Shadowplay

When it comes to the content of my many blog posts and articles for the Percy Main programme, I must admit to a degree of deliberate devilment in my mischievous desire to adopt consciously controversial and often intellectually indefensible philosophical positions for the sake of provoking debate. As the former chairman of the US Federal Reserve Alan Greenspan once said; “if you think you know what I’m talking about, then you clearly didn’t understand me in the first place.”

My last Percy Main article of the season, “Touching From A Distance,”in the Rutherford programme was an account of how I’d avoided watching Newcastle United for the vast majority of the 2010/2011 season and affirmed that it was my intention to avoid ever seeing them live again. To be honest, that was absolute nonsense as I’d spent the week leading up to the publication of that article exploring every possible avenue for a West Brom ticket, short of going to the ground and buying one of course. If I can be truly serious for a minute, I do object to giving any of my money directly to the current ownership of the club for a list of reasons so exhaustive than going in to them would require a novel rather than article. When it comes to helping someone out by buying a ticket that would otherwise go to waste, I have no problem handing over the cash that has indirectly ended up in Ashley’s pocket, although to be fair I’m a tight bugger so getting a freebie is always my preferred option.

Courtesy of the generosity of Percy Main assistant manager Graeme Cole’s next door neighbour, I came up trumps in winning the raffle for one of the best seats in the house for the West Brom game; G94 in the top tier of the New Stand, as was, or East Stand as it is now known (though it’s amazing how much upset you can cause by simply referring to it as the Mike Ashley Stand). On an aisle, in the front row of the block, right on the halfway line; you would struggle to find a better view in the whole ground and it didn’t cost me a penny piece; for an hour on Sunday May 22nd, it was almost football heaven.

As I’m out of practice in attending league games, I got to town as early as I get to Purvis Park for a Percy Main game ; about 90 minutes before kick off. However, I wasn’t required to make the post match bait or take the team sheet in to the referee’s room, so I found myself slightly superfluous to requirements. Obviously I could have gone to the pub, but as I was here for a game of football and not a skinful, I ignored that option and instead took in the Bobby Robson Memorial Garden, which is almost diagonally opposite the Irish Centre on Gallowgate. Five carved granite blocks depicting Bobby Robson’s life and football career stand as a fitting memory to a true gentleman of the game, who of course died the day before my dad in Summer 2009 (July 31st Bobby; August 1st Eddy) and I don’t mind admitting I shed a couple of tears. The Memorial Garden was as popular with The Baggies fans, who uniformly demonstrated that stonewashed Wranglers are always in fashion down Sandwell way, as it was with Newcastle fans. Let’s hope it is respected by all.

I entered the ground at 3.30, procured an expensive and bland cup of instant Nescafe then found my seat. I don’t intend to say much about the game, suffice to say that it fitted the Newcastle United season pattern exactly, with one third being outstanding, one third being acceptable and a third stinking to high heaven. Until their first goal, I had not heard a single proper gripe all game; admittedly Shola’s uniquely individual approach to leading the line was greeted with almost affectionate world-weariness. For the most part, the spirit of Taylor, the running of Simpson and Ferguson and the slick passing of Barton and Guthrie garnered warm and appreciative comments.

Things changed as soon as Tchoyi sidestepped a lame attempt at an offside trap and dragged them back in to the game. Suddenly the level of unease increased exponentionally, exacerbated by the arrival of Alan Smith from the bench , presumably to make someone other than Shola the target for abuse. Indeed such was the widespread rancour cast in his direction that I thought Michael Owen or Michael Ashley was the player entering the field. Tchoyi’s second, stepping away from a lame and cowardly challenge by Coloccini made things even worse. However it seemed as if the victory was assured when injury time approached, only for the entire back four to switch off and allow Tchoyi to complete his hat trick.

That one act of scoring a goal dropped Newcastle United from 9th place to 12th, costing not just a place in the top half of the table and two points but approximately £3.5m in prize money, or the price of a half decent squad striker or left back. If Newcastle United were a normal club with normal directors and management, this would be seen as completely unacceptable and utterly unprofessional. Pardew would be brought to book for his idiotic substitutions (why take Guthrie and Ferguson off?) that allowed the Baggies to drive on against a fragmented midfield and lop-sided attack and Ashley would see the shortcomings of the squad at first hand. Of course, Newcastle United are not a normal club; seemingly only the fans could see the ludicrous state of affairs that had unfolded.

At full time I had no intention of staying for a lap of honour or whatever it was called, as we were eating at 7pm and I needed to make tracks. However the vast numbers of plastic seats that were springing up as disgruntled punters stormed out for pints or buses, showed that less than a quarter of the crowd had stayed behind. Is this, as has been suggested elsewhere, a sign of “short memories” bearing in mind the events of the last two seasons? I don’t think so; there were plenty of things to praise in this game, but plenty of things to criticize in the closing period. Those who remained are often the same people trumpeting the line that finishing 12th is better than 9th as if we’d ended up top half, Ashley would have rested on his laurels. Frankly those who think Ashley’s thoughts concerning the club have any bearing on the final league table or indeed a shred of quantifiable logic to them are living in cloud cuckooland.

Obviously finishing 12th has allowed sunderland to maintain their grip on the non-existent title of North East Top Dogs, which was first invented in 2000. Well done them, especially as they were apparently one player short of a Champions’ League spot in early January. Their 10th place finish has coincided with one of the most spurious of internet urban myths ever, that of the supposed creation of a banner by an unnamed supporters’ group or fanzine, to be unfurled before kick off, celebrating Newcastle claiming superiority over sunderland by means of a (presumed) higher placed finish. Obviously the inspiration for this errant untruth was the Old Trafford “Always In Our Shadow” banner, which could be directed at either the Mickeys or Massive club citeh equally. The only problem with the crudely photshopped image of the Newcastle banner that flew around internet messageboards in the immediate aftermath of Sunday 22nd’s results, is that it has been grafted on to a photo from the Hull City game, which took place on September 13th 2008, when the “Cockney Mafia Out” banner got its first airing. Take a look at the two photos; the crowd is identical!

Iinitially I struggled to find the motivation to write this piece, but once the season finally ended with Heaton Stannington’s deserved victory over Ashington Colliers in the Northern Alliance’s George Dobbins League Cup, I got on with it. Typically enough Newcastle United refuse to stand still, or even take a few days off from creating unwanted headlines, so my initial optimism on reflection at the quality of some of the play i’d seen, has been replaced by the usual despondent blanket of cynicism that settles over me whenever prolonged thoughts about Newcastle United cross my mind. While Shefki Kuqi and Sol Campbell’s departures will be celebrated mainly for the £40k a week it saves the club, there are still plenty of problems elsewhere with the playing staff. Firstly, we’ve the Jose Enrique situation; will he go or will he stay? If he goes, what next for Coloccini and Guttierez? In addition, Tim Krul sounds off in the Dutch media about refusing to be number 2 at Newcastle; rash words if true. Look at Ben Foster; a far better keeper but playing in the Championship now. If Tim wants to be first pick in the top flight, it may have to be Eredivise and not the Premier League. Better to keep quiet and learn to catch crosses, as the only area Newcastle United have anything resembling strength in depth is between the sticks. More worrying is the news, brought out by the eternally charming Willie McKay, that Joey Barton is leaving Newcastle next summer as the club have reneged on the promise of a new contract. I don’t like Barton as a person and I have to say that for 3 seasons, including a fairly ineffectual time in the Championship, he was an absolute joke of a player. Admittedly he has been, along with Nolan and Tiote, the reason why Newcastle did reasonably well after the Carroll departure. He deserves a new deal, albeit on less monety as we are living in different times to 2007 when he arrived, but if one isn’t available he should be asking for one not announcing he’ll be off next summer. I suspect this one will run and run, with the losers being Newcastle United fans, as usual.

Speaking of which, one final knee in the unmentionables by the club that they’ve no doubt tried to sneak under the radar in the non-playing silly season, is that the so-called Ultras from Level 7’s singing section, won’t be allowed to transfer en masse to the Leazes Level 4 section, as they’d though. Apparently this will be kept for matchday sales, no doubt meaning those in the Bar 1892 semi-posh seats won’t have to listen to Mad Darren ov Fawdon repeatedly announcing that all he cares about is NUFC while waving his trainers (Nike) above his head. Instead, this lot are going to decamp to The Strawberry corner of the Gallowgate (aka Sports Direct Stand) and turn that in to a singing section. At least I’ll know where to avoid if I go to any games next year.

Roll on August 13th eh? That’s when the Alliance starts again.....

The Wind that shakes the Barley

Touching From A Distance

(First published in Percy Main v Rutherford programme 21st May 2011)

Well here we are at the end of another season. While Percy Main may be ringing down the curtain on a modestly successful first campaign back in the Alliance Premier Division today, tomorrow sees the last big game in this area of 2010/2011; I’m obviously talking about Byker Key Club against The Turbinia in the Newcastle Central Sunday Afternoon League President’s Trophy at Purvis Park, kick off 2.30.

Many of you may have thought I’m talking about Newcastle United versus West Brom which kicks off at 4 and costs the thick end of £30 to attend. The strange thing is that only 2 years on from emerging from 20 wasted years as a season ticket holder and a year on from still catching a dozen games (most of them on freebies), I’ve only seen the Magpies in the flesh 4 times this season and not at all in 2011. The sad facts are that, having seen home losses to Blackburn (I only went because West Allotment v Benfield was called off that night), Arsenal in the League Cup (I took the bairn as a supposed treat) and Man City on Boxing Day (the ticket was a Christmas present), the 0-0 draw against Fulham, the day the Main’s trip to Amble United in the League Cup was rained off, is my season highlight as a Newcastle fan of 38 years standing, as it’s the only one we didn’t lose. Apart from those 4 games, I also watched the opening day battering at Old Trafford in the pub and caught up with the new-fangled concept of internet streaming to watch the frankly astonishing 4-3 win at Chelsea in the League Cup, to make it half a dozen times I actually watched the side I still nominally follow, in real time.

Ignoring tomorrow, Newcastle have played a grand total of 41 games, meaning I’ve missed seeing them on 35 occasions. As Percy Main’s fixtures clashed with the Mags 14 times, including seeing half an hour of the Wolves away game on dodgy TV in The Hastings after Delaval away, but not the glamorous League Cup tie away to Accrington Stanley (the only away game I could possibly have imagined attending), this left 21 Newcastle games and, almost unbelievably, all bar 5 of those were on television. This handful of games is easier to account for; as they crashed 5-1 at Bolton on November 20th, I was at Benfield v Stokesley, while the Spurs away game over Christmas coincided with my Over 40s team’s annual game on Longsands. On January 5^th I broke with tradition to listen to the 5-0 battering of West Ham on local radio. I did the same for the draw at the Mackems and in mid-February I played 5 a side when they won at Birmingham. The difficult task was avoiding the 16 televised fixtures.

Long before I jacked in going to SJP, I’d grown sick of televised football via satellite, so I cancelled my Sky Sports subscription back in about 2006 and I must admit I’ve not regretted it. I also don’t regret not watching Newcastle United in the pub as the variety of saloon bar cretins who know nowt about the game makes those who attend the game seem like Brian Glanville clones; hence I’ll do anything to avoid having to listen to the inanities of those who feel that the more Fosters they drink, the more valid their opinions become. When Villa were beaten 6-0, Laura and I were at the North Tyneside Horticulture Show at The Parks. Her Uncle Bill and Auntie Linda took us out for Sunday lunch when Stoke won 2-1 at SJP. The loss at Man City and the win at Arsenal took place while I was doing my mam’s garden. While the Mags came from behind to win at West Ham, I watching Doncaster beat Sheffield United on BBC2; good game it was too!

Surely I would have made efforts to see The Halloween massacre of the Mackems? Well, not really; Laura and I were in Tynemouth market during the game, but I knew the score and we got to the Oddies just in time to see Darren Bent making it 5-1; great timing or what? I was back also looking at second hand books and records when Chelsea escaped from Tyneside with a point and Christmas shopping in town when West Brom gave Chris Hughton his P45. When Roy Hodgson moved closer to his as Liverpool were blown away in Pardew’s first game, I was in Glasgow; Partick Thistle v Ross County and Teenage Fanclub at the ABC were far preferable. I was out for Sunday lunch when Newcastle won at Wigan on Jan 2^nd and visiting my mam during the Stevenage debacle and the Villa loss. Despite being offered a freebie for Man United, I opted for Whitley Bay 0 South Shields 0 and was at the Sunday afternoon finals at Purvis Park for the Liverpool and Chelsea games of late.

My intention is to go through all of 2011 without seeing a Newcastle game. The reason being is, this season when I watch they average 0.25 point per game and when I don’t, this climbs to 1.3 points. If I keep away forever, Newcastle might win something!!

2008/2009

(First published in "Toon Talk" issue 5, May 2011)

It’s taken a while for me to finally sit down and pen this article, which is a change from the normal state of affairs. Generally, as soon as I know our deadline, I crack on with the business of doing the season’s review, but not this one. However I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of mental wreck who is still scarred by the events of this train crash campaign; it’s just that I wanted to see how things panned out in 2010/2011 before I committed myself to paper.

Well, I’m writing this in the midst of another abject 1-0 loss at Villa Park on a sun-drenched afternoon, when Newcastle failed to trouble Brad Friedel at all. The difference being that this time, albeit with half a dozen games to go, Newcastle are sitting 7 points about the drop zone in a seemingly comfortable 9^th place, with 39 points and a plus goal difference. Those facts are no particular reason for open top bus parades or brass bands going down Northumberland Street, but the weaknesses of others should mean there’s another white-knuckle top-flight dogfight to look forward to in 2011/2012.

Looking back from only 2 seasons distant, the events of 2008/2009 seem even more of a farce from beginning to end and as preventable as a Shakespearean tragedy than they did while they were taking place. You know, whenever I go and see “Macbeth” and the Thane of Cawdor and his missus are about to engage in a brutal killing spree that will totally destabilise the Scottish realm, the temptation is always there to stand up, tell the characters to stop what they are doing and consider the eventual results of their actions. With the benefit of both hindsight and a time machine, the urge to do this to the players, owners and management of Newcastle at any time in 2008/2009 is a compelling one. None of this shit needed to happen.

It all seemed to start off so adequately. Keegan was in charge, and while no one deluded themselves that the fella had anything other than the instinct for a good player and boundless enthusiasm to keep us going forwards, the end of the previous season had seen us make progress on the pitch. Alright so there was no chance of his three transfer targets of Schweinsteiger, Lampard or Thierry Henry joining us, but never mind we got Coloccini, Gutierrez and Guthrie instead. They helped us grab an opening weekend point at Old Trafford and then beat Bolton at home, courtesy of Kevin Nolan. He wasn’t playing for us of course, but he missed a penalty for The Trotters, which was probably the best thing he did for us all that season.

On the Wednesday afterwards, we went to Coventry and played a blinding League Cup tie; twice ahead, we were pegged back in injury time at the end of each half, before Owen grabbed a winner in extra time. Typical Keegan cavalier stuff; this was what everyone wanted to see – entertainment! It was also James Milner’s last game, as he was sold to Villa the day after. While Keegan pretended the deal was his choice, his body language said otherwise and we slipped to a humiliating 3-0 crushing at the Emirates on the Saturday, when Bassong made his debut.

By the Tuesday, transfer deadline day had seen us bring in the football artiste Francisco Jimenez Tejada (aka Xisco, a bloke who’d struggle to get on the bench for my Over 40s team on a Saturday morning) and Nacho Gonzalez, who none of us could pick out from an ID parade, even if he lined up with the 7 Dwarfs. These two charlatans were signed not by the manager, but by a cabal of Wise, Llambias and whoever the hell Jeff Vettere was. As a result, a fatally undermined Keegan walked. Now a court has spoken as regards the whys and wherefores of those events and I don’t think it is profitable to examine old ground, but if he’d stayed, we’d not have gone down and he should feel some guilt at the events that followed. Instead, Chris Hughton was given the gig as caretaker.

After the international break, we lost at home to Hull, with sex criminal Marlon King getting both their goals and Guthrie breaking Craig Fagan’s leg, then lost away to West Ham, at home to Spurs in the League Cup and at home to Blackburn, before the Cavalry in the shape of Sergeant Tourettes Kinnear arrived. Rather in the way our parents generation knew where they were when Kennedy was shot, I know where I was when Simon Bird’s nemesis was somehow given the job of keeping us up; I was at my aunt’s post funeral wake at The Pack Horse in Burnopfield. The news of Joe’s arrival didn’t lighten the occasion.

In retrospect, the craziest decision of this insane year was giving Kinnear a job, but things didn’t immediately get worse. We fought back from 2-0 down to get a point at Goodison, and then matched Man City in a 2-2 at SJP. Admittedly we did lose on Weirdside for the first time since 1980 on Kinnear’s watch, but back-to-back home wins over West Brom and Villa saw us up to the dizzy heights of 14^th. A 2-1 loss at Fulham saw the dreaded Cacapa reappear to hand them the points, while suicidal late defending gave Wigan a share of the spoils after we’d come back to lead in injury time as we went on a run of draws, with 0-0s at Chelsea and Smogland to follow, before the highlights of the season; a cracking 3-0 demolition of Pompey at Fratton Park and a glorious last second winner by Duff at home to Spurs saw us 12^th at Christmas. If only the season had ended then.

Boxing Day saw us lose at Wigan, with Ryan Taylor scoring a free kick, as usual and earning a move to us, with N’Zogbia sulking the other way. Liverpool battered us 5-1 at home, which saw Shay Given decide he couldn’t take any more nonsense on Tyneside, as he put in the performance of his life and still conceded 5. Losing Given to the Manc Mackems saw my love for the club die more than at any other time in the past 38 years. Hull put us out the cup 1-0 at home in a replay, before Andy Carroll got his first ever goal for us, rescuing a point at home to West Ham. Blackburn trounced us 3-0, Citeh did us 2-1 and a Shola penalty after a Steven Taylor, Oscar nominated dive grabbed a point against the Mackems.

At the start of February, we went to the Hawthorns in desperate need of points. Kinnear was taken ill on the morning of the game and never managed us again. Hughton was back in charge and Lovenkrands, signed on a free from Germany, inspired us to a 3-2 win in our only double of the season. We were sitting in 13^th but this was a false position of supposed security. A 0-0 at home to Everton, where Nolan was sent off for clattering Anichebe was followed by home losses to Man United and Arsenal, an away one to Bolton and a dire point at Hull, as we’d dropped to 18^th by the end of March.

On April Fool’s Day, Ashley made a last desperate bid for salvation, by appointing Shearer as boss until the end of the season. Great player he may have been, but as a manager Shearer was a disaster; combining the man management of tough-guy Souness with the tactics of Allardyce, he was worse than Kinnear in terms of results. Admittedly the players, especially Owen, Viduka and Martins, simply did not want to know, but the incessant changes in formation and personnel counteracted all the supposed benefits of making the players wear suits and switching their mobiles off.

We lost at home to Chelsea, drew at Stoke courtesy of a steepling Carroll header, lost at Spurs, drew with Portsmouth, as Owen missed a double hat trick of chances and got thumped 3-0 at Liverpool, where Barton was sent off. Shearer accused him of taking the piss out of the city and the club; well, two years on Barton is the player of the season and Shearer is back on the MOTD sofa making inane comments with Lawro. Go figure…

The last 3 games began with a Monday night visit of the Smogs. Despite a Beye own goal in the opening seconds, we crucified them with Taylor, Martins and Lovenkrands relegating them and opening the trapdoor for us. In retrospect, one single point would have saved Newcastle and the Fulham home game is the one where it ought to have been gained. Despite Kamara putting them ahead, I still see Viduka powering home a header at the Gallowgate, only for Howard Webb to blow for a non-existent foul. Then in injury time, Nicky Butt, unmarked 10 yards out, shoots straight at Schwarzer and we lose, as a thunderstorm of Biblical proportions appeared from nowhere. The loss at Villa was a certainty from that point on.

However, as 2009/2010 proved and as I’ll show in the next issue, relegation was nothing to be scared of in the end. That said, I don’t want another helping any time soon.

On The Road

(First published in Percy Main v Killingworth programme 11/05/11)

Well, that’s all for this season folks! Not my rambling or even the programme as there’s still Rutherford to come, but away games; Monday’s trip to Stocksfield was our last road trip of 2010/2011. I can’t really comment on the match as firstly I’m writing this before the game takes place and secondly I’m not going to be able to get there anyway. However I did get to 17 of the 22 other away games we played this campaign and so here is my mini travelogue of 2010/2011.

Back in July we began with a 2-0 friendly win over East End, played at the Langdale Centre. Jason was in goal, but as I was sunning myself in Bilbao, I can’t comment on his performance. Norman and I made the next friendly, away to Pelton Buffs and a good performance on a gloriously sunny night saw us beat a strong team 3-1. The competitive stuff started in mid-August with a 1-1 draw at Killingworth, when I managed to pour milk in to my Bovril; not nice, but better than the rancid coffee I had instead. The Saturday after saw the legendary backs to the wall 1-0 win away to Carlisle City, which is just about the proudest I’ve been to follow Percy Main. As a non-driver I rely on lifts a lot and Geordie Mooney is often my saviour; he took me to Delaval the next week for my first visit in a 2-2 draw and what a lovely ground it is too.

On to September and we had a cracking win over Ponteland in the Challenge Cup, that I managed to get to after playing at Billingham in the morning. Good job my over 40s side has some posh lads playing for it who live Darras Hall way and could give me a lift. At Rutherford at the end of September, I made it to see Ashley Smyth’s debut winner courtesy of Wilka, who saw me struggling up Lobley Hill with my bag of dirty kit and took pity on me. Thanks Shaun!

Geordie Mooney took me to Ashington Colliers, where we won 2-1 while listening to the crowd chanting as their first team stuffed Bishop Auckland 4-0. I missed my first away trip of the season to Alnwick on the weekend the clocks went back, taking in Heaton Stann’s 3-1 win over Ponteland instead. It was frustrating, but so was the weather after that as snow, ice, rain and whatever stopped us playing until early January. On the 8^th, we won 4-2 at Killingworth in the Challenge Cup and instead of Bovril I drank a McDonald’s coffee, courtesy of Geoff. At Seaton Delaval a fortnight later we lost on penalties in the Cup semi-final. I’m glad it went to extra time as a delayed bus meant I had to take a taxi, costing £13, in order to see this game. I didn’t get to Amble the week after, being forced to watch Willington Quay Saints 3 Red House Farm 5 in the Alliance Division 2, as the weather put paid to all other local fixtures. Great game it was too!

The trip to Harraby was a long one and we were well beaten, but there was great hospitality and truly terrible Scotch pies, which is why we never saw Hendrix Ekwen again I suppose. I didn’t make it to Blyth Town, watching Team Northumbria trounce Hebburn 4-0 instead, but I was at Shankhouse for the amazing 6-4 win in the kind of fog that Basil Rathbone inhabits. The game was so good we didn’t even watch the young leotarded ladies in the Zumba class in the adjacent community centre, which provided a joyful Salsa soundtrack to our win. I missed the victory at Wark to watch Newcastle University defeat Heddon in the Combination Cup semi, then nipped down for the second half of Benfield 4 Jarrow Roofing 0.

In April, the games came thick and fast. We lost 3-1 at Heaton Stann in the cup and I paid £5 for two, admittedly very nice, coffees for Geoff and me from the nearby Dean & Daniela Italian bistro. Nine days later we lost 2-1 in the League and I arrived at half time, missing all our best play. At Ponteland, I saw evidence of the kind of underage drinking problem they have in those parts, with empty bottles of pink Cava strewn around, rather than white cider so popular in these parts. Geordie took me to Cramlington and I wish he’d not bothered, though they sold lovely coffee in the clubhouse. At Walker the post-match buffet was like a wedding reception and made us forget about the match as we munched on white chocolate millionaire shortbread, while at Murton we turned up before they had unlocked the ground and I had to ask the ref if I could use his loo as there weren’t any others!

So, there you go; 2010/2011, the highs and lows of travelling to watch Percy Main. Roll on 2011/2012.

Another Niall In The Coffin

(First published in Percy Main v Alnwick Town programme 07/05/2011)

When I was young, April 23^rd was notable for being both Shakespeare’s birthday and death day (1564 and 1616 respectively), as well as St. George’s Day. This year, it was also marketed as Easter Eve (a phrase I’d never heard before), the second session of a four day public holiday weekend bender, by both pubs and supermarkets, concerned with turning Easter in to another orgy of overindulgence in glasses and on plates. I didn’t realise just how much binge drinking had touched the national consciousness until I met my mate Mackem Steve for a pint that early evening.

I came back from Percy Main after our thumpingly good 2-2 with Ashington Colliers, while he returned from sunderland, to meet for a few beers and watch Chelsea v West Ham. Well, that was the plan, but the bar was heaving with the wrecked fallout of all day sessioners; blokes bladdered on Carling and women slaughtered on ice cold Rose wine, which appears to have supplanted alcopops as the drink of choice for the undiscerning female palate, while tired and bored children screamed and whinged. The place was in uproar, which was good in a way as Steve couldn’t tell me about the Mackems trouncing Wigan 4-1.

Given the choice I’d rather have met him the week after, when Fulham banjoed them 3-0, but I’m not telepathic enough to pick out their unexpected home defeats and arrange my social life round them. To be fair to Steve, he isn’t one of the bitter Mackems, having been watching them long enough to remark when Bob Stokoe was appointed in autumn 1972; “we should never get a Mag to manage us.” Perhaps if he’d said this in 1987 when Stokoe took over from McMenemy to pilot their drop in to the third division, rather than 7 months before they won the FA Cup, he could have been right.

Interestingly, the caution Steve espoused as an 8 year old is accepted as truth by most Mackem supporters these days. Lee Clark, Don Hutchison and now Steve Bruce are seen as being the evil offspring of McMenemy and Stokoe, who are regarded a collection of vindictive, vengeful Mags only interested in destroying sunderland. As the annual clamour for “lifelong black cat fan” Martin O’Neill to take over at SoS grows ever louder, it is interesting to remember just how fickle these lot are, not just in their crowds, but in their affections. Back in 2009, Darren Bent was seen as being the saviour of the club and Steve Bruce (or Brewse as they would have it at the time) was no longer a Geordie from Walker, but a Northumbrian from Corbridge as that’s where he was born. Now the fact he was safely ensconced in the parental home on the Fossway by 5 days old is shouted loud whenever Corbridge is mentioned. Also, Ellis Short is regularly exhorted to do the decent thing and sack Bruce and, almost astonishingly, Niall Quinn as well, as the genial lush is seen by many red and whites to be problem drinking in the last chance saloon of their affections.

Quinn, the £1m per annum man of the people is an interesting case. When I saw the Mackems lose 1-0 to Norwich in the second ever game at SoS in August 2007, Quinn was hated by the fans. The chanting against him was savage, relentless, personal and xenophobic; in a sense when he said he “despised” sunderland fans earlier this year, he was only echoing their previous and current opinions of him. Strangely they temporarily came round to him, like they did with Bob Stokoe, and then venerated Quinn when, in the company of a collection of discredited Irish property speculators, he bought the club from the hated Bob Murray, who in the Mackem universe is now rebranded as a proper local fan.

It’s all swings and roundabouts with that lot; if the Mackems get more points than Newcastle over these last 3 games, Bruce and Quinn will be heroes again. If they don’t, the summer of discontent on Wearside will be a fraught one. At least Newcastle fans are constant and reliable; 40,000 season tickets sold by the end of April and everyone hates Ashley and Pardew. Loyalty and consistency; two words the Mackems just don’t get.

Dyer Era

(First published in Percy Main v Seaton Delaval programme 04/05/11)

My mate Phil’s a right contrary so and so; the two football teams he hates the most are Stranraer, as he once spent 8 hours there waiting for a ferry to Larne in January 1984, and Norwich City, mainly because of all the patronising guff about everyone liking them; you know On The Ball City and Delia Smith haranguing the crowd after a crate of cooking sherry. Now I’ve no opinion about Stranraer; certainly I wasn’t prepared, as Phil was, to have a weekend up in Aberdeen supporting The Dons when they took on Stranraer in the Scottish Cup a few years back, but I have to say I like Norwich. As I write this they lie second in the Championship and may well be promoted, unlike their local rivals Ipswich, whom I developed a fairly strong antipathy towards a while ago.

When I was growing up Bobby Robson’s Ipswich were a side I enjoyed watching; they, like QPR, played open, attacking football and were a model for other unfashionable clubs in the 70s and early 80s. After Sir Bobby left, they drifted in to the doldrums, apart from a spell under George Burley. They seemed ready to implode when Royston Maurice Keane walked in to Portman Road the other year; how I enjoyed his volcanic rage on the touchline as Newcastle demolished then 4-0 during the Magpies’ Championship gap year. After 18 months of aggressive press conferences, fallings out with the playing staff and pitiful home defeats, Cork’s favourite dog walker was on his bike and the archetypal Scouse charlatan in a track suit, ace chancer Paul Jewell was appointed. He’s doing a great job, as their 5-1 home massacre by Norwich proved only too well. Of course, his side may have done better if their star loan signing from West Ham hadn’t limped out of the warm up injured.

In last week’s Shankhouse programme I touched on Twitter and Michael Owen’s inability to grasp either the genre or the effect his words were having. Likewise, team mate Darron Gibson quit the social networking site after 2 hours because of some negative comments from United fans. Just imagine if either Newcastle or West Ham fans were able to put their thoughts across to Jewell’s injured match winner in waiting; one Kieron Dyer.

Dyer cost West Ham £6m from Newcastle in summer 2007 and is widely regarded as the club’s worst ever bit of business. In that time, while failing to score a goal, he has made 15 starts and an equal number of substitute appearances, but only played the full 90 on 3 occasions. He has now been released from a contract that has cost the Hammers an eye watering £23m . Ever wonder why the modern game is in such a state? Fear not though, Paul Jewell is ready to step in and offer Dyer a 2 year deal back at his home town club Ipswich, where Dyer started off, as “ he still has a lot to give and is just the sort of experienced head we need to act as a good influence on the younger lads.” I’m not making this up you know.

When compared to West Ham’s experiences, Newcastle fans saw the Golden Era of Kieron Dyer’s career, though it didn’t feel like that very often. Arriving from Portman Road for £6m in summer 1999, Dyer was seen by many fans as the natural replacement for Peter Beardsley, though he was no doubt rocked back on his heels by the sacking of Ruud Gullit after the infamous monsoon loss to the Mackems when Dyer scored his first goal for Newcastle. He made nearly 40 appearances that year in all competitions, scoring blinding goals at home to Spurs and away to Everton, during what in many ways this was his best season. The year after (00/01) he scored 6 goals, but was injured from February onwards, not appearing again until December 2002.

During this period, the rot set in. While injured he negotiated the infamous “60 clicks” contract, giving him £60k per week basic. Generally this was paid to him for doing nothing as his incessant injuries kept him out the team. Returning to occasionally score a brilliant goal before hobbling off, it was clear he could no longer pass, shoot, head or tackle; all he could do was run. Added to this the infamous treatment of Sir Bobby with the incident involving the captain’s armband after Dyer had refused to play right wing at Boro, followed by the on field brawl with Lee Bowyer, for which Dyer got off scot free, meant he was a busted flush by 2005. Amazingly he hung around another 2 seasons, scoring a career best 7 goals in 06/07, but he left as universally reviled as Michael Owen among the Magpie faithful. Of course, with all the money he has earned, Dyer won’t care less his career has been a resounding flop and that he is held in utter contempt on Tyneside. Disgusting isn’t it?