26th February – Southend 1 Charlton 2 – 20th Position

I know that hate is a strong word, so when I say that I despise Nicky Bailey with every fibre of my being, know that this is not an exaggeration.

The atmosphere and animosity surrounding the man with the dream was potentially explosive before he even set his dirty little feet on the hallowed Roots Hall pitch, so when he deliberately cheated in order to get Jean-Francois Christophe sent off I’m sure you can understand that it got “a little fiery.”

There’s no two ways about this. Nicky Bailey goaded Christophe and, when it failed, He pretended he had been punched in order to cheat a fellow professional and the watching 9,400 fans. I’d like to take this time to speak of Phil Parkinson, a man who is probably simple-minded with a history of incest and inbreeding from his Colchester days, who came out with this little gem in his post-match bleat-a-thon: “When you run 20 yards and punched an opponent, you’re off the pitch and when someone that size punches you, you’re going to go down.”

I saw the incident; Christophe ran 20 yards to be involved with the free kick that the referee had given. He never punched Bailey, if anything he shoved him out of the way so that we could take the free kick… Jean-Francois Christophe is a mountain of a man, if he hits you, you don’t fall down dramatically before performing enough pirouettes for a Strictly Come Dancing audition… If Christophe hits you in the face, you’re lucky to still remember your name by the time you’ve come around.

Footballers, as brain dead as they might seem, are usually a well-mannered bunch and are fully aware that what happens on the pitch isn’t necessarily an indictment of someone’s character. Players will kick lumps out of each other and then, 90 minutes later, be sharing a bath… This is the third time Nicky Bailey has “been punched” on the field this season and even the Charlton fans are ashamed to call him their own at times, which should be all you need to draw your own conclusion about the vile, wretched excuse of a human being.

Away from the despicable ginger shitehawk, another spirited performance from Southend ends at the hands of two late opposition goals so, yet again, we have nothing to show for our collective efforts. It’s beginning to feel like we’re doomed and that it’s written on some ancient piece of papyrus in an Egyptian pharaoh’s burial chamber that: “In the year of 2010, the Shrimpers will fall.”

Either that or we’re just not very lucky.

Unfortunately luck is a considerable factor in football and it’s what decides an incredible number of games. One solitary inch lower and Simon Francis would’ve scored a free kick instead of rattling the crossbar, a second earlier and Alan McCormack would’ve intercepted a pass, 24 years ago a single ginger sperm won it’s race against millions of it’s counterparts and the World has to deal with a vile piece of shit that isn’t fit to lace James Lawson’s boots and, in the interests of fairness, an instance of better goalkeeping and Matt Patterson’s stinging first half effort wouldn’t have squirmed it’s way into the goal.

I really cannot commend the Southend squad more for last nights efforts, every single player gave their all into the cause and from an analytical perspective if they can reproduce the performances and commitment of the last two games then survival should be a technicality.

Well, that’s what I’m clinging onto anyway…