I want that one!!!

Why are all Charlton fans such eternal optimists?

After the latest chapter in the latest comedy series, 'When the Music Stops, Pick a Manager', I cannot believe how so many Charlton fans can suddenly change their entire stance and blindly accept and so readily play 'follow the leader' with latest addition to the Murray family of exciting managers.

A recent Charlton Fans Forum had a thread entitled...

'father christmas is real :), reed leaves/sacked?, pards in'

Father Christmas? FFS!!!

Next thing you'll be telling us you believe in the frigging tooth fairy.....

The unswerving support and undying enthusiasm for all things bolllocks never ceases to amuse me among Charlton fans.....

Well, friends and compadres, you can believe in all the fantasies you want but all the while we got Snow White and the Seven Fecking Dwarves playing for us week in and week out we got more chance of climbing the shitting bean stalk than climbing the sodding Premier league....

And I'm really sorry to spoil it for you boys and gals out there in fantasy football land but there ain't no such thing as Father Christmas, there ain't even such a thing as a bleeding tooth fairy...

So face the facts....we've got no bite, we're chuffing toothless, we're a bunch of gummies that couldn't suck a lemon without pulling a goddamn hamstring....

And to cap it all (no pun intended, but funny none-the less) we've got plenty more kicks in the falsies coming on our way on the frantic journey to the Hokey Cokey league, and you all know what that stuff does to your teeth........


Get Real.........................................

Will the real Charlton manager please stand up!

Ok, those that have known me long enough know perfectly well that I'm not the suspicious type, I really do believe the Yanks landed on the moon in 1969 and I accept without question that 'weapons of mass destruction' was the real reason we invaded Iraq, why, I even acknowledge the fact the Spanners reached the FA Cup final in 2004, but four Charlton Managers in one year? Come on......

You're 'aving a larf, mate!!!

Just who do you think you are kidding Mr Murray?

Alan Curbishley was the most successful and dependable manager we have had for for nearly 50 years, he runs the club on a 'shoestring' budget and keeps your (and our) precious 'little club' in the Prem for several years by wheeling and dealing, ducking and diving in such a delectable manner even the great Del boy trotter and his plonker of a brother, Rodney 'Charlton' Trotter would have been proud of.

Just like Del Boy, all the East End Cockney kid ever wanted was a few Million quid so he could hoof it up with the 'big boys' but you denied him at every step of the way with a blunt and uncompromising....'Sorry, Al, I'm skint, ask yer Muvver.....'

You pissed the lad off that much he went off in a bit of a 'incredible hulk' and spread it out on the 'nat king cole' for six months or so......

So what?

All the unperturbed and effervescent Mr Murray has to do is nick off to the stables to get himself another thoroughbred of a manager. After all, the list of pure bred stallions is quite extenstensive, there's Martin O'Neill, George Graham, Sven GE, Terry Venables, Bobby Robson, Jackie Charlton, Kevin Keegan, there's even the poor old sod that got the push from Chelski a couple of seasons ago whose name no-one can remember, and then there's an up and coming young colt named Billy Davies that has some good recent form showing, and if we wanted to benefit from a bit of devine intervention there was always Hod, the God...........

Between them they have won several thousand league titles, countless cup winners medals and an almost endless and uninterrupted supply of European experience and success to add to their bulging CVs. No one's calling them mercenaries but a few bob at the right time to cream the ever lurking agent's sweaty palm and we could have been set for life, well anther 15 years at least....

Easy Peasy this manager lark......

But hold on a minute, this is Charlton we talking about, we don't start at the top, do we? No, we go straight to the bottom and work our way up.....

And who does Dicky boy find bringing up the rear of such a well spread field, a thoroughbred? A frisky filly? A five year old half knackered gelding with galloping foot rot, no, he spots and falls head over heels in love with a clapped out mangy old flee ridden Donkey! Monsieur Dowie, to be precise.....

Mind you, the donk did have some impressive form, he gets the Palarse up and down faster than a French tarts knickers, and after such a short but distinguished and enamoured career, who can blame the long eared one for wanting to move on to pastures new? Strange coincidence his tormentor and paragon of virtue from just a few miles up north has decided to cash in his chips at roughly the exact same time......

Still, Murray knows what he's doing, don't he? What's the point in splashing out on the football version of the Arabian Stallion when you can have your very own 'Donkey Derby' every week? And that's exactly what we got, all that was missing was the 'kiss me quick hat'.

Still, when the going gets tough, the tough get going, and after just six months the tough speaking, no nonsense, all action guy got going all right, straight down to the nearest labour exchange......Talk about 'drop the dead donkey'..............Shame..........So soon after the 'Vote of Confidence Trick' from the board too.......

Still, once bitten, twice shy, and if you've ever been bitten by a donkey you certainly don't want to experience it again, so the key to learning from a bad experience is to look for someone with lots of experience who can give the team the benefit of their experience so they themselves become experienced, what was I talking about? Oh Yes, experience.............

Enter the Dragon!!!

Luckily for Mr Murray, his scouts had recently reported that Coronation Street's Norris Cole's stand-in stunt man was in the region and was hoping to audition for the part of Widow Twanky in the Christmas Pantomime 'Dickhead Whittington'. Yes you guessed it Les Reed.......Who?

Apparently, not satisfied with playing the ugly sister to the lead role of 'Little Red Donkey Hood', Les schemed, connived and back stabbed his way to the top faster than you can shout 'Look behind you, Donkey'.

Trouble was, when it came to football management Reed had a CV as long the arm of the 'one armed man' in the Fugitive, unfortunately the missing one.......Still he had read a book once, which is more than the donkey ever did, and he did get to colour in some badges down the FA, what the letters FA stand for is still a bit of a mystery but I think most of you could have a pretty good guess........He's even been known to pen the odd poem or two, who can ever for get the poetic masterpiece...."I think the future is bright in red, black and white." ?

Anyway, to cut a long story short he was shite and so Murray sacked him......

And so the managerial nightmare of Christmas Future continues for Scrooge Murray, this manager game is costing him a bloody fortune in compo.....still, one thing's for certain he's not going to fall for the old 'three card trick' for the third time, is he?

'Oh no he isn't', I hear you cry...........

Oh yes he fecking is.................

Desparate to foil his misfortunes with something a little more scientific Mr Murray turns to the cards, no, don't get too excited, I said turning TO cards, not turning turning IN his cards.

Hmmmmm, wait a minute, there's a lot to be said for Tarot cards and scientifically predicting the future, what better way to determine who's the best chap for the 19th best paid job in the Premiership?

'Yes, Peter,' says Murray 'Pop down to Tescos and get a big pack of tarot cards and we'll do the job properly this time.....'

'Righto' says the eager to please Varney........

Alas, just like like the despairing mother of Jack de Beanstalk, Murray knew as soon as Pete returned with the pack of 'Mrs Bunn the Bakers Wife' he should have sent the tea-lady......

Undaunted, the pair sat down to play a round and after about half an hour of tense studious brow sweating play Murray announces.......

'Have you got Alan Pardew?'

'Yes,' says Pete, 'I'll swap you Alan Curbishely for it..'

'Deal,' says Murray.

And the rest is, as they say, history............

How hard is it being a football chairman?

Just how difficult can it be to be the Chairman of a football club? What exactly can be hard about it? I mean, all you need is a few million quid, a half knackered football club on its last legs and your in.....You definitely don't need an O'level....

Every now and then you and your fellow directors simply dip your hand into your pocket pull out your wad and shove a few quid on the table and the manager goes out shopping. If he's a shrewd enough manager he'll pick up a bargain or two and hey presto you're in the Premiership before you know it, hob-nobbing with all the other millionaire playboys (and girls) with nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon.

Some chairman like to spend money like it's going out of fashion, filthy rich oil barons readily spring to mind, and ultimately they have a lot helluva more money than they got sense. Other chairman are always a bit more frugal with their easy to come by dosh, that's because presumably they usually have more sense than they've got money, in recent times I think it's reasonably safe to say Dicky Murray snugly fitted into this category.

It beggars belief then, that after 15 years of doing bugger all other than what he's good at, i.e. coughing up the mazooma at the appropriate times of need, Murray has suddenly developed an uncharacteristic self inflated ego that gives him a false sense of superior knowledge over all things related to Charlton Athletic football club.

The past 15 years have seen us lose our spiritual our home to travel the league like a bunch of wandering nomads, but after a magnificent effort by the board, fans and players we returned in triumph and have turned the Valley into a stadium that we could only ever once have dreamt of.

We have leaped into the Premiership via the greatest Wembley match ever seen only to be dumped unceremoniously on our arses months later. Not to be perturbed we immediately made it back into the Prem and have continually flummoxed the whole footballing world by staying there for seven 'interesting' years.

We have been minutes away from drifting into oblivion via the courts only for knights in shining armour to come to our saviour at the very last moment. Those self same knights have for years selflessly worked and contributed a seemingly endless flow of cash and self sacrifice in an effort to maintain our heady status.

Throughout all the good times and the bad the common denominator has been we have all stuck together, a red and white family thousands strong and growing year by year. A precious little club loved by all and respected by just as many opposing fans as our own. A club managed and lead by the highly dependable Sir Alan Curbishley whose longevity in managership was only surpassed by a certain Sir Alex Ferguson.

So why, after 15 years, has Murray now decided to break the long established Charlton tradition of doing things on a scale that directors, players, fans and the football world in general could understand, i.e. a small way... The Charlton Way!

Fair enough, it is his money, therefore technically it is his club,he can do what he wants with it. He can hire and fire his staff, knock down and rebuild the stadium as he sees fit, buy and sell the players he likes the look of the most, the sky's the limit really. Up to now he hasn't done a half bad job in all those day to day areas of running Charlton.

So what's gone wrong?

The truth is for years Murray has been a bit part player in a big, big footballing world, but he has maintained his position admirably, so why on earth has he gone and got these ideas way above his mediocre station? Why does he now assume he can run the club like the big boys do? Why has he now decided he knows a good manager from a mediocre one? How does he suddenly developed the business acumen that tells him to sack one hopeless leader for another? Why has he all of a sudden got far too big for his boots? Why does he suddenly appear to want to rip our beloved club apart at the seams?

In short, I surmise he has just got a little bit too big for his boots and his obvious lack of experience of mixing it with the elite of the Prem has found him out to be sadly lacking...... trouble is he's too proud, or stupid, to admit it and subsequently he continues to blunder on aimlessly along the corridors of doom, blindly staggering into the Coca Cola league at a great rate of knots.

So what's the result of Murray's ineptitude going to cost him? Well it's like likely to cost him a pretty £million or eleven, a more than self inflicted bruised status and a shattering blow to his ego, but worst of all....and for us too...

A place in the greatest footballing league in the world, the Premiership!

Who was it once called all chairmen tossers?

Reed pleased with Liverpool result....

After the 5-1 humiliation at the hands of Tottenham, manager Reed must have been really happy at the massive improvement shown by his team against the Reds of Liverpool. After averting a potential disasterous result Reed, pictured right picking sawdust out of his ear, left the Valley on Saturday more than pleased with the 3-0 defeat.

Reed was quoted as saying, 'After the 5-1 drubbing at the hands of the yids we were keen to turn that around as soon as possible and I think you'll agree we were much improved against the Scousers. Liverpool ought to have 12 but with some frantic defending and good luck we kept it down to only 3, that proves we have turned the corner and we are looking forward to the quarter final against Wycombe on Tuesday.'

Too bloody right Les, not as much as Wycombe are though, they must be absolutely quaking in their boots at the thought of coming up against the cast iron defence you're putting out at the moment.

Wycombe, pictured left after their 3-1 defeat against MKD on Saturday, have a renown cup history and are keen to emulate their success in the amateur cup final of 1932.

Before the cup draw all the players and several thousand fans attended a mass jehovahs witness rally to hold hands pray they'd be drawn against the mighty Addicts, preferably away. With the first part of their prayers answered the rest should be easy.

Curbs moves north to be near family....

Not so much news but more 'old hat', an old 'blue and claret bonnet, with Curbishley written on it' to be more precise.....

One of footballs longest 'will he, won't he? football manager sagas came to an abrupt end this week as Alan Curbishley, the master and maestro of the Valley for over 15 years, finally hung up red and white scarf to move back up north to be near his family.......West Ham United........

Born Llewellyn Charles Curbishley (with a name like Llewellyn and living in the east side of the Smoke you either had to learn to fight or to learn how to play football) the East End ragamuffin fled the gutters of Forest Gate to learn the wonderful game of football as an apprentice to the likes of the late, great, Sir Bobby Moore at Upton Park, 'Alan' went on to further ply his trade with Aston Villa, Birmingham, Brighton and Charlton (2 spells) and although he was more than a 'decent' player he didn't actually win anything, unless you know better......

Al, as he likes me to call him, began his mangerial exploits in 1991 with Charlton and the rest is, as they say, history......A relegation here, a promotion or two there has more than helped him to pay off his mortgage and at the same time bring numerous accolades from around the football world regarding his shrewd eye for a good buy (or even better, awe inspiring loan deals).

He kept 'little Charlton' afloat in the Prem for several years and, despite some accusations of being a master tactician in 'boring and negative' football, when fellow managers all around him lost their heads he at least managed to keep his......

So highly regarded was Al he became a firm favourite with the bookies as every time a head rolled he'd instantly be linked and installed as favourite contender for the job, from Barrow to Barnsley, East Ham to England, it made no difference, Curbs was the boy for the job. The undying loyalty Curbs showed to his SE7 masters meant that many a bookie spent a peaceful night counting the bountiful income from the numerous failed betting slips from the nations armchair punters.

Eventually, patience no longer became a virtue to Al and he played his joker with chairman Dicky Murray regarding contract, ambition and funds. Dicky, known for keeping his cards (and his cash) to his chest called Al's bluff and so he quickly folded and left the table in the Valley in a gentlemanly fashion, had he known the dastardly Murray had £12 million quid hidden up his sleeve the parting of the waves may well have been a tad more acrimonious.

After six months of hoovering the lounge and taking the mutt to the beauty parlour Curbs started to get the football itch once more. Within five minutes of Curbs being spotted down the Plaistow job centre Pardew got the chop at the aptly named 'Boleyn Ground' securing the comeback all West Ham fans had been waiting for hundreds of years.

The return of Llewellyn Charles Curbishley as the 'prodigal son' has sparked even more interest in 'knees up muvver brown' land than when Jack the Ripper opened up a kebab shop on the Whitechapel Road in the late 1880's. Even Pearly Kings and Queens are naming buttons after him. The fact he deserted Upton Park 27 years ago after playing a bit part for two brief seasons seems to have fluttered by most mallet fans.

It seems rather ironic that the boy from the gutter should return to his kingdom only to find his beloved Hammers are in the exact same gutter from whence he came. Not known for wearing his heart on his sleeve I'm sure the pleasant and unasuming gentleman that he is will set about the task of reviving the insipid and rusting 'Irons' forthwith, good luck.

Finally, I would like to state for the record, I bear the man no malice and wish him bon chance in every venture he endeavours to partake in (except when he plays us of course).

Thankyou Alan Curbishley.

You know when you've been 'Tangoed'

During the 2004/05 season the Crystal Palarse Chairman, Mr Simon Jordan, known affectionately as 'Tangoman' to his admirers because of his sinister addiction to the fizzy pop drink and Sun Bed sessions, blurted out a caustic and rather derogatory comment aimed at his fellow Premiership Chairman.

Apparently he called all chairmen 'Tossers'. The fact that Jordan, pictured above holding his arm after being diagnosed as having 'wankers cramp', was too a chairmen flew right over the zest of his rind coloured barnet.

To their credit the chairmen from the clubs representing the Premiership declined to comment on such banal rantings from such an insignificant irritant, instead they clubbed together and secretly arranged his and his clubs transfer to the fizzy pop league by stuffing their arses week-in and week-out, leaving the 'coup-de-gras' to the famous Robins on the last day of the season.

Having watched his beloved Charlton storm to a 2-2 draw that proved enough to kick Jordan and his sorry arsed Crystal Palarse out of the Prem, Charlton chairmen, Dicky Murray, hid behind the door of the boardroom waiting to ambush Tango with a quirky quip of his own that he believed the occasion clearly appeared to warrant.
As Jordan entered the room Murray, pictured left with his imitation tango suit he had made especially for the game, fronted the now forlorn Jordan and quipped, 'Good luck in the championship, you tosser...'

As Jordan turned on his heels and headed of to the nearest WH Smiths to by a road map of the lower league grounds he was heard to issue a torrent of abuse towards his erstwhile host and promise to exact his revenge for the utter humiliation at the hands of Murray, who was by now laughing so hideously he'd actually suffered a bout of stress incontinence and was swiftly whisked off to the baby changing room to change his urinary soiled underpants.

After a season and half of boring the shite out of visiting Chairmen with his post match story of the Tangoman's humbling, rumblings were being rumbled that Jordan was plotting his vengeance upon his tormentor. After his connived plan 'A' of installing Dowie as the new Charlton manager fell by the wayside after just 12 matches, plan 'B', the appointment of the second least likely candidate of the season, Les Reed, was brought into play and Jordan's 'cunning plan' was back on track.

Ever since then, the dramatic and seemingly unstoppable slide into the hokey cokey league has apparently caused Mr Murray many a night tossing and turning in his sleep with nightmares often ending with a strangely orange-shaded figure jumping out of the 'J Block on the last day of the season, grabbing him by the hand and screaming hysterically..'Welcome to the Championship, you tosser.....'

Sources state top psychiatric help has been summoned to the Valley in order to help the inconsolable Murray, who now only sleeps 90 minutes every Saturday, in order to block the 'You know when you been Tangoed' syndrome from his now feeble mind. Prozac is now the order of the day and it has been rumoured Murray has had a 'prozac dispensing machine' installed into the board room following advice from his doctors.

Moral of the story? Before trying to emulate a smart arse by becoming a smart arse, try to remember one interesting point from history, 'what goes around, usually comes around.' In the mean time, Mr Murray, just keep taking the tablets....