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CHARLTON v MIDDLESBROUGH BLAST FROM THE PAST
Charlton. Hmm, well if it wasn't for Alan Curbishley constantly being linked to the England job and 'how well he's done on such limited resources' and all that bollocks then I guess the south Londoners would be as anonymous a team as Aston Villa and Fulham.
Always guaranteed to fade away come March, like the horse I usually bet on around a furlong from the post, it is to be hoped that their poor run coincides with Boro's fantastic one and we can do them over at the Valley on Sunday. Chances are however, another bore draw awaits us as is so often the case. Oh the joys of being a Boro supporter, aye?
Retro Barker
Middlesbrough 2-1 Charlton, 09/08/1997
This was the first game back in the First Division (now the bleeding 'Championship') after the heartbreak of relegation. After the Cup Final I vowed on the steps of Wembley, bailing my eyes out, that I would never watch the Boro again - the pain was just too unbearable and the whole three points saga cut me deep.
The season had now ended, I was down in the dumps, university had finished and I didn't have a job. Juninho left, Ravenelli wanted to, and our lass wouldn't suck my cock. Things were at an all-time low. And then my season ticket renewal form came through. The seed had been planted, Boro signed Paul Merson and then the option came: either go shopping on a Saturday with the missus, or watch the football. My application was swiftly in the post.
As the fixtures came out, I knew straight away I was in trouble. I mean come on, who gets married on the first day of the football season? Well my mate Gary did. I had already agreed to be suited and booted for the wedding day - I was even given the privilege of standing up in the church and doing a couple of readings. Things were not looking good.
On the plus side the service was at 1pm. I had a plan, along with my mate Dougie, who was also an ardent nutter who never missed a match (in fact in 1998-99, he commuted from Germany for every home game).
The plan was simple, do the service thing at church, photos etc and then go to the Bluebell for the reception. When the meal was going to start, nip off and get to the match and return hopefully unnoticed. This was a dodgy tactic as the bride could be a bit of a head the ball, so we decided to come clean and tell the groom. He said, "that's OK" but unbeknown to us, he did not have the guts to tell his bride to be.
To cut a long story short, on a gloriously sunny wedding day, as we were greeted by the Newlyweds, Doug and I went through into the dining area to shake their hands and say, "well done". We then did an about-turn and said "see ya". I then heard a voice coming from the Bride, "Why? Where are you going?"
I knew straight away Gary had not told his new wife, that two of his closest mates were fucking off to the match. She was not impressed, not at all. Seriously I still think she still harbours a grudge. Women!
Anyhow, we went to the match in full top hat & tails, rose in lapel etc. I was sat in the North Stand. The amount of comments like "You getting married son" or "you been to a wedding", grated me a bit, but with the alcohol I had already consumed, and topping up from the stag night before, they just passed me by. I think they scored first, then Festa equalised.
Ravenelli was having a bit of a stinker, then he popped up in the last minute to score the winner. I went berserk. I then heard a rip. I looked down to see part of the hire suit trapped in the chair, with the rest still attached to me.
I didn't care, I was pissed. Until the next day, when the groom told me he did not get insurance for the suits. He had really, but the bride wanted payback and made me sweat, until they got back off the honeymoon.
It was a really good day in the end, in fact it was a really good season - that 4-0 defeat at the City ground excluded - but that's another story.
Sasboro
I remember we once got beat something like 1-0 by Charlton at home, in front of the Holgate. Rob Lee chipped Pears and Mogga was running in to clear it off the line but it hit the post and bounced off Mogga and into the net.
Home games against Charlton always seemed to be dull 0-0's. On one such occasion I remember us having Walsh on loan and Charlton having Kernaghan on loan. Then in the summer Lawrence became Boro manager and we kept Kerneghan and Kerngahan was like a new player.
Another game was when Lawrence had been sacked and Pickering was in charge for three games. Last game of the season we won 5-2 at Charlton at the end of the season with Hendrie getting a hat-trick.
Lemontop
One of the problems I have with Charlton is that we never seem to win down there. At least not until last season when a cracking Zenden goal was enough to reverse a trend that seemed to have been going on for some time. And we always seem to be down there in late October for some reason as well (except during this season of course). Funny that.
There was a game at Charlton where a Hendrie hat-trick gave us a big win on the last day of the season, but I only listened to that one on the radio. Over the last ten years or so, when I've been regularly attending away games, we never seemed to get anything down at the Valley.
My earliest clear memory of any Charlton game was actually at Ayresome Park in the late 80s. It was probably around the time of Christmas, maybe the weekend before, when we used to drive up to Boro to supposedly drop off and pick up Christmas presents for/from friends and relatives up there. We however ostensibly used it as an excuse to walk the couple of hundred yards from my Grandma's house on Costa Street to get to a game. This time, possibly not even yet in my teens, it was Charlton (it always seemed to be Blackburn usually) and the game was just horrible. The dullest 0-0 I can ever remember seeing before or since and possibly the coldest I'd ever been in my life.
Since then, there have been a few more 0-0 draws between the two sides (including one game at the Riverside that I only saw on the telly but which bored me to tears) and some highly frustrating defeats down there. One in particular that springs to mind is from the 'Merson Magic' season of 97/98. We'd just started to get the hang of the First Division, and I'd just about dried off after getting drenched at Elm Park in midweek watching Higgy's late goal take us through in the Coca-Cola Cup (or whatever it was called then), when we rolled up at the Valley to take on what admittedly looked like a decent Charlton side. They hammered us in the winter sunshine. We were just awful and as I remarked at the time, if Neil Maddison is your best player, you're likely to struggle.
My only other specific memory was seeing Ugo Ehiogu limp off after about five minutes of his debut, another dull game down there in which we failed to score. Jesus, these memories are depressing. In fact, I'm not sure I'd seen us score there at all before last season. He used to be shite, then he was alright, then he left for the Scousers, but I can't remember seeing any other Boro player score for us at the Valley. Ever. So thank you Bolo.
Andrew Morgan
Charlton 1-0 Middlesbrough, 13/03/2004
My consolation. Having missed out on going to Cardiff because of the club's ridiculous policy of giving people who had actually been to some Boro games that season first dibs on getting a ticket for the Carling Cup Final, I decided I would make up for missing out on this experience by going to the Valley - my first ever away game on my own. Some consolation I know - watch us win our first ever trophy or lose 1-0 in some London backwater but there you go. My mind was made up. And it still hurts to this day.
I spoke to my mates asking if any of them fancied it. I was at Uni at the time and about to take my Finals. Quite frankly I wanted to do anything that didn't involve worrying about sixteenth century Italian medicine and the dispute between Aristotelian medicine and the anatomy of Andreas Vesalius. No one was interested apart from a guy called Matt, but that's enough of my medical quandaries.
But for £30 a ticket to see a team you don't actually support I wasn't all that surprised by the lack of interest. Matt was a Gooner with nil prospect of getting into any Arsenal game but who still had a will to watch Premiership football. So he thought a mid-table battle involving two competent if unspectacular sides would be suitable enough. Daft sod.
So I got the tickets from the nice automated lady who leaves you on hold for forty-five fucking minutes on the MFC phone line - making you listen to a repetitive rendition of Pigbag for that length of time. After five minutes it becomes more like Sickbag and after ten you want to psychopathically murder anyone within a four mile radius of you with your credit card. But by the by. Tickets were bought and drinking was next on my agenda.
Two weeks later I realised that I knew bugger all about Charlton and most importantly, the pubs in the vicinity. Now this was the time I was tempted into dabbling with the illicit drug that was known as the now redundant 606 messageboard and I decided to break my virginity by asking about the pubs around The Valley so I didn't turn up there fearing my life in the hands of some South London scallies. The Wiz broke me in by telling me The Anti-Gallacan was the place to go and to enjoy the match.
On the day (because it would be pointless at any other time), Matt and I made the journey from Cambridge. We saw the inverted diaphragm that was the Millennium Dome, a discarded contraceptive for sado-masochistic giants, on the way and made our way to Charlton somehow. I think it was by bus. And there it was, impressive, tucked away and admirable...
The Anti-Gallacan was brimming with Boro fans and had a crackling atmosphere, with singing, hugging and surreally, tonnes and tonnes of kids. Someone brought a beach ball and managed to piss the barmaid off by breaking a light, so she confiscated it. On every face there was a smile, beaming and happy and ready to enjoy a game in the early spring sunshine. I spilt half of my pint on the floor and even the coppers were laughing. I may have bought a cheese sandwich from somewhere too but I don't think you need to know the details.
Shame then that the Boro didn't turn up. I wasn't overly impressed with the Valley as an away end as it resembled my old dad's potting shed with even worse urinals, but the rest of the stadium was fantastic and the atmosphere was second to none. Literally. They scored with a free-kick in the nineteenth minute - I think it was Matty Holland but it may have been Horeiderson. I was right down the front (I think in almost the same seats as I was the subsequent October for the league match of the following season) and all I remember is Matt stretching his arms out after seeing a Boro shot flash wide, in the hope that he would be on Match of the Day. The fool.
An uneventful match ended 1-0 to the home side and we all trudged out of the stadium and back to the Anti-Gallacan for some more alcohol-fuelled fun. Songs were sung and we watched Sky Sports News in the bar. Matt commented on the disappointing nature of the match (probably vowing never to see the Boro again) and then we went to Canary Wharf - an impressive sight in the dark and one that was so magical for me. As we headed home I thought 'beaten by Charlton'. Well, there's no shame in that I supposed. After all, Curbishley has done remarkably well on such limited resources...
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