Dancing for the draw specialists

A dance troupe performing a half time routine is enough to put the fear in any football going angry young man, which is why perhaps those impotent folk in the small Croydon suburb of Selhurst seem to lap it up. In Charlton it's not the done thing is it?

There was uproar recently when the Greenwich Visitor published an article exclaiming university cheerleaders had been signed by Charlton, therefore by default degrading ourselves to the level of our South London rivals. But we thought no more of it as pom-poms, mini skirts and tumbling teenage girls failed to materialize on the hallowed turf of the Valley this season, in the same way that synchronized swimmers were absent from it the previous one.

Yesterday however the family stand were treated to the 'Sporty Spice impersonation society' giving their all by way of arm waving and high kicks. To be fair the kids lapped it up, both those performing and watching.

Now Charlton have traded on the 'family club' tag for a number of years (again, much to the disgust of the archetypal angry young man) so it should come as no surprise to any of us that such razzmatazz is thrust upon us. In fact the darkest recesses of my mind graphically recall a similar event(s) back in the glory days of the Premiership, although that may just be the stuff of dreams. Or an away day. I despise the idea of the fully fledged cheerleader waving a pom-pom into the face of Johnnie Jackson as he leads the team out of the tunnel, the full on palace route certainly isn't the path I'd want to see our club take, but as I get older (note, not maturer) I can understand the need to encourage and pamper to those enjoying a family day out.

The media seem to have taken it upon themselves once again to sensationalize the darker faction of the football crowd. Hooligan films have become a mainstay of the British film industry whilst midweek television documentaries have recently become fashionable and have discovered some obscure pond life that even Jeremy Kyle turned down as too inbred. It is a tiny issue that has never fully disappeared but the commercial television companies and press would love nothing more than to see it spread like wildfire, just to be able to stand back tut-tutting at the aftermath.

Thank the Lord the BBC were only too happy to try and shift the balance back into the light this week with their Marvellous documentary. The true story of Stoke City kit man and registered clown Neil Baldwin is one of the most inspiring and heart warming accounts you'll ever hear, and with one of my wife's uncles suffering with what you'd term 'learning difficulties' it touched very close to home too. There may not be many Nello's in this world but there are far more decent folk watching football than the papers will have you know.

A dance troupe certainly isn't the definitive answer but plenty of children (and grown-ups) found it far more interesting than the football that preceded it. And it's not aimed at, or even witnessed by, those angry young men that were hiding in the loo having their sneaky half time smoke. Or angry middle aged men like myself despairing with my head in my hands watching through my fingers.

I suppose I'd better mention the football while I can still remember it although it's clarity is fading fast. Another draw for Charlton, that's six from nine, not even West Bromwich Albion at their peak can boast such statistics. Middlesbrough had forced a definite result in their previous eight league outings but even they fell under our spell and matched us step for step in nonthreatening football for the majority of the match.

It took the boiling over of tempers to liven this game up. Firstly André Bikey-Amougou allegedly clattered an oncoming Boro front man whilst performing a back pass, I only saw the resulting floor roll from both players but the vocal travelling support certainly blamed our centre half whom they booed for the rest of the game. All I know is if Bikey clatters you you stay clattered. The Boro lad ran that off very quickly and we won the vocal battle with defiant cheers drowning out their booing with his every subsequent touch.

Immediately after this Adam Clayton took one of ours out down the other end with an arguably worse challenge, the fuse was certainly lit and the referee cowered like a dog on fireworks night. Albert Adomah, already booked, mimicked the high kicking of the half time dance troupe with Rhoys Wiggins as a target. Our full back plummeted to the floor and the man in the middle pointed for a Boro free kick. Even the laid back ball boy in front of the East stand found this remarkable enough to evacuate his nonchalant slumber. It was a moment of confusion, Adomah received his second yellow and was walking, we still thought the free kick was going their way. Utter chaos.

Obviously we got the correct decision in the end and a couple of great chances with it. Bulot hit the post in the same spot Watford had a fortnight earlier, both occasions hitting that single blemish on the smooth upright that causes the ball to defy the laws of physics and rebound out at an unnatural angle.

George Tucudean tried for an ambitious overhead kick with his back to the corner flag, again trying to make the most of the bizarre forces at work in the northern goalmouth before both Wilson and Wiggins both had great shots blocked, the latter off the line by an heroic defender. On any other day.

One young man at the final whistle decided to make a trophy out of a corner flag still smelling of a dozen teenage girls perfume as he plucked it out of the ground and made it all the way to the Jimmy Seed stand before the stewards mounted an attack. You see what effect dancing girls have on hot blooded young lads fast reaching puberty!

Another draw but still undefeated. Could we make it to October with that record intact? It's unlikely, we travel to top of the table Norwich on Tuesday and those Canaries are currently singly far louder than a whole host of Sporty Spices could ever dream of.

twenty four hours later........

I honestly thought we would be pumped up and raring to go yesterday. An opening day defeat needed redressing, a natural high after midweek cup success, the first Valley league match of the season, all the ingredients were there, but we were poor. Poorer than poor at times.

I remember Solly turning and winning the ball on the touchline in front of the dugouts, I remember Gower making a solid and powerful tackle to thwart a Boro attack, two positives from ninety minutes. I remember plenty more, Kermorgant spending most the game on the deck, Morrison playing the ball sideways, backwards and always looking so uncomfortable, and I remember Sordell doing, well nothing really.

This was supposed to be the light at the end of the tunnel after a very tough week, I hadn't managed to get to the 4-0 drubbing of  Oxford United in the League Cup as I was stuck at work, no, this was my release of a week's worth of pent up aggression and disappointment. I boarded my train back to London Bridge in a far worse state that I had arrived in. We had been beaten by a team no better than ourselves, and a team that really didn't look like they wanted it that much either. And I had paid good money to feel this depressed.

The goal that won it for the visitors was soft, but more worryingly the build up had been equally soft. Poor clearances combined with a lack of communication, the third Saturday in succession that poor defending has been penalised.

And it's hard to see why. The defence is the one area that has been strengthened. Dervite has shown he's more than able at this level, Morrison, Cort, Wood and the full backs have all also proved themselves in the second tier, but we are playing like a team very low on confidence of their own ability, and this on the second week of the season!

The midfield is no better. Jackson started but obviously wasn't anywhere near ready only managing to last the first forty five. Why did the gaffer take this gamble? Is he not trusting enough of the rest of his squad? Stephens came on and showed a couple of moments of the promise he could posses but generally was as poor as Gower alongside him in the middle. Harriott ran at everyone but never knew what to do with the ball once beating his man while Danny Green just looked out of his depth.

Up front Kermorgant did his usual falling down and moaning when it wasn't going his way, his relationship with Sordell was non existent as if they'd only learnt each others names a few days ago. Oh hang on.....

Simon Church came on for Sordell and quite frankly couldn't have been less effective than the Bolton man if he'd tried. He ran a lot, chased lost causes but offered little in the great scheme of things.

Sure enough, as is the Charlton way of waiting until it's almost beyond us before having a go, a goal down and seventy five gone on the clock we had a little rally, a tiny little spell of pressure culminating in Green finding an opportunity but he took far too long to compose himself and wasted it. Just as we got this momentum Powell then made a double substitution and quashed it as quickly as it started. Lawrie Wilson came on alongside Church, you'd have to say looking at the player that married life agrees with him.

And so it fizzled out. As a spectacle it was abysmal, the world and it's dog are busy saying don't panic, we're only two games in but really, where do you see the improvement coming from? Harsh I may be but I think we are in for a much tougher ride this season than we were the last.

Sordell is on loan from a team in the same division, where will his loyalties lay? Church wasn't wanted by Reading, or Birmingham who gave him a trial, in fact a week before the season started he wasn't wanted by anyone. Now there is talk of resigning someone we didn't really want ourselves anymore in May. If I was Fuller I know exactly what I'd say to any job offer. It's hard to lay blame at the boss, he can only do his best but I do wonder how long even his infectious smile can keep geeing up a group of despondent footballers.

The post match beer at London Bridge really didn't promise much jollity. Even though the talk was diverted away from the match, the previous week's events fashioned forlorn conversation. Little did we know a group of lads and lasses from Wigan would befriend us. Drunk long before we met them, hat appreciation was the initial key and from then on we had our very own northern fan club. We certainly got the chance to finish the day with an unexpected good laugh.

In London, obviously, for today's Charity Shield match at Wembley, we asked one lad what his plans were for match day. His reply? "Avoiding the police." Top lad.

Almost there

As Bradley Pritchard ran unmarked into the penalty area to put the Addicks in front during the first minute at the Riverside, many may have thought another rout was on the cards, similar to that witnessed at Barnsley two weeks previously. Many Charlton fans thought at that moment, just possibly, the unlikely scenario of reaching the play-offs could in fact become reality. Promotion through the play-offs isn't my ideal for this season but there's no doubt the money would transform the club.

It's a strange place is Middlesbrough. This famous old industrial town certainly has it's rougher element as I discovered many years ago staying there for the weekend as a teenager, yet it's football has always left me charmed. A great community club, they have always managed to attract talented footballers while achieving on the pitch relatively little success.

My first trip was to the wonderful Ayresome Park where I watched Sutton United lose a cup third round replay in extra time. It was, in many ways, far better a performance than the one that beat Coventry the season afterwards. All four sides of the famous old ground clapped Sutton off the pitch after two hard fought games and with that they cemented themselves in my affections.

I've been back twice, both times to the Riverside, or Cellnet as it used to be known. I was there for one of my most memorable away days, the start of the 97-98 campaign. They had the enigmatic Fabrizio Ravenelli, while we gave a competitive debut to new signing Clive Mendonca. We lost 2-1 that day, Boro scoring the winner at the death, while two of my favourite Charlton players made headlines. Steve Jones for scoring our goal and Stuart 'sweaty' Balmer for completing the game with his head wrapped in bandages and blood staining the best Charlton away shirt in living memory. The second visit was of course the much publicised 'Operation Riverside'.

The 650 Charlton fans there this weekend for our final away game dressed themselves accordingly with Chris Powell masks. I wonder where the idea for dressing up for the last away day comes from? Speaking of which, Hartlepool had to find a new destination for their delightfully creative theme this season as for the past two seasons it's been The Valley faithful (and Daily Mirror readers) that have welcomed them. My local league side Crawley Town had the honour this year and the Broadfield Stadium hosted a large number of monkey hanging penguins. If those from the North East had added leggings and Ugg boots to their attire they would I suspect have looked like locals decked out in those dreadful 'onesies'.

Bradley Pritchard gave us the perfect start, a quarter of an hour later we had doubled the lead and the dream was still alive. Kermorgant crossed the ball across the face of goal and it was an unfortunate Boro captain, Rhys Williams, that turned the ball into his own net.

With Johnnie Jackson and Andy Hughes both missing after taking knocks against Wolves last week, Mark Gower found himself in the starting line up alongside long forgotten Danny Hollands, his first appearance in a Charlton shirt since returning from a loan spell at Swindon. Things were looking good, the heart of our solid midfield in recent weeks were absent and those stepping into the breach were doing so admirably.

Results elsewhere in the division would eventually kill off any realistic hope of that top six finish anyway, Middlesbrough's comeback made it definite. Marvin Emnes had looked dangerous all afternoon, almost winning a penalty in the first half after a good long solo run into the box, then midway through the second half he gave the Boro fans hope of saving face when he did finally see the ball hit the back of the net. Ricardo Fuller would see an effort ruled out for off side before Scott McDonald headed home from a corner in the last minute of the game to cruelly snatch two points from the visitors.

We really were almost there, both in the game and the table. We're almost there for the season as we are now left with one last outing before the summer break. A game against bottom club Bristol City and as good an opportunity as you'll get to consolidate a highly respectable ninth place at the first time of asking back at this level. A chance to show our admiration to Chris Powell and this squad of players that have, I believe, over achieved a little this season while most definitely maturing as a squad on a very tight budget.

I won't even be 'almost there' though. I'm at a wedding (who gets married on such a crucial weekend of the football calendar?). All I can say is thank goodness there isn't anything resting on the match, I'd have hated to disappoint someone.

Well done Charlton Athletic on all you have achieved this season and for one last time for now, come on you reds!

Oh What A Night!

Over the years there have been some pretty memorable evenings down at The Valley, last night was up there with the best of them. In my last post great comebacks were the topic of discussion, who'd have thought that would be followed up by another of equal magnitude!

I was fortunate enough to miss Saturday at Charlton due to work, something i don't often say, therefore missing a 4-1 drubbing at the hands of Middlesbrough. The prospect of the division's top club, Cardiff City, following suit didn't fill me with hope and so i ventured to SE7 full of trepidation and fearing the worst.

Chris Powell picked a starting eleven from an injury ravaged Charlton squad that included the forgotten Danny Haynes in for Lawrie Wilson and Michael Morrison at right back with Chris Solly on the left. It looked a little disjointed at the back and this was found out to our cost after only three minutes.

Poor defending from a corner gave Cardiff the lead early on, only to be repeated twenty minutes later as the visitors doubled their lead. A brief rendition of the relegation song 'Charlton till i die' followed as the fifteen thousand home fans readied themselves for the battering to follow. Cardiff however failed to convert further chances and the covered end sensed this game wasn't all over.

'Chrissy Powell's red and white army' rang around the ground endlessly as Charlton started to mount some pressure. Fortunately for us, Cardiff's defending was as comical as our own, Johnnie Jackson capitalizing on their errors and pulling a goal back five minutes before the break. Game on.

To go in a goal behind was deserved, to go in level was a little surprising. Once again the skipper got his name on the score-sheet, this time with a powerful controlled header. We left the pitch full of momentum, Cardiff left it shell-shocked.

We started the second half much the same as we finished the first, full of confidence. Dale Stephens scored direct from a sublime free kick that left us all speechless. By this point i was getting rather good at the old fashioned goal celebration of throwing my hat in the air. By the time Haynes and Hulse had made it five only eleven minutes later i had perfected it. An unbelievable comeback was complete, 5-2 up against a side that had fallen apart, and all still with twenty five minutes left on the clock.

Charlton have never done anything the easy way though have they, we are almost famous for it. From somewhere the referee found six minutes of stoppage time, i can only presume it was from goal celebrations. Our defense used these six minutes to disastrous effect as they tried to mimic what they had seen over the past hour from the visitors. Cardiff got two and very nearly a third as the comeback story almost took a completely new twist. Charlton held on and limped over the line, Cardiff have the unfortunate tag of scoring the first two and the last two in a game and still losing.

For those of you concerned that we may have come through unscathed, may i add that my own personal man of the match, Danny Haynes, came off midway through the second half with, we believe, a possible injury.

Chris Powell's delight was obvious for all to see, as was Johnnie Jackson's. What could have been a fourth straight home defeat turned into a memorable game where not only the team showed some grit and determination, but so did the crowd. How refreshing not to be surrounded by boos and negativity. The Valley was positively electric last night, if we could only put that kind of performance in every week!

Myself and my good friend Jim McGinty headed to The Grapes at London Bridge afterwards to celebrate and try to digest the events that had unfolded before us. A couple of pints of Young's finest and a cheeky glass of port left me feeling very content and comfortable. Nothing was going to be able to put a dampener on this particular evening. Not the escalator maintenance team working at London Bridge who worked on the down one when we wanted to go down, and then the up one when we wanted to go up. Not Southern railway whose train i needed from East Croydon to home was delayed by half an hour. Not the lone Palace fan, a little elephants, who proceeded to tell all and sundry on the platform two facts, 1 his team had won five nil and 2, he was a milkman (a very badly dressed milkman at that). Not the fact that another train pulled in and the place was awash with slightly intoxicated Palace fans in full voice singing a 'top of the league' song that i thought we had, to quote reality pop show judges, made our own. Not even the fact that they then got on my train home and continued with their merriment would rain on my parade. Living deep in Palace territory is a truly awful thing.

Today i suffered a little, my head was slightly groggy and the afternoon dragged like six minutes of stoppage time.

Occupational hazards though when you're Charlton and proud. And boy am i proud.