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.

Only Charlton could park the bus on a double yellow

It could have been a great day for football. The new look Charlton, full of fresh faces and tongue twisting names headed north to Wigan in an effort to kick start our season whilst I, stuck down south, had a choice of either Sutton United or Horley Town to visit thus quenching my thirst for some non league football.

Torrential rain last night soon put paid to any hopes I entertained for some live action, not for the first time this year meaning radio commentary from the DW Stadium would have to suffice; three minutes in I was almost convinced I'd had the best decision made for me.

It was an exciting and brave looking starting eleven, if not expected or conformist. Diego Poyet made a well earned debut alongside keeper Yohann Thuram-Ulien, full back Loïc Négo and striker Reza Ghoochannejhad. It would be none of these that would grab the headlines mind, more so a certain striker that I believe scored his first goal in thirteen outings today, Marvin Sodall.

I'm not his biggest fan as you know, but I was as happy as anybody when he put the Addicks in front right at the start of the match.Skipper Johnnie Jackson split the defence open and put through Sodall who coolly finished to give the travelling supporters fresh hope after the huge disappointment of transfer deadline day.

Moments later Rhoys Wiggins' afternoon came to an abrupt end after a collision so another youngster, Harry Lennon was called upon to play a large part of the game.

Charlton had a great chance to double their lead when Reza Ghoochannejhad's volley hit the crossbar. The Iranian pleasing club shop staff and parents alike by choosing to have his Christian name above the number eight on the back of his shirt.

We know all about nail biting closing moments at Charlton, but does any other club drag that anxiety out for over twenty minutes with such regularity? Never good at defending a single goal lead Charlton 'parked the bus' very early in the second half, bolstered by two defensive substitutions from Chris Powell and then tried tried to soak up unbelievable pressure from the home side. The chronic strain on our goal was always going to reap reward but it happened twice in the last two minutes to snatch a rather deserved bounty from the visitors. Firstly as they followed our lead and carved through our defence, then shortly afterwards showing the need for a free kick specialist as they converted the direct set play.

Those in attendance blamed the tactics and the substitutions, those listening on the radio did the same. It's not as if it's the first time Powell has been chastised for his poor use of the bench. Now I'm still right behind our manager, I still believe he's got what it takes to pull us out of this grievous position and save our season, but then I'm biased and I feel like I know the man as a close friend.

It begs the question, if it wasn't Powell, or more chiefly a Charlton legend at the helm would we be so understanding and so patient? Certainly if it was someone of Alan Pardew's ilk, we'd be stood outside The Valley with placards by now demanding the board address the situation before we finally sink without trace. How does our Roland view Chris Powell? Not with the same love and loyalty as sixteen odd thousand supporters, that's for certain. He'd definately be aware of the history, but he won't know Powell like we do, to Roland Chris Powell may just appear as a better dressed version of Iain Dowie. Add that we've heard the deep respect doesn't seem to flow the other way either and the term 'pressure cooker' springs to mind.

The Belgian may have seen some cup success but he's witnessed three out of three league defeats since acquiring the business. Next Saturday's visit of Birmingham may be vital to the club for more than one reason, providing of course that our pitch is somewhere near playable. Has anyone thought to look at it over the past two weeks?

On the bright side, every week something somewhere in the footballing world never fails to put a smile on our despondent faces. As Russell Howard would say, it's not all doom and gloom. Today, making his Barnsley debut, Emmanuel Frimpong lasted just thirty minutes before picking up his second yellow and getting his marching orders. I don't think I've enjoyed a footballers misfortune so much since the days of Tomas Brolin.

Kermorgant pictured this afternoon in his Bournemouth shirt, a disastrous two minutes in Wigan, I said a week ago that dark days lay ahead, I didn't expect two of them to come in such quick succession.

Full but for one

It's not right you know, football on a Sunday. Sky might try and convince you it's what makes a Sunday super but I'm not having any of it. Sunday's are about church, roast dinners, and falling asleep through an old black and white film during the afternoon.

It's something I dread about any possible return to football's treasured land. That and a full stadium of fans who choose their allegiance before the season starts as they can't quite afford or are too far down the waiting list for Arsenal's equivalent season ticket. Not to mention that they'd show far more excitement for a Formula 1 Grand Prix when it comes to creating an atmosphere. No, give me Championship (or even League One) football in front of ten to fifteen thousand loyal supporters any day.

A working class game should have a working class kick off time. Three o'clock on a Saturday after the factories and production lines (remember them?) have clocked off for the weekend.

I already had a morning and lunch planned before it was announced that this weekend's game was to be moved to the Sunday due to Wigan's participation in the Europa League, so as the ground filled to near capacity thanks to the clubs "football for a fiver" campaign, one seat was certain to remain empty.

If previous "fiver" games were anything to go by I had clearly picked a good game to avoid. Drab football, a particularly poor performance from the home side, packed trains and ridiculous waiting times at the bar in search of a pint were the known pitfalls. As I got home, just in time to connect to Charlton Player for the live radio commentary, I felt incredibly 'plastic' as the rain auditioned at my window and my full glass of ale caressed and delighted my taste buds. The black and white film had the sound turned down. Maybe this was a super Sunday after all. Don't you believe it, deep down inside I wanted to be in my usual spot in SE7.

Wigan, a town better known for the rugby (a game also watched by those Arsenal families that love the Premier League so much) and for being one of the original homes of Northern Soul, brought a few hundred supporters with them,  enticed by the cheap tickets, who hoped to finally see an away goal. It had been something like seven games since these hardy fans had witnessed such a thing, and Charlton had only scored three (four if you count the abandoned Doncaster match) in front of their home supporters. The club certainly know how to choose a potential thriller to entice these occasional observers to return again.

With storm warnings dominating the news today my feet were very firmly planted on the floor, I was not going to get carried away with unfounded hope, even if we were on the back of an excellent away victory and we had our talisman striker Yann Kermorgant back amongst our starting lineup.

In fact Kermorgant's inclusion was probably the biggest talking point of the day. Scott Carson's return to the Valley in the Wigan goal was contender but he took a knock in the pre match warm up and had to be replaced before kick off. Kermorgant was to only survive for half an hour himself, injury forcing him to withdraw. I don't know if this is a new issue or a recurrence of what has kept him in the treatment room lately but it is certainly another huge blow to everyone except Marvin Sordell.

The Frenchman wasn't the only Addick to retire early. Richard Wood, our most inform player of the moment also had his game cut short with injury, in true Charlton style it doesn't rain - it blows a gale.

The game had plenty of opportunity for both sides, Pritchard coming very close in the first half while McClean put the ball over from six yards out for the visitors. The work rate was there, the quality of the build up was there, the execution of the finish was unfortunately exactly what form had predicted. Thank goodness a missed game is out the way, thank goodness "football for a fiver" is out the way. For the record book, listening to a nil-nil draw on the radio isn't that compelling either. I nearly turned the volume on the film up. That may have had something to do with the commentator though.

This is where I upset two or three of the half dozen readers. Call me chauvinistic, call me Neanderthal, but I don't really like listening to women commentate on football. I appreciate they enjoy the game, good for them, I appreciate they may present football shows on television, but ninety minutes of radio commentary? It grated. She went off on a tangent, quoted stat after stat, gave us insight into who had the ball at their feet, yet never went in depth into either sides tactics, unable to read the game at all. When co-commentator Peter Finch asked her if she believed Wigan were struggling to adjust between  Owen Coyle's style of play and the previous style of Roberto Martinez she was caught in limbo smiling and nodding blankly into the microphone. You may as well have asked her how a carburettor works. If you don't know you don't know, fair play, but you don't make a career of it. Unless you're Andy Townsend.

To constrain my irritation I studied this Manchester United email that has hit the headlines over the weekend. New Order are a Manchester (therefore local) based band, not a Nazi idealism, and study as I might (and I gave this the full first half) I could not have turned that United logo into a swastika without being told to. This is more politically correct claptrap, people so frightened of upsetting anyone that they'll crawl up any backside. Considering I'd been at church this morning, perhaps the red devil on the club's crest is slightly more offensive? I wonder if the Daily Telegraph or Manchester United will latch onto this?

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.