Last Friday night I was feeling really down cast about the fortunes of our beloved Charlton Athletic.
My mood was not helped by being ribbed most of the evening by 'supporters' of other teams.
We were rubbish and I was constantly being told as much by my 'amusing' friends.
Last Saturday we played Tranmere and I was very close to going home at half time.
I hung in there and was rewarded with a much better second half.
Living within a short walk of the Valley means I can leave home at 2:40pm and still make kick off with time to spare.
Every game can be a last minute decision and perhaps because of this, last week I still wasn't sure if I was going to attend until less than an hour before the referee blew to commence the game.
Despite the less than impressive fare being offered by our team, I still show up.
I have this nagging belief that should I stay away, I'd miss the cracker of all games and have to explain to people for ever and a day that despite having a season ticket, I chose to say no to 'that' never to be forgotten game.
Pathetic isn't it?
Tomorrow, I will be awaking around 60 miles from home.
I've got some tasks to do in the morning and then I'm going to bust a gut, hoping to be back in SE London in time for our game at the Valley.
It's a strange world isn't it?
I have a fantastic excuse for not making it tomorrow, yet I'll be trying everything I can to get to Charlton.
Last week, I was already just around the corner and could barely drag myself off the sofa.
I'm looking forward to seeing the impact of our new loans, (oddly no defender) and who knows, this could be the game when it all clicks into place.
Illigitimis nil carborundum.
ReplyDeleteShudder.
ReplyDeleteI've just had a flashback to Mr Kirby's class.
The famiar chalk stained tweed jacket, the stench of B&H, the chipped coffee mug on his desk filled with something that looked suspiciously like sherry, the bare walls except for the single poster of a Roman centurion, the translations always seemining to include Marcus fondling Amelia near to the forum, the totally disinterested pupils all chanting -
laudo, laudas, laudat, laudamus, laudatis, laudant, laudo, laudas, laudat, laudamus, laudatis, laudant.... while staring out of the window at the less academic kids doing Traffic Education on the playground with mopeds.
"Don't let the b******s grind you down."
Possibly the only pearl of wisdom Mr Kirby managed to pass on to me over 2 years of forced Latin.
A motto for life
Hopefully I'll see you later. Drive carefully.
ReplyDelete