There was loads of 'Black C**t' this, 'Black c**t' that on Saturday.
Walking to the station it was the first time I've really heard VFR used as an 'aggressive' chant while these coked-up tools were bending wipers, punching car windows and threatening occupants (a female I saw was terrified), and looking for a ruck with anyone, including other Charlton fans.
Sadly that's one thing that can't be blamed on the current owners as it started quite a few years before.
They're basically similar to those lads that got done after Fulham in the FA Cup a few years back re: chanting about Stephen Lawrence. It's complete mob mentality, they probably aren't there for Charlton, more to satisfy their yob persona. I guarantee the type you are talking about have no long term affiliation to our club. It's a vechicle to demonstrate their aggressive geezer side of life. As @cafctom says, you'll see them at select games, localish and ones where there may be a chance to give their best Frank Harper impression
Paddy Powell, Killer Hales, Mike Flanagan and Martin Robinson are laughing.
Our players are pooftahs and pansies. The sideways balls – after you, Claude – then back to the keeper. We have a goal kick, 0-0 at The Valley.
Our keeper puts the ball down. Steps back. Breathes in and out. Puffs out his chest. Waves the team from left to right. Twenty-two players shuffle across.
We in the Covered End notice the poplars beyond the Away End, shimmering in the breeze. Good clouds. The world turns.
And this goal kick has a sweet little trajectory towards the dug-outs: a sideways jump from our useless midfield, not won. Ball bobbles around, knocked out – it's their throw. We are back on the edge of our box, on the touchline. A ricochet. Another throw, bogged down in this vague, dreary, peripheral dullness.
Half-time, and we in the Covered End ask rhetorically: Have we actually had a shot on target? The speechless shaking of heads. Cheer up! Our manager will give them a rocket.
Second half: start again. Kick-off, and immediately our opponents are quick on their toes, one-touch to the wings, skin Solly, get round the back, flash dangerous crosses. Christ! That was close! Another ponderous move: Jackson and Crofts can't get off the ground – we don't win the first ball, nor the second. Our opponents push forward, skin Fox, flash across the box: 0-1.
Now we must get going. Our winger is in acres of space, ball at his feet, running to the half-way line – Come on! Come on! – He passes to his mate, and it's slightly behind, so he has to check. In that split second, three defenders ambush him.
That's a lack of basic technique. It's repeated five minutes later, when Lookman can't kick a ball from the corner to the box. Again. Full-time. We have lost 0-1.
All of our opposing players have negligent owners. They all hate their managers. They are all insecure, worried about their wives, lovers, cars, and the next tattoo. They might even – heaven forbid – swear just like Roger Johnson.
Society is heading to the shitter... there is no doubt in my mind. We will have our share of scumbags no matter the posturing and high mindedness on here.
Life eh? It's shite and then he sticks supporting Charlton on top... bloody sadist!
Call them soft, call them wimps, toothless, gutless or cowards but to pick terms used to degrade those that are born gay seems very tasteless.
But then I'll probably get called out for being offended on behalf of others...
Having seen two of my friends belittled, started on and beaten up on more than one occasion for loving each other.
One thing I remember from a night out where I took a kicking myself for sticking up for them, when some drunk twats kicked off is that whilst we were getting kicked in they were being called poofs and pansies as well as other derogatory things that were far more vulgar.
The View that all gay folk are like Alan Carr or Louis Spence is a LOL. Gareth Thomas the Ex welsh Rugby Captain was as hard as nails and didn't come out until he was 35.
Always reminds me of Alf Garnet when i hear "Pooftahs and Pansies" funny in it's day but out dated 55 years after it was written.
Al Murray's Pub Landlord Character is the modern day Alf Garnet which is funny, thou Bizarrely, some people laugh AT the pub landlord and some laugh WITH the pub landlord.
It does and very much is, but I guess Viewfinder got carried away with his 70's nostalgia trip. Such terms were commonplace then, even amongst those of us that would now be embarrassed and horrified.
It does and very much is, but I guess Viewfinder got carried away with his 70's nostalgia trip. Such terms were commonplace then, even amongst those of us that would now be embarrassed and horrified.
That's why the question was asked wasn't sure of his age so couldn't decide if he was using outdated terminology or purposefully using these terms in their modern sense.
No need for homophobic or racist language but it is getting a bit silly on here now lads and lasses, cant wait till after millwall i think a few charlton fans might be put on death row.
Comments
Our players are pooftahs and pansies. The sideways balls – after you, Claude – then back to the keeper. We have a goal kick, 0-0 at The Valley.
Our keeper puts the ball down. Steps back. Breathes in and out. Puffs out his chest. Waves the team from left to right. Twenty-two players shuffle across.
We in the Covered End notice the poplars beyond the Away End, shimmering in the breeze. Good clouds. The world turns.
And this goal kick has a sweet little trajectory towards the dug-outs: a sideways jump from our useless midfield, not won. Ball bobbles around, knocked out – it's their throw. We are back on the edge of our box, on the touchline. A ricochet. Another throw, bogged down in this vague, dreary, peripheral dullness.
Half-time, and we in the Covered End ask rhetorically: Have we actually had a shot on target? The speechless shaking of heads. Cheer up! Our manager will give them a rocket.
Second half: start again. Kick-off, and immediately our opponents are quick on their toes, one-touch to the wings, skin Solly, get round the back, flash dangerous crosses. Christ! That was close! Another ponderous move: Jackson and Crofts can't get off the ground – we don't win the first ball, nor the second. Our opponents push forward, skin Fox, flash across the box: 0-1.
Now we must get going. Our winger is in acres of space, ball at his feet, running to the half-way line – Come on! Come on! – He passes to his mate, and it's slightly behind, so he has to check. In that split second, three defenders ambush him.
That's a lack of basic technique. It's repeated five minutes later, when Lookman can't kick a ball from the corner to the box. Again. Full-time. We have lost 0-1.
All of our opposing players have negligent owners. They all hate their managers. They are all insecure, worried about their wives, lovers, cars, and the next tattoo. They might even – heaven forbid – swear just like Roger Johnson.
And they win.
Life eh? It's shite and then he sticks supporting Charlton on top... bloody sadist!
Call them soft, call them wimps, toothless, gutless or cowards but to pick terms used to degrade those that are born gay seems very tasteless.
But then I'll probably get called out for being offended on behalf of others...
Having seen two of my friends belittled, started on and beaten up on more than one occasion for loving each other.
One thing I remember from a night out where I took a kicking myself for sticking up for them, when some drunk twats kicked off is that whilst we were getting kicked in they were being called poofs and pansies as well as other derogatory things that were far more vulgar.
Gareth Thomas the Ex welsh Rugby Captain was as hard as nails and didn't come out until he was 35.
Always reminds me of Alf Garnet when i hear "Pooftahs and Pansies"
funny in it's day but out dated 55 years after it was written.
Al Murray's Pub Landlord Character is the modern day Alf Garnet
which is funny, thou Bizarrely, some people laugh AT the pub landlord and some laugh WITH the pub landlord.
As the late great Fred Trueman was heard to Say ?
"There's nowt as queer as Folk"
Such terms were commonplace then, even amongst those of us that would now be embarrassed and horrified.