I am genuinely shocked and amazed by the poll result, but even more so by some of the comments. My personal favourite is: How can Leaburn scoring a goal be considered a âtrademarkâ? After all he scored 66 times in 474 appearances⦠No matter how many excuses you make for him or how you dress it up that is a truly abysmal record...!! I agree he was a selfless player who always looked to bring others into play. However, this imo was because he himself knew that he was absolute garbage. I witnessed him time and time again pass the buck when he was in prime position to score. He was all too often willing to shift the responsibility onto someone else and this imo is a contributing factor for why he never scored enough goals and is certainly nothing to idoliseâ¦!! I will never forget the time I saw him attempt a diving header inside the six yard box when the ball was no more than 30cm off the ground. Needless to say he missed, he was probably still picking turf out of his nose come Sunday evening⦠. Anyway, I concede⦠I suppose one mans trash is another mans treasure.
I was going to suggest that we started with a definition of "legend" but then I noticed that SuperChrissy has already and succinctly made the distinction which my senile mind was bumbling towards. One litmus test for a cult hero might be a player you always remember long after you have forgotten much better and/or longer-serving players. (Please don't ask for specific examples of the latter category. I have forgotten them all). By that test Carl Leaburn romps home as a cult hero, as does Harry Gregory who was also discussed recently on this board. And now I am going to tell you about my dream. I am aware that nothing is more boring than hearing other people's dreams. The sense of import and urgency which makes them so compelling to ourselves is totally absent for third party listeners. But you suckers are a captive audience so here goes. About twenty years ago I woke up excitedly one Sunday morning and reached for a pencil and exercise book. I had had a vivid dream that I had written a highly successful autobiographic novel in which the (horrendously dull) events of my life were intertwined with the postwar history of Charlton Athletic. After making a few desultory notes I settled to a leisurely breakfast reading the posh Sundays. I rarely read newly published books but was an avid reader of book reviews, a system which saved me time and money. Within minutes I found the first reviews of Nick Hornby's "Fever Pitch". Just thought you might be interested in how close I came to being rich and famous, and being portrayed on screen by the likes of Colin Firth, John Cusack and Hugh Grant. It was one of only two "spiritual" or "irrational" things that have ever happened to me. The other one was when I had a sort of cosmic vision in the butchers while I (a vegetarian) was buying a pound of minced beef for my father. But as that has no connection with football (and as I was brought up in a family of Chelsea supporters) I won't mention that one here.
I used to work with his brother(Patrick) during Carl's legendary stay as Charlton's number 1 striker. We were Postmen in the City of London and Patrick was always running to and from London Bridge in order to get to work on time or catch his train. However one morning he was late, when he arrived he apologised for being late and said that he had missed his train, straight away the Charlton supporter who worked alongside us snapped "Must run in the family, you miss trains and your ****ing brother misses sitters every saturday!!"
How the feck can anyone put Leaburn in the same glorious, legend category with the likes of Killer,Sir Clive,Kermy ??!!
