Fellow eagles
This is a bit of a long rambling post just for the heads up.
After that poor, abject defeat on sunday, which was devoid of passion, tactics and overall effort, there seems to be a bad feeling around the club at this moment in time, a bad feeling of which I am part of.
Tonight I streamed the Utd v Wolves game, and watching AWB being his usual class self got me thinking, not for the players but for us fans... what does it mean to be palace?
Without wanting to sound over dramatic, as after all it is just a game, I just want to give my two pennies worth about a few things leading up to where we are today as a collective mind going through the ups and downs of supporting our local or as some might say, unfashionable team, down the years.
My first game was a 3-1 win over ipswich town in 93. Dad being a diehard tractor boy living in penge at the time, couldn't resist the chance to see his team play at a local ground while taking his 8 year old son along for a jolly.
Sitting on those metal railings watching Eddie Mcgoldrick and Chris Armstrong taking the piss and sending his team back to suffolk with tails firmly between legs was enough for my young eyes. I loved it. The colours red and blue just made sense to me.
Fast forward a few years and I'm sitting in next to my uncle and his mates with my first season ticket, lower holmesdale block c, row 33. The Francis and Burley years. Ashley Cole on loan and Steve Staunton from the halfway line, Dean Austin in defence and Clinton, Forssell and Freedman scoring goals and giving me bragging rights at school on a monday amongst my millwall and charlton mates (brighton distant even come into it back then).
On the pitch was pretty dire usually, but I didn't care, I was 15 and having a cheeky pint in the portmanor every other saturday with the diehards.
After that, it wasnt until the year 1997 I discovered the true meaning of magic, and that manifested itself in the form of a geriatric italian named Attilio Lombardo. Despite our relegation, I'm sure to this day I've never witnessed a more talented footballer. You can keep your messi's and ronaldo's, the bald eagle came home to nest only for a fleeting moment, but those few games were enough to get me off my seat again for years to come.
Fast forward again and after another few turbulent years (and another yo yo club relegation from the top tier 6years before... AJ we salute you!!) we assembled a team of misfits and journeymen that, against all odds, won a memorable playoff final against that perennial thorn in our side that is watford, to reclaim our rightful place back in the prem. All that off the back of Hillsborough and stockport county...
Well since then its been a non stop slugfest in what many say is the toughest league in the world. My favourite goal? Easy. O'keefe v sunderland. Went to the cherry tree after the game and everyone was buzzing as was I. It wasnt the goal itself but what it represented. It felt like... lets ******* do this!!!!!!!
Even signing jason puncheon, who was the year below me at school, granted he was good at football but a proper dickhead to boot, I found it in my heart to take him in as palace royalty for a couple of years ( and yes I was there at the den for the hat trick)...
Soon as we started signing respected international footballers like cabaye and sakho for big money, bolasie and zaha on the wings playing who can do the most tricks against the oppositions full backs, the fans out singing our opponents game after game.... it all became a bit surreal for a moment.
Then reality hit. And I always say I can put it down to one moment. The pardew dance.
Yes we have pulled some great results out of the bag since then and punched above our weight ever since. But that was the sign of things to come. The wickham injury. The sale of bolasie. Our leaders Jedinak and murray unceremoniously shown the exit door. Pardew soon followed but the damage was done.
One name I have intentionally left out from all this thus far is our chairman, Steve Parish.
In my humble opinion, we are talking about a guy who its well documented grew up, like me, supporting the palace. Unlike me he has managed to accumulate a fortune of over 50 million pounds. Its a lot of money that's for certain, but in terms of 'modern' football chairman, he's no more than a yes man. It's clear to me he is out of his depth compared to those who bankroll the everton and wolves money train, amongst others. To me, this is not a reason to despise the bloke.
In some peoples eyes, we get some russian oligarch, dodgy chinese hustler or arab oil billionaire jump on-board and send us into the stratosphere, become the chelsea of south london, and live happily ever after... well that ain't me.
Why? Because I believe the football bubble will self implode at some point in the not to distant future. And when/if it does, you can find me, warm flat beer in hand, cheering on my local team down the local park.
Viva las aguilas!
This is a bit of a long rambling post just for the heads up.
After that poor, abject defeat on sunday, which was devoid of passion, tactics and overall effort, there seems to be a bad feeling around the club at this moment in time, a bad feeling of which I am part of.
Tonight I streamed the Utd v Wolves game, and watching AWB being his usual class self got me thinking, not for the players but for us fans... what does it mean to be palace?
Without wanting to sound over dramatic, as after all it is just a game, I just want to give my two pennies worth about a few things leading up to where we are today as a collective mind going through the ups and downs of supporting our local or as some might say, unfashionable team, down the years.
My first game was a 3-1 win over ipswich town in 93. Dad being a diehard tractor boy living in penge at the time, couldn't resist the chance to see his team play at a local ground while taking his 8 year old son along for a jolly.
Sitting on those metal railings watching Eddie Mcgoldrick and Chris Armstrong taking the piss and sending his team back to suffolk with tails firmly between legs was enough for my young eyes. I loved it. The colours red and blue just made sense to me.
Fast forward a few years and I'm sitting in next to my uncle and his mates with my first season ticket, lower holmesdale block c, row 33. The Francis and Burley years. Ashley Cole on loan and Steve Staunton from the halfway line, Dean Austin in defence and Clinton, Forssell and Freedman scoring goals and giving me bragging rights at school on a monday amongst my millwall and charlton mates (brighton distant even come into it back then).
On the pitch was pretty dire usually, but I didn't care, I was 15 and having a cheeky pint in the portmanor every other saturday with the diehards.
After that, it wasnt until the year 1997 I discovered the true meaning of magic, and that manifested itself in the form of a geriatric italian named Attilio Lombardo. Despite our relegation, I'm sure to this day I've never witnessed a more talented footballer. You can keep your messi's and ronaldo's, the bald eagle came home to nest only for a fleeting moment, but those few games were enough to get me off my seat again for years to come.
Fast forward again and after another few turbulent years (and another yo yo club relegation from the top tier 6years before... AJ we salute you!!) we assembled a team of misfits and journeymen that, against all odds, won a memorable playoff final against that perennial thorn in our side that is watford, to reclaim our rightful place back in the prem. All that off the back of Hillsborough and stockport county...
Well since then its been a non stop slugfest in what many say is the toughest league in the world. My favourite goal? Easy. O'keefe v sunderland. Went to the cherry tree after the game and everyone was buzzing as was I. It wasnt the goal itself but what it represented. It felt like... lets ******* do this!!!!!!!
Even signing jason puncheon, who was the year below me at school, granted he was good at football but a proper dickhead to boot, I found it in my heart to take him in as palace royalty for a couple of years ( and yes I was there at the den for the hat trick)...
Soon as we started signing respected international footballers like cabaye and sakho for big money, bolasie and zaha on the wings playing who can do the most tricks against the oppositions full backs, the fans out singing our opponents game after game.... it all became a bit surreal for a moment.
Then reality hit. And I always say I can put it down to one moment. The pardew dance.
Yes we have pulled some great results out of the bag since then and punched above our weight ever since. But that was the sign of things to come. The wickham injury. The sale of bolasie. Our leaders Jedinak and murray unceremoniously shown the exit door. Pardew soon followed but the damage was done.
One name I have intentionally left out from all this thus far is our chairman, Steve Parish.
In my humble opinion, we are talking about a guy who its well documented grew up, like me, supporting the palace. Unlike me he has managed to accumulate a fortune of over 50 million pounds. Its a lot of money that's for certain, but in terms of 'modern' football chairman, he's no more than a yes man. It's clear to me he is out of his depth compared to those who bankroll the everton and wolves money train, amongst others. To me, this is not a reason to despise the bloke.
In some peoples eyes, we get some russian oligarch, dodgy chinese hustler or arab oil billionaire jump on-board and send us into the stratosphere, become the chelsea of south london, and live happily ever after... well that ain't me.
Why? Because I believe the football bubble will self implode at some point in the not to distant future. And when/if it does, you can find me, warm flat beer in hand, cheering on my local team down the local park.
Viva las aguilas!
0 commentaires:
Enregistrer un commentaire