.

New Look

Let's face it, we all know more than a handful of people who could do with a new look. It's not being snobbish, some people just need overhauling. There's that ghastly Snog Marry Avoid? programme for example that finds some of this islands most disastrous creations and wipes them clean before attempting to instill some self respect into the person beneath the costume. As a less extreme variant on the theme, there are a host of presenters with their own daytime television shows just trying to wring a tiny amount of pizazz from the plainest of middle aged women. Ninety nine times out of a hundred it works, it's 'having the faith to step out of familiarity and comfort and march on into freedom'. A sentence I stole from this mornings sermon as it happens.

It doesn't need to be the whole Vincent Tanesque make over of course, that is complete misuse of the word freedom and far more steps backwards than you can count. That's when you crave familiarity, a little like the times I'm in the shop who's name I borrowed for the title of this piece. My wife, like the vast majority of young women, can lose themselves in such an emporium for days on end ogling at the sparkling delights hanging in front of them (occasionally with me traipsing behind, knuckles dragging on the ground overladen with carrier bags, and a face that looks like it's just heard Crystal Palace have won the cup).

These bargain priced goodies may appear wonderful on first impression but once they've lost both shape and colour, not to mention a handful of sequins in the drum of our washing machine, they are reallocated to the 'indoor only' slouching pile as we head back into town to continue breaking rocks  our search for glamour. It's pointless revamping without improving. It's also pointless revamping beyond your budget, but all clubs can spend wisely.

As I saw last weekend, Sutton United didn't need the whole McCoy, even without a makeover I'd have always snogged them as opposed to have avoided them. A new covered terrace and dugouts aside, just the new perimeter fence on its own would have been enough to transform the place. How many of you travel on a train every day where one commuter could really do with a bath? Small steps and all that. Last season I found myself falling out of love with the professional game, but a facelift at Charlton has really captured my interest and hopefully my heart again.

The World Cup certainly played it's part and reinvigorated my passion in the higher end of the market, but a lack of pre season friendlies that were accessible to me means I've yet to witness first hand any of what I've read. One trip to Sutton United and two Horley Town friendlies meant I've picked up pretty much where I left off in May. In fact, three days after the World Cup final I found myself at Redhill witnessing Horley run out in the same kit they've worn since the first time I saw them, sponsors names long since worn off along with any pizazz these garments may have once possessed.

If Horley had a little of the Compo about them, I'm afraid to say Charlton had been resembling Jeremy Clarkson. Never fashionable in the first place, they were now almost reveling in their dishevelment. Despite the fact they still felt they were a class above everyone they met they were, in truth, just spouting bullshit. Clarkson to a tee. Snog Marry Avoid? For the first time in my life I was drifting dangerously close to avoiding them.

Photo courtesy of Charlton Life

Roland Duchâtelet thankfully appears to have done a 'Gok Wan' and stripped us back to our naked self before highlighting the areas that needed attention and dressing us appropriately both on and off the pitch. The pitch itself, for so long a laughing stock, has been ripped up, the damaged drainage systems rebuilt and a new playing surface grown that looks in the summer sunshine good enough to grace a palace gardens. If the Wimbledon fortnight hadn't already come and gone it would have been fit to host the gentleman's final.


Surrounding the pitch the faded red seats have been ripped out (including my broken one) and replaced with new, plus a lick of paint on the staircases too. Behind the stands the concourse has a new catering company to dish out the food and beverages on a match day, finally moving us out of the dark ages with what was in total honesty overpriced crap you wouldn't feed your dog. Even the six foot club badge next to Nike's superstore has finally been given a well received spruce up and the foot of grime running along the bottom of the wall below it cleaned off. Once again it looks like we have a stadium that belongs in the top flight.

Speaking of Nike (did I mention I read the excellent Admiral kit man book this summer?), the finishing touch in appearance is the chevron inspired new home kit from their catalogue. I have to say I'm not too sure about this, not because of the amount of white, or even because of the quantity of sponsorship logos, but because it looks far too much like a rugby design for me. If that wasn't enough to stomach, we've been treated to that awful Lucozade inspired Barcelona number for our third shirt. I realise we don't carry the clout for bespoke kits but did the club even get to see the full catalogue or just the page Nike wanted us to? But it wouldn't be my blog if I didn't find something to complain about, and as mantras go, 'it's not the shirt but those that wear it' is both well used and relevent. And this is where the new look moves into overdrive.

First team wise it started with Yoni Buyens. A 'box to box' midfielder with Europa League experience, he has arrived on a year long loan deal from his native Belgium. I'm guessing it wasn't new manager Bob Peeters but our Roland that sealed the deal considering Yoni's parent club is Standard Liege. A Belgium under 21 international, Buyens has close to one hundred appearances to his name at Liege and is supposedly both very highly regarded and sought after. Quite why he has moved to our corner of London for a year seems odd unless you presume it's to see how well he adapts before a later big money move to the English game.

Yoni Buyens

Whereas last season Chris Powell emulated a thousand husbands on Christmas Eve, waiting until opportunity almost passed him by before panic buying the best of whatever was left on the shelf, Bob Peeters was quick to address the lack of firepower this summer making Igor Vetokele the second signing in a matter of days. A powerful forward he arrived on a five year deal from Danish side FC Copenhagen where he won a league title. Born in Angola, there is of course a Belgian connection as he started his career at Gent before playing under Peeters at Cercle Brugge. Another player with competitive European experience he has gone on to win full caps for Angola so be prepared to lose him from time to time for international call ups and possible Africa Cup of Nations duty.

Igor Vetokele

#WelcomeFranck became the clubs latest twitter gimmick when attacking midfielder Franck Moussa became the third first team signing of the summer. A bit of a hero in what has been of late a traumatized Coventry City and a rare shining light in the currently nomadic football club. After impressing at Southend he earned himself a deal at Leicester City but failed to make the grade and spent most of his time out on loan before switching to Coventry. Don't fear though, Franck was born in Brussels and started his youth career with Anderlecht and is therefore eligible to play for Charlton through birth. Expect him to look towards the heavens and give thanks when he scores.

Franck Moussa

Young talent seemed to be spinning through the revolving door as hot young prospects both came and went. Diego Poyet finally left the club for West Ham for which we are due some compensation. His departure, and the way it came about, divided fans but none could be surprised that the clubs current player of the year was moving on. Nobody really expected to see him pull the red Charlton shirt on again. Michael Morrison however delighted the Valley faithful by committing to the club for another two years. With Richard Wood and Leon Cort both seeking pastures new, an experienced head was needed to partner our vice captain in the heart of the defence. Enter André  Bikey-Amougou. The former Cameroon international has signed up for two years on a free transfer after being released by Greek club Panetolikos. Known to English fans from his time at Reading, Burnley and Middlesbrough, I asked Reading blog The Tilehurst End what we could expect from the big defender. They told me he'd give me plenty to write about and although decent on his day, he can be a loose cannon when the mood takes. Interestingly they neither could find the Belgian connection.

André  Bikey-Amougou

If it was experience the club looked for, signing number five took the game to a whole new level. The most famous Israeli international to have graced a field of play, Tal Ben Haim. Once moving from Chelsea to Manchester City for five million pounds, the defender had most of his success at Bolton Wanderers and then Portsmouth, before finishing his time in England with short spells at both West Ham and QPR. In the season between his time at Loftus Road and arriving at The Valley he became acquainted with Roland at Standard Liege...

Tal Ben Haim

On the same day that news broke of Ben Haim, a young winger arrived to take the place of the departed Danny Green who seems to enjoy the void that is Milton Keynes. Johann Berg Gudmundsson, a 23 year old Icelandic full international was a free agent after his contract at Dutch club AZ Alkmaar expired. Having spent his younger teenage years in London with both the Chelsea and Fulham youth teams, his European connections had until this point avoided Belgium. Having committed to Charlton for two years I think he may be a prime candidate to find himself loaned around the network.

 Johann Berg Gudmundsson

Number seven in the list is a striker, and no surprise, a Duchâtelet network member. George Tucudean. The 23 year old Romanian has signed for three years from Standard Liege having failed to really make the grade there. His most successful time has come during two spells at Dinamo Bucuresti in his homeland where he tasted domestic cup success. How this form travels to England remains to be seen.

George Tucudean

The eighth and final (to date) signing is a much needed goalkeeper. After Ben Hamer's departure to Leicester the custody of the goalmouth appeared to fall to young Nick Pope. As good a prospect as the youngster is, just ask York City supporters, it was clearly evident that he isn't yet ready for regular Championship football. Whether Stephen Henderson is or not is only known at the moment for certainty to Bob Peeters. A Republic of Ireland under 21 international, Henderson has had limited experience at this level with Bristol City, Portmouth, Ipswich Town, and a couple of games for Bournemouth last season. With no Belgian connection, the keeper states his reason for joining Charlton is the chance to link up once again with goalkeeping coach Ben Roberts who he worked with during his spell at Yeovil Town.

So that's the new look side. In the same way Chris Powell took a new squad abroad, this squad has also had a short stay in Spain with a couple of needed victories after a poor time in Belgium for the Duchâtelet cup and disappointing defeats at both Welling and Ebbsfleet. With two more first team friendly trips to Peterborough and Portsmouth left before the season kicks off in less than two weeks time at Brentford you've not got long to memorize these faces and names.

The club may have had a huge makeover since you last walked down Floyd Road, but who can argue it needed it. I'm still not fully convinced about Roland Duchâtelet, and I still don't think being part of a network is the way to go unless you're the biggest fish in that pond, but I cannot deny I'm getting rather excited about the start of the season.

The World Cup was just an appetiser...