Andy Hughes played a big part on the pitch in our title winning season.
Not as much as you think. He made 5 starts and 10 sub appearances in the league.
Another one I see related to that season - Powell got his signings in early.
In reality it really got moving late June and continued into early/mid July, and key players such as Hamer and Yann signed in August and September.
But were largely identified a lot earlier and weren’t last minute panic signings on a freebie and short-term contract.
I doubt the problems have been with identifying players early enough - it’s not hard to pick out the better players in each division if you watch enough games. I’d say it’s more that we pick the wrong targets in terms of quality, our budget and how they form a team.
I clearly remember my first Charlton match with my
Dad. Or at least, I think I do.
It was a packed house at the valley for an FA Cup tie under floodlights (maybe
a quarter final) versus West Ham. It was so cold my Dad's mate admitted he was
wearing his wife's tights under his trousers to help stay warm. I clearly
remember Bill rolling up his trouser leg to reveal the tan nylon. No one
appeared to be shocked or though it funny or unusual. The crowds were huge and
the turnstiles became overwhelmed. The crowd surged and a crush
started. I can still smell the odour of hot dogs and fried onions and
peering up past the pressed male bodies to see the stars twinkling above the
Valley.
As the crush grew bigger, the adults starting passing the young kids over their
heads like sacks of flour. It was very calm and coordinated. With many
other young boys, I was lifted by complete strangers over the roof of the
turnstiles and deposited gently on the ground inside the valley where I waited for my Dad as excited fans filed past me.
He eventually appeared through the turnstiles - the old mechanical rotating clanky
gates with horizontal metal arms which you feared might not fully open and trap
you inside. He casually grabbed my hand without comment and we headed off
to watch the match. I felt no anxiety at all.
I don’t remember the score but only the bitter (and now all too familiar)
feeling of disappointment as Charlton were defeated after a spirited performance
against a local rival from the league above.
The weird thing is, I once tried to Google the fixture to
work out when exactly it was and the final score. I could find no trace of an
FA Cup tie between Charlton and West Ham in the early 1970s.
Or of Nelson Mandela ever playing right-back for Charlton
Athletic.
I clearly remember my first Charlton match with my
Dad. Or at least, I think I do.
It was a packed house at the valley for an FA Cup tie under floodlights (maybe
a quarter final) versus West Ham. It was so cold my Dad's mate admitted he was
wearing his wife's tights under his trousers to help stay warm. I clearly
remember Bill rolling up his trouser leg to reveal the tan nylon. No one
appeared to be shocked or though it funny or unusual. The crowds were huge and
the turnstiles became overwhelmed. The crowd surged and a crush
started. I can still smell the odour of hot dogs and fried onions and
peering up past the pressed male bodies to see the stars twinkling above the
Valley.
As the crush grew bigger, the adults starting passing the young kids over their
heads like sacks of flour. It was very calm and coordinated. With many
other young boys, I was lifted by complete strangers over the roof of the
turnstiles and deposited gently on the ground inside the valley where I waited for my Dad as excited fans filed past me.
He eventually appeared through the turnstiles - the old mechanical rotating clanky
gates with horizontal metal arms which you feared might not fully open and trap
you inside. He casually grabbed my hand without comment and we headed off
to watch the match. I felt no anxiety at all.
I don’t remember the score but only the bitter (and now all too familiar)
feeling of disappointment as Charlton were defeated after a spirited performance
against a local rival from the league above.
The weird thing is, I once tried to Google the fixture to
work out when exactly it was and the final score. I could find no trace of an
FA Cup tie between Charlton and West Ham in the early 1970s.
Or of Nelson Mandela ever playing right-back for Charlton
Athletic.
Are you sure it wasn't the league cup game v West Ham in 1976? That was under lights, big crowd, but it was in September, I don't remember it being particularly cold. Having said that, they weren't passing kids over peoples heads by then, although the odd person would get thrown on the pitch when it got a bit heated in the covered end.
I clearly remember my first Charlton match with my
Dad. Or at least, I think I do.
It was a packed house at the valley for an FA Cup tie under floodlights (maybe
a quarter final) versus West Ham. It was so cold my Dad's mate admitted he was
wearing his wife's tights under his trousers to help stay warm. I clearly
remember Bill rolling up his trouser leg to reveal the tan nylon. No one
appeared to be shocked or though it funny or unusual. The crowds were huge and
the turnstiles became overwhelmed. The crowd surged and a crush
started. I can still smell the odour of hot dogs and fried onions and
peering up past the pressed male bodies to see the stars twinkling above the
Valley.
As the crush grew bigger, the adults starting passing the young kids over their
heads like sacks of flour. It was very calm and coordinated. With many
other young boys, I was lifted by complete strangers over the roof of the
turnstiles and deposited gently on the ground inside the valley where I waited for my Dad as excited fans filed past me.
He eventually appeared through the turnstiles - the old mechanical rotating clanky
gates with horizontal metal arms which you feared might not fully open and trap
you inside. He casually grabbed my hand without comment and we headed off
to watch the match. I felt no anxiety at all.
I don’t remember the score but only the bitter (and now all too familiar)
feeling of disappointment as Charlton were defeated after a spirited performance
against a local rival from the league above.
The weird thing is, I once tried to Google the fixture to
work out when exactly it was and the final score. I could find no trace of an
FA Cup tie between Charlton and West Ham in the early 1970s.
Or of Nelson Mandela ever playing right-back for Charlton
Athletic.
Are you sure it wasn't the league cup game v West Ham in 1976? That was under lights, big crowd, but it was in September, I don't remember it being particularly cold. Having said that, they weren't passing kids over peoples heads by then, although the odd person would get thrown on the pitch when it got a bit heated in the covered end.
21 September 1976. It was 19.0C at kick off, falling to 17.0C by the end of the game.
I clearly remember my first Charlton match with my
Dad. Or at least, I think I do.
It was a packed house at the valley for an FA Cup tie under floodlights (maybe
a quarter final) versus West Ham. It was so cold my Dad's mate admitted he was
wearing his wife's tights under his trousers to help stay warm. I clearly
remember Bill rolling up his trouser leg to reveal the tan nylon. No one
appeared to be shocked or though it funny or unusual. The crowds were huge and
the turnstiles became overwhelmed. The crowd surged and a crush
started. I can still smell the odour of hot dogs and fried onions and
peering up past the pressed male bodies to see the stars twinkling above the
Valley.
As the crush grew bigger, the adults starting passing the young kids over their
heads like sacks of flour. It was very calm and coordinated. With many
other young boys, I was lifted by complete strangers over the roof of the
turnstiles and deposited gently on the ground inside the valley where I waited for my Dad as excited fans filed past me.
He eventually appeared through the turnstiles - the old mechanical rotating clanky
gates with horizontal metal arms which you feared might not fully open and trap
you inside. He casually grabbed my hand without comment and we headed off
to watch the match. I felt no anxiety at all.
I don’t remember the score but only the bitter (and now all too familiar)
feeling of disappointment as Charlton were defeated after a spirited performance
against a local rival from the league above.
The weird thing is, I once tried to Google the fixture to
work out when exactly it was and the final score. I could find no trace of an
FA Cup tie between Charlton and West Ham in the early 1970s.
Or of Nelson Mandela ever playing right-back for Charlton
Athletic.
Are you sure it wasn't the league cup game v West Ham in 1976? That was under lights, big crowd, but it was in September, I don't remember it being particularly cold. Having said that, they weren't passing kids over peoples heads by then, although the odd person would get thrown on the pitch when it got a bit heated in the covered end.
21 September 1976. It was 19.0C at kick off, falling to 17.0C by the end of the game.
Comments
In reality it really got moving late June and continued into early/mid July, and key players such as Hamer and Yann signed in August and September.
I clearly remember my first Charlton match with my Dad. Or at least, I think I do.
It was a packed house at the valley for an FA Cup tie under floodlights (maybe a quarter final) versus West Ham. It was so cold my Dad's mate admitted he was wearing his wife's tights under his trousers to help stay warm. I clearly remember Bill rolling up his trouser leg to reveal the tan nylon. No one appeared to be shocked or though it funny or unusual. The crowds were huge and the turnstiles became overwhelmed. The crowd surged and a crush started. I can still smell the odour of hot dogs and fried onions and peering up past the pressed male bodies to see the stars twinkling above the Valley.
As the crush grew bigger, the adults starting passing the young kids over their heads like sacks of flour. It was very calm and coordinated. With many other young boys, I was lifted by complete strangers over the roof of the turnstiles and deposited gently on the ground inside the valley where I waited for my Dad as excited fans filed past me.
He eventually appeared through the turnstiles - the old mechanical rotating clanky gates with horizontal metal arms which you feared might not fully open and trap you inside. He casually grabbed my hand without comment and we headed off to watch the match. I felt no anxiety at all.
I don’t remember the score but only the bitter (and now all too familiar) feeling of disappointment as Charlton were defeated after a spirited performance against a local rival from the league above.
The weird thing is, I once tried to Google the fixture to work out when exactly it was and the final score. I could find no trace of an FA Cup tie between Charlton and West Ham in the early 1970s.
Or of Nelson Mandela ever playing right-back for Charlton Athletic.