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Charlton v AFC Wimbledon post-match views 28/10/17

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  • Really pleased to win these ugly games, first time in many years I feel good about the team. It's despite RD and KM though, not thanks to them. Roland out, COYR
  • Great win in absolutely dire boring game. Last couple of games have shown we can dig in deep and grind results out which is exactly what we need to get out of this league. Very concerning how poor big Josh has been the last 4-5 games. Hopefully Best can come in and help out till Jan.
  • Amos: shaky like the start of the season
    Solly: decent throughout
    Bauer: see Solly
    Konsa: defensively ok but passing & distribution dodgy
    DaSilva: head & shoulders above everybody
    Kashi: indispensable defensively best passer in the squad New Contract imperative
    Fosu-Henry: another who reverted to his August form never found a pass and repeatedly switched off
    Forster-Caskey: quietly effective apart from dead balls which stank
    Clarke: most effective attacker despite mostly playing out of position Architect of the period of pressure which eventually brought goal Gobby gave him the hook anyway Bizarre
    Holmes: effort energy and miscommunication with colleagues
    Magennis: tireless despite zero service this guy warrants a big new contract too

    Gobby: game won despite his utter fucktard dogma sticking to his singular plan A. All 3 attacking mids out of their best positions Clarke has hot spell in the middle dons look suddenly vulnerable so the FSG takes him off and puts lefty Marshall on the right. Ricky “earned” the fk and got the lush scouse muppet out of jail This prick has learned not one thing about his squad in 3 months watching games but still he is but a minor problem for the club as a whole

    To be honest you really don't seem to be a nice bloke. Or, you have a really weird sense of humour.
  • Awful game - Wimbledon looked twice the size of our players

    Pleased we won.

    I kept thinking they looked like a bunch of Sunday league team players that were carrying a bit too much weight. It was like they are trying to recreate the crazy gang ‘misfits’ look but forgetting that team was actually an exceptional bunch of players on the whole. Doubly disappointing for me yesterday because not only did I want to see us turn them over big time it dawned on me that they are relegation fodder and when they come back to Wimbledon and plough lane I’ll probably catch some of their games when charlton are not playing and those games could end up being southern league.
  • edited October 2017

    Awful game - Wimbledon looked twice the size of our players

    Pleased we won.

    I kept thinking they looked like a bunch of Sunday league team players that were carrying a bit too much weight. It was like they are trying to recreate the crazy gang ‘misfits’ look but forgetting that team was actually an exceptional bunch of players on the whole. Doubly disappointing for me yesterday because not only did I want to see us turn them over big time it dawned on me that they are relegation fodder and when they come back to Wimbledon and plough lane I’ll probably catch some of their games when charlton are not playing and those games could end up being southern league.
    Plough Lane's only a mile and a half from me, but I'd be disappointed if we're playing them next year.
  • edited October 2017
    What a beaut!


    ... and we've got 7 different angles of it #cafc

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  • Don't be fooled by the result. I write this to our good Lifers in California, Australia, Thailand, and many others elsewhere across the globe, not there at The Valley.

    We were appalling yesterday – utterly appalling. We pass sideways like terrified crabs, then back to Amos – who shanks the ball in to Row Z. Good teams come out fighting at kick-off, adrenalin pumping, battering the opposition, accurate and visceral, slicing the jugular of the enemy.

    We, however, make tentative moves. After you, Claude – who is stunned by the very presence of the ball – and pussy-foots a pass somewhere vague. Sideways and backwards. At half-time, we in the Covered End looked at each other with disbelief. In the whole 45 minutes we had fashioned one single shot at goal – Fosu, stumbled and wide.

    A fat guy waddles on the pitch and SHOUTS at the Covered End as if we are recalcitrant children. A poor bloke from Bexleyheath steps up for The Crossbar Challenge. He hoofs it miles over the bar. This is patronising and demeaning. The fat guy opens an envelope, gives him two tickets for the next game, shouts again, and waddles off, bird in heels wielding a clipboard.

    We want the opera singer, diva in in black gown and pearls, serenading us in the Covered End, the promotion party in 2012. The game when Yann Kermorgant, ball over shoulder, hammered a volley, obliquely, to send us to delirium.

    Robinson will give them a rocket. We will come out fighting.

    Yet, the second half yesterday was even worse.

    It was utterly, hopelessly, pedestrian. Our misplaced passes, casual and unthinking. Hospital passes from here to there. When Konsa has the ball, approaching the halfway-line, we all know he will lose possession.

    Bauer was superb, nodding balls seven yards from danger to easy space for our men to collect and advance. He didn't hoof to Row Z or clatter his opponent. Bauer rose above them all, literally and metaphorically. Those seven yards are crucial: the ball is here: you are free, the space is gloriously vacant – do something with it.

    Yet – our midfield players have no spatial awareness or technical skills: they are stilted men. And no muscle, either. We were pushed off the ball by Wimbledon. They nudged Forster-Caskey, brushed him aside, walked past Clarke. By-passed Kashi. Our midfield is vapid.

    Here is a vignette: ball flies left to right: Solly controls in acres of spaces, looks up for a willing runner – and two defenders ambush him, seize possession. Solly was looking for a striker who is isn't there. In that fraction of a second, we are on the back foot, skinned.

    Holmes burst the net: it was ecstatic. Yet – three minutes later he had a similar free-kick, on the edge of the box. Stadium falls silent, all pregnant with anticipation. Poplars wave beyond the stand. Clouds shift, planes cross. London breathes in and out.

    Holmes steps up – and hammers it against the wall. From which Wimbledon scampered away, by-passing our puffing midfield, and skimmed the bar. My neighbour in the Covered End put his head in his hands: “What the fuck are we doing?”

    Nice fictional story. You should write novels.
  • Clean sheet ✅
    Three points ✅

    A perfect 25th birthday for @patrick5bauer! #cafc

    https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DNPrGtdXkAE0ttG.jpg
  • edited October 2017
    Josh magennis‏Verified account @Josh_Magennis 21h21 hours ago
    More
    Great win today. Really good team spirit and enjoying our season! Feet up and watch the boxing now. Enjoy the weekend tweeps. #cafc
  • Patrick Bauer‏ @patrick5bauer 21h21 hours ago
    More
    Celebrating my 25th birthday today with a win & a clean sheet! Enjoying some days off with my fiancee now! Thanks for all the messages!


    https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DNPrnaKXkAAEY4I.jpg
  • edited October 2017
    ⚽ Ricky Holmes does not score tap-ins...

    Here's where all 18 of his Charlton goals have been scored from
    #cafc

    https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DNPauUhWsAALBfy.jpg
  • Our biggest problem was not matching Wimbledon in the physical battle. Magennis was below par and Clarke was easily brushed aside. Konsa had some good moments but also allowed their striker an easy time instead of trying to come through and win the ball. Towards the end, Konsa did start to do this.

    No worries; our defence held firm, we had a slice of luck and we won. Marshall got some minutes and produced one inviting cross, which bodes well for the future.
  • edited October 2017
    dickplumb said:

    Don't be fooled by the result. I write this to our good Lifers in California, Australia, Thailand, and many others elsewhere across the globe, not there at The Valley.

    We were appalling yesterday – utterly appalling. We pass sideways like terrified crabs, then back to Amos – who shanks the ball in to Row Z. Good teams come out fighting at kick-off, adrenalin pumping, battering the opposition, accurate and visceral, slicing the jugular of the enemy.

    We, however, make tentative moves. After you, Claude – who is stunned by the very presence of the ball – and pussy-foots a pass somewhere vague. Sideways and backwards. At half-time, we in the Covered End looked at each other with disbelief. In the whole 45 minutes we had fashioned one single shot at goal – Fosu, stumbled and wide.

    A fat guy waddles on the pitch and SHOUTS at the Covered End as if we are recalcitrant children. A poor bloke from Bexleyheath steps up for The Crossbar Challenge. He hoofs it miles over the bar. This is patronising and demeaning. The fat guy opens an envelope, gives him two tickets for the next game, shouts again, and waddles off, bird in heels wielding a clipboard.

    We want the opera singer, diva in in black gown and pearls, serenading us in the Covered End, the promotion party in 2012. The game when Yann Kermorgant, ball over shoulder, hammered a volley, obliquely, to send us to delirium.

    Robinson will give them a rocket. We will come out fighting.

    Yet, the second half yesterday was even worse.

    It was utterly, hopelessly, pedestrian. Our misplaced passes, casual and unthinking. Hospital passes from here to there. When Konsa has the ball, approaching the halfway-line, we all know he will lose possession.

    Bauer was superb, nodding balls seven yards from danger to easy space for our men to collect and advance. He didn't hoof to Row Z or clatter his opponent. Bauer rose above them all, literally and metaphorically. Those seven yards are crucial: the ball is here: you are free, the space is gloriously vacant – do something with it.

    Yet – our midfield players have no spatial awareness or technical skills: they are stilted men. And no muscle, either. We were pushed off the ball by Wimbledon. They nudged Forster-Caskey, brushed him aside, walked past Clarke. By-passed Kashi. Our midfield is vapid.

    Here is a vignette: ball flies left to right: Solly controls in acres of spaces, looks up for a willing runner – and two defenders ambush him, seize possession. Solly was looking for a striker who is isn't there. In that fraction of a second, we are on the back foot, skinned.

    Holmes burst the net: it was ecstatic. Yet – three minutes later he had a similar free-kick, on the edge of the box. Stadium falls silent, all pregnant with anticipation. Poplars wave beyond the stand. Clouds shift, planes cross. London breathes in and out.

    Holmes steps up – and hammers it against the wall. From which Wimbledon scampered away, by-passing our puffing midfield, and skimmed the bar. My neighbour in the Covered End put his head in his hands: “What the fuck are we doing?”

    Nice fictional story. You should write novels.
    TBH, I enjoyed that post from @Viewfinder......weird, I know.

    Clearly OTT at times but a few home truths contained therein.

    But for our Rickeee's wonder strike, this thread would have been downbeat to say the least. Even the gaffer wouldn't say this was a good performance from his lads.

    But, win ugly, we did. End of.

    What I AM extremely concerned about though is @Viewfinder's description of the faithful.

    " Pregnant with anticipation " ?

    We're all too aware that some good news off the pitch is overdue ; that the umbilical cord that connects fans & club has been stretched thin over the past 3 seasons and increased urinary frequency is clearly suffered by many during the 90 minutes.....

    ...but surely the NHS Call Centre hasn't morphed into an Ante Natal Clinic ?

    Mind you, that Braxton Hicks would be a decent signing.
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  • "We were appalling yesterday – utterly appalling"

    I don't think so viewfinder. Not at our best, but categorically not appalling.

  • "We were appalling yesterday – utterly appalling"

    I don't think so viewfinder. Not at our best, but categorically not appalling.

    Over the last few seasons we've seen plenty of "utterly appalling" and although yesterday wasn't great it was nowhere near plumbing those depths.
  • I don't know about every body else but this is my take on it.
    Whenever we lose I go home feeling pissed off even if its a 4.3 thriller.
    Whenever we win I go home happy even if it was a shite game like yesterday.
    You do not get success by losing exciting games but you do by winning boring games.

    This season is all about gaining promotion anything else is a bonus.
    Apart from Roland selling of course

    Yep
  • So glad the best chance they had fell to a defender who blazed it into row z. Thought the net was going to bulge. And did Marshall get his shorts from the 80’s?
  • 1StevieG said:

    So glad the best chance they had fell to a defender who blazed it into row z. Thought the net was going to bulge. And did Marshall get his shorts from the 80’s?

    Have to agree about Marshalls shorts.


    I think they were Elfsborg 's
  • edited October 2017

    Don't be fooled by the result. I write this to our good Lifers in California, Australia, Thailand, and many others elsewhere across the globe, not there at The Valley.

    We were appalling yesterday – utterly appalling. We pass sideways like terrified crabs, then back to Amos – who shanks the ball in to Row Z. Good teams come out fighting at kick-off, adrenalin pumping, battering the opposition, accurate and visceral, slicing the jugular of the enemy.

    We, however, make tentative moves. After you, Claude – who is stunned by the very presence of the ball – and pussy-foots a pass somewhere vague. Sideways and backwards. At half-time, we in the Covered End looked at each other with disbelief. In the whole 45 minutes we had fashioned one single shot at goal – Fosu, stumbled and wide.

    A fat guy waddles on the pitch and SHOUTS at the Covered End as if we are recalcitrant children. A poor bloke from Bexleyheath steps up for The Crossbar Challenge. He hoofs it miles over the bar. This is patronising and demeaning. The fat guy opens an envelope, gives him two tickets for the next game, shouts again, and waddles off, bird in heels wielding a clipboard.

    We want the opera singer, diva in in black gown and pearls, serenading us in the Covered End, the promotion party in 2012. The game when Yann Kermorgant, ball over shoulder, hammered a volley, obliquely, to send us to delirium.

    Robinson will give them a rocket. We will come out fighting.

    Yet, the second half yesterday was even worse.

    It was utterly, hopelessly, pedestrian. Our misplaced passes, casual and unthinking. Hospital passes from here to there. When Konsa has the ball, approaching the halfway-line, we all know he will lose possession.

    Bauer was superb, nodding balls three yards from danger to easy space for our men to collect and advance. He didn't hoof to Row Z or clatter his opponent. Bauer rose above them all, literally and metaphorically. Those three yards are crucial: the ball is here: you are free, the space is gloriously vacant – do something with it.

    Yet – our midfield players have no spatial awareness or technical skills: they are stilted men. And no muscle, either. We were pushed off the ball by Wimbledon. They nudged Forster-Caskey, brushed him aside, walked past Clarke. By-passed Kashi. Our midfield is vapid.

    Here is a vignette: ball flies left to right: Solly controls in acres of space, looks up for a willing runner – and two defenders ambush him, seize possession. Solly was looking for a striker who is isn't there. In that fraction of a second, we are on the back foot, skinned.

    Holmes burst the net: it was ecstatic. Yet – three minutes later he had a similar free-kick, on the edge of the box. Stadium falls silent, all pregnant with anticipation. Poplars wave beyond the stand. Clouds shift, planes cross. London breathes in and out.

    Holmes steps up – and hammers it against the wall. From which Wimbledon scampered away, by-passing our puffing midfield, and skimmed the bar. My neighbour in the Covered End put his head in his hands: “What the fuck are we doing?”

    A lot of us abroad can watch the games streaming now,
  • when do the tickets for shrewsbury go on sale? will we postpone the game cos of international duties for magennis, konsa and jay dasilva?
  • Sorry to state the bleeding obvious but that game cried out for a goal scoring forward.I thought solly was our weakest player however.
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Roland Out!