Sulking

So, after all the build-up, the first day of the new season, and Charlton's centenary season as well. And after being rather worried about the general lack of players moving into Charlton (though there was no shortage of players moving out) the sudden flurry of inbound transfer activity this week reassured me. Now we had two players more, and about 5 and a bit million pounds less, and all was looking well for the first fixture, away to Bolton Wanderers, a club about as big as we are, and who do about as well. I thought we would just have the edge to get a 1-1 draw, and if luck was favouring us, then maybe the score would be 1-2. But it was not to be.

The final score of 4-1 to Bolton is quite decisive. There is no consolation in either of the two reports I have read (and I am not going to read any more): Bolton were very very good, and Charlton were, to quote one of them, "torn to shreds", and to quote the other, "thrashed".

OK, last season began almost as badly, 0-3 at home to Manchester City, and everything was all right for Charlton in the end, while Manchester City only just escaped the drop, and maybe the new players need some time to bed themselves down, so given that there are 37 games left, it would be silly to start fearing the worst just yet awhile, but what I mind is the effect it has on one's mood.

I left the house ten minutes before the end of the match, which I was following just on LiveScore, not on TV or anything, with the score at 4-1, just hoping it didn't get any worse, as obviously Charlton had lost, barring a miracle. I stalked round the local Lidl supermarket glaring at everyone and just suppressing the urge to kick something. Or someone. Two girls who were stocking the shelves while vociferously recalling their adventures at the disco last night had a narrow escape, I can tell you. Then I came back home, where shortly afterwards I was rung up by a friend who neither knows nor understands football. He cheerily enquired if I had done all my Saturday chores and might like to meet up for a drink. I snapped that I still had some chores left, most certainly did not want a drink, and was not going to be fit company for anyone for quite a few hours, explaining why. He gasped in astonishment that a mere football result could have such an effect on anyone. But he doesn't understand, and we know better, don't we, boys and girls?

The close season has been pleasant in that I haven't needed to worry about how Charlton are going to get on in their next match, or at least it was until the fixtures were published a few weeks ago, since when I have often visited the Reebok in my mind's eye, and feared that we might not do all that well there come 14 August. So here we are again. Down in the dumps after defeats, up in the air after wins and other good results. Early days yet I know, but I am pissed off about being pissed off, and although it is only 10.30, I am off to bed with a book, being, as I say, no fit company for anyone tonight.