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| Hope is being washed away. |
For around half an hour yesterday, I was quite enjoying myself.
Despite my personal reservations, I'd made the short journey West to Fulham and it really looked as if I'd made a good decision.
Our team started well.
Had just a few of our players calibrated their shooting boots, nobody could have said it was unjustified for the Addicks to be a couple of goals up within the first period.
We chuckled as the linesman was sent crashing to the floor by a powerful clearance that had he not stopped with his chin, would surely have made it with ease to the back of the stand.
There was a spring in the step of our team and I found myself thinking it was like the 'old' days.
Harriott in particular was haring about, leaving defenders in his wake. Just the final ball was missing but the confidence was there and I believed it could very easily all come good.
The Charlton support were on good form, 100% supporting the team while also, very vocally, announcing that Roland is certainly not going to win any popularity contests.
The incessant booing of Scott Parker was, as usual, rather counter productive.
He's one of the best players I've seen wearing the Charlton shirt.
The way Parker left us to bench warm at Chelsea, with only hours left of the transfer window and at a time when we were pushing for Champions League, (hey Roland!!), was extremely messy but nobody can deny he always gave us 100%.
'Spotty' has been badly treated by our support each time our paths have crossed since, which has done nothing except give him the extra boost to stick one on us.
Yesterday, his shot that crashed against Henderson's crossbar was the catalyst for Fulham going ahead and instantly the game was up.
For most teams, 1-0 down isn't the time to accept that it's not your day.
The current CAFC incarnation is such a fragile flower that a minor setback instantly proves to be terminal.
By the end of the game, Charlton had shipped 3 goals, scored none and were probably a bit fortunate not to be on the end of a right hammering.
Fulham were no great shakes. In fact, their approach play seemed quite half hearted at times - yet it was still far too much for our shower.
It all kicked off in the Charlton section as the game entered the final minutes.
An already angry fanbase were now witnessing players who had visibly given up.
What looked from my angle to be a rather low grade attempt to get onto the pitch, by *one* girl, escalated into windmills of arms as the stewards showed the softly, softly technique is no fun when you're bored and have an opportunity for a bit of a ruck.
What a load of rubbish.
I walked back to the tube station, through the drizzle, thoroughly pissed off.
By the time I emerged into the fresh air at North Greenwich, I'd made the decision that *finally* I've had enough.
Charlton has been a part of my life for a huge chunk. It's part of my identity.
I care about it too much to stand by and blindly support Roland Duchatelet's crack pot experiment.
Despite having a drawer with around 20 old Season Ticket booklets stuffed in it, I won't be getting one next season.
-(Or the season after that, unless we Get Our Charlton Back).
I am an extremely dissatisfied 'customer'.
Unfortunately, one of the few methods of showing our discontent, that might possibly be noticed by RD, is if the take up of Season Tickets is dire.
Dark days.
