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.

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.

Hungry like the wolf

As per usual I arrived for an evening game straight from work listening to my stomach rumbling it's own version of Valley Floyd Road louder and louder with every footstep. Unlike Saturday I'd made good time and thought I'd venture to a different catering bar than usual as this new gourmet catering inside the ground needed exploring. The Upper North however seems to have been forgotten when it comes to pleasing gastronomes, relying on true working class values for the fare on offer. I found the pie and mash stall and this could have been unparalleled in the world of football nosh if, a) they had some mash potato, b) the pie wasn't hotter than the sun, and c) the pie wasn't far tougher than the plastic fork accompanying it which shattered on impact. And all washed down with 'delightful' generic lager. New catering? Same old crap catering in the Upper North.

But we don't go to the football to eat, we go to sing our hearts out and support our team. Next time I'll grab something en route and be done with it. So how did the singing and supporting side of the evening go? As wonderful as always when the floodlights are switched on. A great atmosphere and an entertaining match, even if we were very much up against it facing a strong Wolves team. The lads from Molineux have started very strongly in their return to the Championship and were the fourth fancied side to venture to SE7 already this season.

Charlton started quite brightly but soon carried on from where they left off against Watford on Saturday. André  Bikey-Amougou gave the Addicks the lead midway through the first half with a good volley and even better tumbling celebration, but the visitors finally broke us down with a scrappy yet deserved goal mid way through the second.

George Tucudean had a great opportunity to double our lead shortly after the centre half scored, I had a feeling we'd go on to rue that moment. Tucudean still seems to scuff his scoring opportunities but has so much more in his locker. He is often asked to track players by Peeters and does this like a true unsung hero quietly and efficiently although it does take its toll on his stamina, rarely lasting more than an hour.

Wolves had chance after chance yet like our George and also Watford before them, left their shooting boots at home. Former Charlton misfit Leon Clarke struggling to recapture the form he showed at Coventry last year. The trouble is, we invited them to attack us by sitting deep and standing off them especially in midfield. It doesn't help that, the two central defenders apart, we are a relatively lightweight side and get muscled off the ball in all areas of the pitch.

We've had a great start under Bob Peeters guidance, he certainly hasn't put a foot wrong yet but it'll be interesting to see how he adapts his tactics when needed. His formation is very rigid at the moment, I'd love to see an opportunity for Jordan Cousins to play centrally behind the front men, I can't help but think he's a little wasted out wide.

Chris Solly is also a worry. I'm starting to wonder if he'll ever now fulfill his potential after the injury. He had his best game for ages against Watford, the downfall being his unavailability last night. Joe Gomez came into the side to replace him but gave the ball away with too much regularity, as did Lawrie Wilson in front of him. We certainly miss Gudmundsson and the threat he poses on the right hand side of the park. His work rate and link up play with Buyens and co is as much a highlight of the new look team as Vetokele's goals.

There's plenty more on offer when we keep the ball on the floor and play the short passing game as we did towards the end of the match. The last ten minutes saw plenty of opportunity to snatch all the points, especially with Franck Moussa determined to make up for his butterflies on Saturday when he came on for Tucudean. For all the moaning, we did deserve our point but we can't keep giving these teams so much possession away from home.

Igor Vetokele went off at the end clutching his arm which is a worry for Rotherham and a possible blessing for Simon Church. A game that could be a potential banana skin, the thought of Steve Evans boasting about ending our unbeaten start to the season doesn't bear thinking about; please let's not forget our lines on Saturday, whoever plays up top!

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.