Back when i was living in England, I couldn't justify a season ticket. So would occasionally just buy a ticket here and there. In 2001/2 a deal was offered by the club to buy a three ticket set - tickets for three separate home games for a discounted price which included Charlton hosting two bog standard premiership teams and one 'big' premiership club. I lept at the chance and was allocated a seat on the corner between the Covered End and the West Stand. The tickets were for Aston Villa (1-2 (Stuart)), Derby (1-0 (Bart-Williams)) and Manchester United. A colleague of mine at the time was a Manchester United fan and he asked me to buy a three ticket set for him as well so that he could watch his favourite side. Presumably it would have been hard for him to get hold of a ticket in the away section. He didn't bother to come to the first two games but was beside me incognito for the Man United game. Charlton were doing okay but we were undone by a 50 yard cross field pass from Roy Keane onto Ole Gunnar Solskjaer's cushioned foot, who then stepped past a defender (forget who) and made no mistake with only Kiely to beat. It was a gorgeous goal and you had to applaud it....but what you didn't have to do was jump out of your chair among all the despondent Charlton fans and punch your fists in the air screaming "YES! YES! YES!" which is exactly what my colleague did. I still cringe about this and it is only now that i find i am brave enough to seek the forgiveness of the Charlton community. I hope you find it in you to not just forgive me but to share here your embarrassing moments in and around the Valley. Final score 0-2 with the Norwegian getting a second.
Match report 
Comments
I wasn’t heading to the car park for a tear up either.
Inevitably Bummers slots the equaliser within 60 seconds.
Turned round to notice no one else doing the same and looked down to see my (younger) brother shaking his head in embarrassment and dismay at me before saying "Sit down you tosser...it's not finished, he's just blown for a throw in."
He didn't come to football with me again for about 15 years after that which I'm sure is just a coincidence.
I was screaming at Varney to keep it at the corner flag and produced a stream of abuse as he crossed it......
Gimme a C, gimme a H
Gimme a.......cue voice giving way.....Aeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Laughter from 50 odd people around me.
Charlton vs Shrewsbury early last season (I think) - game ends 4-3 to them and Ricky Holmes was the only player doing anything in the whole game, so much so he was charging out of his position on the RW all over the shop, I'm ranting at my Dad "Why does he do that? He's miles out of position and leaving Solly at RB exposed, there's acres of room on the right wing now if he was there to collect the ball and cross/attack he'd be much more effective than crowding the centre of the pitch", at pretty much this exact point he picks up the ball in the middle of the park and unleashes a trademark Holmes screamer in to the top right from about 30 yards out.
Dad just looks at me with a big shit-eating grin at the egg all over my face.
General mirth and merriment all around us after that including, to his credit, the perpetrator.
Final whistle came and started making our way to the exit , unbelievably the gates weren’t open I questioned a steward and he told me it was half time .
I always have been a proper shit drinker .
But I just remembered one particular toe curler and it didn't relate to the football. New Years Day a few years back Ipswich away. I had spent some time pre match watching two of our away fans dressed as Batman and Robin. They were really acting the goat but obviously having a great time. I observed to Ian after a few minutes that I thought Robin was a bit of twat.
I don't know why I said it really but much to my embarrassment the woman directly in front of me turned round and said "That twat is my son!".
There were 1,000 away fans there that day.
I died.
Way back, must have been around 1980, my first Big Love was a girl called Karen who came from Portsmouth. She already knew about my history with Pompey, being at Poly there. When she discovered we were playing an evening game against them she insisted on attending. We sat behind the goal in the Covered End, where she discovered that the blokes behind us were eating marshmallows. She loudly proclaimed her surprise that "all the hard Charlton fans" consume marshmallows. The match began, and inevitably Pompey scored. Karen of course jumped to her feet and larged it, belting out "Play up Pompey" while my mates and I pretended we weren't there. I think only the fact that she was a good looking girl saved us. It wasn't her self-restraint.
It wasn't much better 20 years later when my wife joined me when we had been invited to the boardroom for a game. I'd made the mistake of telling her how we used to categorise fellow fans by which part of the Valley we used to stand in. She proceeded to interrogate bemused old guys in ties to establish whether they were ex- Covered End or East Terrace. I managed to steer her out of the room before she could start on Michael Grade.
I then spent that first half with Ian's shoulders shaking while I sat shamefaced. We changed seats at half time.
Your lack of drinking ability was legendary back then.
How you managed to drink everyone under the table at Brighton away that year is one of life’s true mysteries.
My friend genuinely wondered if I had been to the Valley myself before.