Way back on March 17th 1984, Newcastle continued their
promotion charge with a 3-1 thumping of Middlesbrough at SJP, courtesy of goals
by Keegan, Beardsley and an outrageous effort by Terry McDermott. That night I,
and a couple of hundred others who’d been in fine singing voice, were requested
to leave a University of Ulster GAA function at the Edgewater Hotel in
Portstewart, co. Derry at gunpoint by a posse of gate-crashers, composed
entirely of unsmiling RUC and UDR officers. The weekend just gone wasn’t quite
as momentous as that day, but it did make its way to second place in the
Memorable Paddy’s Day Stakes ahead of 1990s fairly timid 2-1 win over Ipswich
followed by a House of Love gig at the University. I wonder if Wedding Present
frontman David Gedge pondered during his Twitter-advertised mini-break to
Rouen in Normandie that Rue du Massacre, supposed site of the
execution of La Pucelle d’Orleans, Jeanne
d’Arc, would be a good name for the street leading to the DW Stadium in Wigan?
This year’s St. Patrick’s Day weekend started off badly with
the realisation that my inability to access the goalless draw between Limerick
and Cork that heralded the start of the 2013 League of Ireland season the
Sunday before on www.rte.ie, which had forced
me to tune in to the Manchester United and Chelsea FA Cup 6th round
tie on returning home from the Stoke game, was no fluke. Being similarly
blocked from seeing Shamrock Rovers v St. Patrick’s Athletic on Friday night, I
emailed de telly to query what was
happening and received a Donnybrook unfair response, saying that for this
season League of Ireland games will only be available on-line in the 26
Counties; quite where this leaves supporters of Derry City I do not know.
It’s a difficult time for many supporters of League of
Ireland clubs. Mick Wallace, fresh from offering sage advice on moral probity
and rectitude in public office to Ming Flanagan, in the wake of the latter’s
disappearing motoring offence endorsements, which seems to me to be, rather
than incipient corruption or culchie back-scratching, yet another
State-condoned Black Op intended to discredit socially progressive independents
in the Dail in the hope of getting more Blue Shirts or (most likely) Dev’s
Diehards back there after the next election, has to deal with the desperate
news that Wexford Youths sit at the foot of Division 1, having lost all their
games so far. Let’s just hope Clare Daly stands by her man better than she
stood by her principles.
A couple of fellas who don’t deserve anyone to stand by them
are Declan Kidney and Giovanni Trappatoni, who it appears have swapped jobs, if
the final Six Nations fixture is anything to go by. It seems to be true that
it’s supporters of Newcastle United and Ireland who have most to fear from the
International Break; the former because of the timing of Ashley’s regular outrages
against the club and the latter because of the awful nature of Ireland’s form
of late. The irony is that Trappatoni, a bloke who has done less for Ireland
than Oliver Cromwell did, celebrates his birthday on March 17th.
Away from Paddy’s Green Shamrock Shore, being left with no alternative, I kept abreast of
Bohemians’ late loss away to Cork City, after taking the lead on Twitter,
watched in ever deepening pools of stagnant depression as Hibernian contrived
to not only throw away the lead at Fir Park, but to concede 4 unanswered goals
in the second half against Motherwell, whilst remaining engaged in a fruitless
90 minute phone conversation with Barclays customer services about the
delayed refund of £200 wrongly debited from my account from a faulty ATM
transaction a fortnight previous. In some ways, I wished I’d spent my Friday
evening in Tup Tup Palace with Tim Krul (or so it was reported to me), as I’ve
had better nights I must admit.
The night previous when Newcastle progressed to the quarter
finals of the Europa League was one of them, despite Hatem Ben Arfa being
seemingly ruled out for the rest of the season on the Thursday afternoon. Without doubt, the two best atmospheres I’ve
encountered at SJP this season, not having attended the Chelsea victory, were
the Bordeaux and Anzhi games, both of which I saw from the Gallowgate middle. I
have to agree with my cynical 17 year old who tweeted; “it’s hard for me to
admit, but Steven Taylor has been brilliant.” Fistpumps was a true hero in this
game and deserves his England call-up on the back of some great form following
his latest return from injury, but let’s hope he escapes undamaged from this
adventure against whoever Hodgson’s lot are playing. However, again it was a
superb pass from the outstanding Sylvain Marveaux that gave Cisse the
opportunity to win the game for us. In over 40 years of watching football, I
can truthfully say I’ve never seen a game won with the final touch, until this
one. With the officials unwilling to organise a restart, I was initially
confused whether the goal had been disallowed for some reason.
When it became clear the goal stood, my first thoughts were
of the fixture changes that our progression to the last 8 entail; Fulham and
the mackems will now both be on a Sunday. I’ll definitely be at the Cottagers,
but it seems unlikely I’ll be able to break my self-imposed exile against the
Unwashed, for reasons almost entirely to do with cowardice. As an eternal
pessimist, I am unwilling to see us lose to them again in my lifetime.
Preparing for the worst, I have already began the mental process of rehearsing
just how it would feel if Danny Graham scores the winner on April 14th.
Suffice to say, it makes for grim thinking, unless Europa League progress has
been assured. All you can do is face the future with resolute fortitude and try
to be positive. In the quarter finals we’ve drawn Benfica; I love Portugal and
I’d love to go, but as a non-season ticket holder, getting in to the game looks
difficult. Indeed, I won’t even get to see it on the telly or even be at the
home leg either (fair play to the club for £15 tickets for this one; they might
not get much right, but this decision deserves applause), as my non-league
responsibilities and sensibilities require me to be at Hillheads on both
occasions, as Whitley Bay host Dunston UTS and Spennymoor Town respectively, in
a pair of very enticing Northern League fixtures. Or so I’m telling myself…
While post-match discussions on Thursday centred on
potential European opposition, pre-match debate saw Nile Ranger under the
microscope yet again, following his arrest for assault on Wednesday 13th
March. In court on Friday 15th, Ranger pleaded guilty and the case
has been adjourned; consequently, as it is sub-judice, I’ll not comment on the
legal process. However, I will say that it becomes ever more apparent to me
that my suspicions of institutional racism creating the kind of prejudicial
attitudes to Nile Ranger among an element of our support have been confirmed
unequivocally. As I say, the details of Ranger’s latest wranglings are yet to
be revealed in public, but I will say the poor bloke is now a target for every
shaven-headed, Donnay-clad, wannabe hard man from Gosforth to Birtley and back
again. Unless Ranger moves away from the North East, I can see him suffering
endless provocation and taunting from people who should know better.
The fact is Nile Ranger’s attitude that upsets the
furrowed-browed fools has too much in common with Malcolm X, Huey Newton or
Chuck D for such implacable critics; perhaps they’d not be as predictably
outraged by Ranger if he affected more of a Kenny Lynch, Flavor Flav or Sammy
Davis Jr persona. I fervently wish Nile
Ranger all the best for the future. Surely former WRP theoretician Chris
Hughton must be prepared to give Nile a chance? After all, he’s got to be a
preferable option up front for the Canaries than Tory lickspittle Constable
Holt, who really ought to have won them the game at SoS on St. Patrick’s Day,
which would have at least have provided us with a modicum of comfort on a lousy
day that put the tin hat on a really lousy weekend. Là 'le Pádraig shona dhuit; my arse!
We take it as read that any Newcastle defeat will be
accompanied by a meltdown on Twitter by those stuck at the
cognitive, developmental level of those who still need to leave a light on at
bed time, but the bar was well and truly raised during the Wigan game with statements, made by
the kind of people who regard Tiger Tiger as a defensible leisure
option, that Cisse, Marveaux, Santon, Sissoko and Tiote were, at various times
in the proceedings, categorised as being “shit.” Why I waste my time validating
the worthless opinions of the cretins who say things like that still troubles
me; that said, there are the undeniable and unpalatable facts to face that our
performance at the DW Stadium was simply not acceptable and that our away form
is deplorable and in need of serious attention, but as it’s citeh away next you
can scrub that thought.
Sunday’s loss shows the fine margins at play in the lower
half of the table; while Fulham’s surprising win at Spurs puts them clear in 10th,
everything else was set up for Newcastle to move to the top of the bottom. A
win, which could have happened if Cisse’s 88th minute effort had not
been deflected wide, would have put us 12 points clear of danger, while the
draw we’d seemingly earned would have left us with a 9 point cushion. Sadly,
their winner leaves us back in trouble; 6 points clear, Wigan with a game in
hand and, as has already been stated, citeh away next. This, as well as an
injury list that already included Cabaye, HBA and Krul but now includes
Debuchy, seems to have been overlooked in the wake of the outrageous outcome on
Sunday. We won’t even begin to think about Santon’s thigh problem that cut
short his stint with the Italian Under 21 squad just yet. Haidara’s injury is appalling, but it should
not be allowed to mask the fact that Newcastle United, who I’d naively assumed
would not only want to put right last season’s crushing loss, but would be on a
high after Thursday evening’s dramatic outcome and be ready to take Wigan by the
throat, played poorly at Wigan and barely deserved a draw.
These days, I tend to pride myself on having a sense of
perspective on Newcastle United’s fortunes that has been misinterpreted by
zealots from Euskal Herria as “detached, bourgeois chin stroking.” However, I
was so furious on Sunday night that I struggled to get to sleep. It was all so
bloody unfair. The most eloquent analysis of the whole day was a tweet by
@2narme we're Newcastle fans, we're used to getting beat. It's nowt. Feeling
cheated is hard to get used to. That summarises the whole, sorry day
for me; while it’s absolutely appalling that the frustration of some of our lot
caused Mark Halsey to receive abusive comments, hoping his cancer would return,
the fact is that Halsey’s performance at Wigan will go down in NUFC folklore in
the way that the name Trelford Mills, who Halsey appeared to be impersonating
in the manner of Jarrow Elvis reinterpreting the King, has. Brighton 1983 may
not have been exceeded by Wigan 2013, but it has been matched.
Callum McManaman is a snide little bastard; his tackle on
Haidara was a deliberate attempt to injure a fine young player, regardless of
what errant nonsense was offered in terms of explanation or justification,
though never as an apology, by the mealy-mouthed Martinez, the arch hypocrite
Whelan (who bores the Wigan support to tears with stories of his career-ending
leg break in the 1960 FA Cup final on a daily basis) who allowed his personal
enmity with Ashley to cloud his judgement, or the weasel-words of the FA
disciplinary committee, hiding behind procedure and regulation in the most
shameful manner possible. Again, some measure of approval should be granted
towards Derek Llambias, who produced a cogent, reasoned and articulate response
to the FA’s Pontius Pilate meets Nuremburg Defence non-decision. However, all
you need to know about the FA is that they’ve already rushed to offer that
squalid, parasitical, equinophilic helicopter collector Michael Owen an ambassadorial
role following the announcement of his impending retirement from the game. This
surprised NUFC fans who had assumed Owen quit the game in 2005 when he signed
for us.
McManaman should be banned, but he won’t; nor will I laugh if
someone seriously injures the vile shithead in his next game. Despite a single
depressing trip to Wigan in 2005, when we were robbed of a draw by a linesman
(Andy Williams was his name; never forgive, never forget) failing to spot
Shearer’s header had gone over the line, I had wanted them to win the FA Cup
this year, as well as staying up. While I still hope they stay up ahead of the
even more loathsome Villa, I’ll be rooting for Millwall in the FA Cup
semi-final now.
In retrospect, the best thing to come out of Sunday was Alan
Pardew’s superb, dignified post-match interview. His temperate words suggest he
has learned how to keep his passion in check and that makes me feel optimistic
for the rest of the season; he’ll do OK for us in the short and the long term.
In contrast, while initially it seemed John Carver’s explosion with McManaman
was a praiseworthy act, sober reflection tells me it was the kind of behaviour
one could expect of a fan and not a club official. I’m not saying it was
totally unprofessional, as has been suggested by mischief makers of the Fourth
Estate, but Carver would have been better off in the dressing room as soon as
the whistle went, doing the job for which he’s paid, namely addressing the
causes of our poor first half performance and doing his best to put it right
after the break. Perhaps he could then have knocked McManaman out at full time,
on the basis of a job well done. If he
had, would those who are so quick to condemn Nile Ranger’s conduct have rushed
to upbraid him?
No comments:
Post a Comment