What A Strange Afternoon.

Charlton Athletic 1 - Doncaster Rovers 3
(Match Abandoned at Half Time).

This game started with a Rovers goal.

Barely two minutes had been played when some statuesque Charlton 'defending' lead to a strong headed goal.

It all happened in slow motion.
I felt like rubbing my eyes, sit com fashion, such was the absurdity of what I had witnessed.

It was to get much, much worse.

The area in front of the Valley East stand and especially the North stand penalty area (being defended by Charlton) had collected water so there was a distinct splash to the players running. 

It was, at times, impossible to make out the matchball if two or three players were challenging for it.

This wasn't really too much of a problem but when the ball also refused to roll over large sections of the field- and throw ins landed on the pitch and stopped still, it was plain to see that any kind of passing game was impossible.

Before long, Doncaster had scored two more.

Both goals can at least in some part be attributed to the state of the pitch, though for one, the East stand linesman was so far behind the play he was nowhere near able to make a decision on what looked to be an offside in the build up.
The Charlton defence really hadn't adapted to the ball getting stuck in the soup but were also neglecting  their basic jobs such as marking and blocking.

The game was suspended with each and every Charlton fan hoping the referee would see sense, and every Doncaster supporter hoping the game would continue, despite the atrocious conditions and danger to players.

I'd have been exactly the same in their position. Imagine being 3-0 up, away from home and then to hear the game might be void?

After about half an hour, the players returned and despite the work done on the pitch, the rain had continued while the players were back in the changing rooms.

The surface had not improved.

Church managed to score for Charlton to put a little bit of respectability on the scoreline but the game was turning into a farce.

Keegan got a chance to enjoy an early bath when he proved how footballers can sometimes be remarkably thick and infuriating to their supporters.

Why pull down an opposition player, who is in their own half (and isn't posing any kind of threat), when you are already on a yellow card and the referee is only metres away?

What a doofus.

Yann went to ground and Keegan went to have first go with the (Brut?) shower gel.

Charlton came into the game more and more as the clock ticked towards half time.

The break lasted longer than normal and finally the Doncaster players came out onto the pitch, clapped their support and lobbed their shirts into the crowd.

Soon afterwards, the Charlton team came out, clapped and waved and it was clear we'd seen as much as we were going to get today.

People who weren't there will probably think Charlton, and Chris Powell in particular, dodged a bullet today.

This might be the case but the momentum had turned towards Charlton and who's to say the ten man team would have been able to defend that North stand swamp/penalty area?

In summary, poor Charlton defending cannot be denied but the game really shouldn't have got past the first ten minutes.

I felt sorry for the Doncaster supporters who made the journey but the correct decision was made in the end.

For all the crowing from Yorkshire about Charlton 'cheating,' it wasn't the home sides decision to end the game. 

The referee Lee Collins had to make a safety decision and (eventually), though it was clear he was under immense pressure, he did call off the game. 

Yorkies might need to remember that God may be a Londoner but we really have no sway when ordering the weather.

;-)

waterlogged pitch. 

It's HERE!

I posted yesterday that sadly I can't be at The Valley today for our first home game of the season.

However, I can show quite clearly from this photograph that excitement is reaching almost fever pitch as the clock ticks ever closer to 3pm (5pm Greek time).

Missing You...

Unfortunately I won't be at the Valley on Saturday for the visit of tactful Tony Mowbray and his smoggy pals.

Due to booking a sunshine break, way back in April, I took a chance with the fixture list and the cards fell badly.

I was able to visit Bournemouth last Saturday and despite the result, had a thoroughly enjoyable day.

"Since I was young......... etc etc...!"

Truthfully, it was never going to be our day.

 Bournemouth deserved a decent result for their first game back in the Championship and their players seemed to be just the little bit more in command of the game. 

Yann's screamer aside, we looked second best for large periods, despite it being a fairly even encounter.

We could have nicked it of course but after the daylight robbery we performed at the same venue two seasons ago, -when I came perilously close to punching  Jim Davidson in the face with my rather animated added on time celebrations, (he was next to me in the Charlton section), it would have been too much to ask for.

Last season I didn't miss a single home game in the league or our (admittedly rather brief) efforts in the cups.

This year, with the season only a week old, I'll have missed TWO games!

My season ticket is being used as I've handed it to a friend but I can't help feeling a little bit flat about missing the first 'proper' home game.

I will, of course, be following the game via twitter, while I bake my belly in the Greek sunshine.

Give the lads a cheer from me and, in true Curbs programme notes fashion, lets hope the team "Send everyone home happy".

COYA!

77 Years of Hurt- Not Anymore!

Congratulations must go to proud Scot, Brit and London resident Andy Murray, who won the Wimbledon Tennis Championship Men's Singles title this afternoon.

Fred Perry was the last British player to lift the trophy, seventy seven years ago.

Since then, UK tennis had failed to follow up Perry's achievement.

For around seventy of those years, they didn't even get that close.

I grew up in awe of players such as Borg, McEnroe, Connors and Lendl.
The top players were so far ahead of anybody British, it was inconceivable that we would get to see anyone from these shores challenging for a Major title.

In my youth, British players were generally considered massive over achievers if they made it beyond their first game on those well kept lawns at SW19.

Other than Virginia Wade, (who managed to grab the Ladies title in the Queen's Silver Jubilee year of 1977), British success at Wimbledon was a pipe dream.

We've certainly left the days of Buster Mottram and his ilk, a long way behind.

Well done Andy.

Scottish and British hero.

Hot Stuff

Welling United 0 - Charlton Athletic 5

So, blogging.
How does it go again?

After around 2 months without football, we reconvened at near neighbours Welling yesterday afternoon.

The sun shone, the beer was cold and the familiar faces were out and about.

The bus trundling between Charlton Church Lane and Welling was sweltering and I instantly regretted not bringing a hat with me.

I had plastered Bald Guyz sunscreen over my dome, relying on the protection for the day.

Despite it being advertised as sweat resistant, I wasn't quite sure it was up to the job.

Playing beach volleyball in Malibu is all very well but the product designers really should have given their guinea pigs a journey on the 486 going over Shooters Hill, on a warm day, inside one of TFL's ovens to really give it the once over.

It was good to bump into lots of familiar people and by the time we headed into Park View Road, over 2,000 of us were eagerly anticipating an afternoon of football again.

The usual game of 'Who He?' played at our Welling friendlies, wasn't really an option this time.
With only one trialist, it was a case of checking up on how many beers and pies the heroes we recognise from last season have tucked away over the break.

The days of footballers heading off for 5 or 6 weeks of excess, then coming back to pre season training to get beasted and sweat themselves back into shape must be a thing of the past.
After only one week back at the training ground, every single player looked ridiculously whippet like, (with the exception of the tubby 'keeper Welling brought on for the second half).

Even over their holiday period, it is clear that today's players have to take it easy and keep an eye on their diets.

The first half saw 3 goals from Pigott and one from Kermorgant.
Kermorgant was pulling the strings and set up each of Piggott's efforts.

My favourite goal was Kermorgant's strike which he skillfully managed to slice around the advancing defenders with the outside of his boot.

On the subject of boots, I'm about to have an old man grumble.

Back in the day, anybody not sporting 'proper' black boots would have been laughed off the pitch, swiftly consigned to the fancy pants Jessie category and promptly kicked into the stands for being some sort of deviant.

Alas, not today.

From our front row seats in the Old Stand at Welling, we had the most appalling view of the players footwear as they warmed up just (ahem) feet from us.

Only Johnnie Jackson came out of it with much credit as his boots weren't quite so evil looking.

Some of these players should be ashamed.

Look away now if you are easily offended.

Surely this madness has to stop?

The second half of the game was a much tighter affair with both teams changing their line up completely.

Welling deserved at least a goal but couldn't quite get the breakthrough their approach play merited.

The only goal of the second half was a late penalty, (an obvious hand ball despite the howls of protest from the Wings supporter sat behind us), tucked away by Danny Green.

Tubby got quite close to it but Green wheeled away in celebration to make the final score a rather emphatic 5-0.

It could have been worse for Welling as Hollands managed to hit the cross bar just a minute later when most people thought the ball was destined for the net.

The traditional amble across the playing surface, despite the best efforts of stewards who all knew it was about to happen, finished off a rather pleasing couple of hours.

It was then back to the pub, a couple more hasty beers before wandering down to the Thai Dynasty where we ate like kings, enjoying the dishes that kept on coming as we ordered and reordered.

A bus heading back towards North Greenwich was all that was needed to complete a top day and with the bus stop directly outside the restaurant door, it couldn't have been simpler.

A rewatch of Quadrophenia on DVD, was just the cherry on top to send me to bed smiling.

It's good to be back.

Love Spreads at Finsbury Park

Me, Finsbury Park. N4. (Photo by @HungryTed.)

The Stone Roses.
Finsbury Park N4.
8th June 2013.

Yesterday was a day that had been taunting me for months on my calendar.

I had been looking forward to it for so long, surely it couldn't possibly live up to my hopes for the occasion?

 I bought my ticket back in October 2012 but yesterday was really something I'd been building up to since 1989.

Back then, my friend Sibbs had a C90 tape of this strange band from Manchester and I eventually gave it a listen.

 Pretty soon, all the people I hung about with were big fans and from then until now, the tunes of The Stone Roses have soundtracked the major events in my life.

I'm not alone in this respect.
Hundreds of thousands of people who were coming of age back then would have exactly the same experience.

I was aged just 21 in 1989, had absolutely no responsibilities and was ripe to fall in with this new 'Madchester' musical movement.

While never being a band to trouble the higher levels of the pop charts, The Stone Roses did manage to have their debut album universally regarded as one of the greatest ever to be committed to vinyl.

I love music and a music free day is a rarity.

When I 'discovered' the Stone Roses, it felt as if this was a perfect amalgamation of everything I'd already decided was the stuff I liked.

There were the unbelievably funky beats that I'd grown to love as part of the mid 80's Hip Hop explosion. I'd gone to see Public Enemy, Run DMC and The Beastie Boys in the previous years and quickly recognised the drum and bass patterns.

There were the amazing floating choruses that I recognised from The Byrds, Simon and Garfunkel and the Beach Boys.

There were the rocky (and funky) guitars I homed in on that reminded me of Psychedelic Furs, elements of Led Zep, James Brown and The Clash.

Finally, The Stone Roses had the swagger of provincial cool that was impossible not to buy into.
Each and every tune is a ready made terrace anthem.

In the recent Shane Meadows film Made of Stone, there's a bloke being interviewed about his love for the Roses, who really could be any one of us there on Saturday, (or Friday).

"You know it, I know it, ... but it's impossible to write it down"

The gathering in North London was almost like a religious meeting.

It's easy for those people who have been won over by the sappy Simon Cowell idea of 'music', to brush the Roses aside for being 'over rated,' or for being from a pre internet, pre mobile phone and pre social media time that is in their opinion, no longer relevant.

The most common stick to hit the Roses with is Ian Brown's vocals.

Even the most ardent fan could not fail to notice that his live performances can edge towards flatness.

If that's your reason for not liking The Stone Roses, it just proves you don't 'get it'.

In my opinion, it's like knocking Jackson Pollock number 5 because it's not much cop as a landscape picture or Picasso's cubist pictures for being childlike.

Who cares?

Once the Supremes tune, 'Stoned Love' blared out over the speakers, we all knew The Stone Roses were seconds away.

They bounced onto the stage, Ian Brown instantly owning it as his Simian Stroll strutted and posed in a way Liam Gallagher and Mick Jagger can only dream of.

Heaven on Earth.........

I Wanna Be Adored can stand up to any other opening track, on any other album.
It's also the traditional opener for Stone Roses shows and ensures proceedings start on a high.

Any weaknesses in Ian Brown's vocals were certainly not apparent, especially with a cast of over 50,000 backing singers.

The set list was as perfect as any of us could have hoped for.

I Wanna Be Adored
Elephant Stone
Ten Storey Love Song
Standing Here
Going Down
Shoot You Down
Fool's Gold
Something's Burning
Waterfall
Don't Stop
She Bangs The Drums
Love Spreads
This Is The One
Made Of Stone
Breaking Into Heaven
Elizabeth My Dear
I Am The Resurrection.

A mixture of tunes from before the first album, the eponymous debut album and also the Second Coming album.

Every tune was greeted like an old friend and as the cliche states, 'Grown Men Cried'.

We were treated to the aural onslaught while all around us the warm aroma of 'green' was keeping the atmosphere mellow.
* (The only drugs our group were using were Imodium and Fishermen's Friends, though we had made pretty good use of the drinks bar...)

By the time I Am The Resurrection was being belted out, Brown's voice was beginning to go but nobody was bothered.
The crowd carried him through in the same way a football crowd carries their team.

We'd commented a few times throughout the afternoon about how following the Roses felt like heading to an away game.
The only difference was the chanting wasn't directed at the opposition.

We all joined in again and again.

We were 'All In It Together' as Dave Cameron might say.

At the end of the show, bass player and Man U fan Mani, marched to the front of the stage and laughed into a microphone,
 "It's always nice to come to this part of North London. We usually leave with 3 points and a couple of your best players".

There were many people who had somewhat overdone it, either through chemicals or the beer tent. Escaping the swamp of urine and the phantom vomiters in the dark, was no mean feat as we attempted to leave the park.

Public transport was rather patchy and struggled to cope with the thousands of bucket hatted, inebriated middle aged farts, so we ended up joining a convoluted journey by bus, heading South towards London Bridge.

I can say with confidence, that it's the only time I've been involved in a mass singalong on the upstairs of a double decker bus since my days as a school kid, heading to the zoo on a school trip.

Thanks for your company Ian Brown, John Squire, Mani and Reni, (as well as my companions Hungry Ted, Crispy and Bolts).

That's All Folks...

Charlton Athletic 4 - Bristol City 1.

So, another season ends.
Aretha has entertained the crowd and nipped off home for a snack.

Season 2012/13 can be chalked up as a success.

As I've told anybody who'd listen since last August, anything other than a swift return to League One was fine by me.

To finish in 9th, (and crucially above Millwall), is way beyond most of our hopes and expectations.

The momentum gained from promotion this time last year had a handbrake applied due to financial constraints.
The core of the team have been those same players who outclassed tier 3 last term.
Well done to everyone involved.

Even though we didn't have the matchball delivered by parachute and foxy opera singers wearing skirts a little too tight, the final game served up plenty to talk about.

Bristol City had already been relegated and chose to play some of their squad members who are likely to be used next season in League One.

Charlton fielded a strong side that showed Chris Powell was hoping for a powerful performance, despite the slight chance of a Play Off place evaporating last weekend with a draw at 'Boro.

Unfortunately, the first 45 minutes were as dull as any half of football could be.
Other than Wiggins going off with a hamstring and haircut injury, there was precious little to comment upon.

The second half was a completely different kettle of Haddocks.

After only 2 minutes, Yann scored his now traditional last game of the season screamer.
The technique and timing to volley the ball into the top of the net from near the penalty spot was as the pundits say,

"blah blah blah for any kids watching".

We'd only just regained our composure when Yann rose at the far post to power home a second.

Charlton were running riot and it looked as if Bristol City were going to have to start preparing the white flag.

Charlton shot themselves in the foot when Morrison made a complete hash of it and gifted City the opportunity for a consolation goal.
Despite the chance being gold plated, it was converted calmly and with skill.

With Hamer injured, Button was in goal for the Addicks.
While trying to deny the City goalscorer, Button injured himself, ending tied up in the net, leading to youngster Pope having his first team debut.

At 2-1, Bristol lifted themselves and they looked quite lively for a while.

Unfortunately for them, Yann Kermorgant fancied his hat trick and chipped the 'keeper, hitting the crossbar.
John Obika was alive to the situation and followed up to head the ball over the line, into an empty net.

At 3-1 we started to get rather excited.

Crispy had bet on a 4-1 win and my bet was for a Charlton win with Jackson to score.

If Jackson was to score our 4th we'd be both sitting on some very tidy sums of cash.

With around 5 minutes of play remaining, a killer pass from Pritchard bypassed Kermorgant and Jackson slid in at the far post.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

To say we celebrated is rather the understatement!

Those last few moments of the season had a very odd feel as we were willing there to be no more goals.

City had given up by this point and it looked as if we could score at will.

Late substitute Waggy looked to have poked the ball into the net in a frantic goalmouth scramble but despite our affiliation, (and high regard for a player who may have been playing his last game for the club), we were relieved when the score remained the same!

When the referee put his whistle in his mouth to end our season, we were as delighted as anyone could be.

The players ambled around the pitch, (accompanied by tots in replica kits and well kept women in spray on jeans and oversized sunglasses), while we applauded their efforts over this season.

Chris Powell consolidated his reputation as a club legend by again speaking to the crowd, his voice cracking with the two way exchange of love between himself and the supporters.

The seeming inability to win at home on a Saturday is now barely worth a mention after the 4 home wins 'on the spin'.

A gentle stroll to the Rose of Denmark, then The Pilot, then the Southwark Tavern, then The Old Kings Head.... then?.. were enough to celebrate a fine day.

Enjoy the break everyone and see you at Welling for that first pre season friendly.