You may have
noticed that since June 19th, the small matter of 11 weeks ago, I’ve
only made 3 blog posts about Newcastle United, with two of those Straky
Do Toho (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/straky-do-toho.html) and False Memory Syndrome (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/false-memory-syndrome.html) being nostalgic pieces about the
Inter Toto Cup in 2005 and the Portsmouth home game in October 1990
respectively. The only one to deal with the recent goings-on at St. James’
Park, Herding Cats (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/herding-cats.html), was actually penned for #9
fanzine, which I hope you’ve all signed up for, meaning this is the first post
about the farcical institution on Barrack Road since June 19th, when
Jesus
Fucking Krist (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/jesus-fucking-krist.html), written in response to an
appointment that is beyond parody and beneath contempt, achieved the
distinction of being my second most read blog
post ever, since I established the site in July 2010. To fight against
charges of inattention or indeed dereliction of duty occasioned by my lack of
direct comment over the summer, I feel I must explain the reasons for such
relative inactivity on my part. It isn’t because of the supposed absence of
football action to pass judgement or, more likely, pour scorn on, as the off
pitch events relating to Newcastle United are of far greater interest and
importance than the frankly banal attempts of 10 men in black and white shirts
to do anything creative or even useful with an inflated pig’s bladder.
Certainly my
dog days media silence has nothing to do with any possible personal diminution
of interest in the affairs of the club, which is a common theme I am hearing,
with deepening anguish on my part, from increasing numbers of long term fans; why
else would a sizeable percentage of season ticket holders of my acquaintance
sack off the home game with Fulham to go and watch the England versus Australia
20/20 cricket at the Riverside? A test match I could understand, but to choose
pyjama party cricket over an NUFC home game shows a few lines have been
crossed, which doesn’t bode well for the future. Indeed, I’m beginning to
detect among certain of my acquaintances a feeling of self-satisfaction
(perhaps it’s relief?) when they can find a plausible reason not to attend a
home game; Mike Ashley has caused that you know.
From my
arms-length perspective, it seems that home games have now become relatively
unsuccessful social events, whereby middle aged men in leather jackets, replica
shirts, crimpelene Primark slacks and slip-on, tasselled loafers meet similarly
attired middle men they’ve befriend on the internet and drink pasteurised beer,
while making vague promises of organising games of golf, while their younger Hollister-clad
descendants guzzle Blue WKD in Shark Bar and sing “witty” songs
about Shola Ameobi. Eventually, they troop up to SJP and sit in mute boredom as
badly coached and poorly motivated players go through the motions in order to
pick up enormous sums of money. Mind, the NUFC squad are a study in motivation
compared to Fulham’s front pairing of Bent and Berbatov; however no longer can
we use the term “mercenary” as pejorative term for footballers. These days it
is simplay a factual description of them all.
This sorry
state of affairs manifests itself on average once a fortnight, as the club sinks
deeper in to the mire; obviously if anyone points this depressing fact out or
tries to fight back against the regime, socially inadequate keyboard warriors
gleefully seize on the personal lives of those brave enough to stand up and be
counted, regarding them as legitimate targets for abusive, on-line invective
that cannot be answered as the perpetrators remain hidden behind a cyber-cloak
of anonymity. The on-line response to the replacement of the Leazes Gates was
particularly foul, though I have to say, the club played NUFC Fans United as patsies in this
instance; affixing the gates to the wall like a kind of high-specification,
wrought-iron climbing frame was a non-too-subtle 2 fingered gesture in the face
of those who had tried to maintain a dignified channel of communication with
the club; exactly how Lee Marshall, the club’s Fans’ Liaison officer views this
is probably a matter for conjecture.
The fact is,
I won’t be at SJP in the near future, barring the totally unlikely situation of
a home tie in the 4th round of the League Cup during October half
term, because the rearrangement of fixtures for television purposes has
resulted in the bizarre scenario of zero Sunday home games during the remainder
of 2013, meaning my non-league commitments with Heaton Stannington will
preclude me from setting foot inside St. James’ Park until Boxing Day when
Stoke City arrive in town. However, please do not ever dare to assume that my
proposed non-attendance, as well as lack of blog posts over the summer, can be
explained away by a lack of passion for the team.
It would have
been all too easy to post up a weekly tirade against Ashley, Kinnear and
Pardew, for that is my analysis of the order of culpability when it comes to
apportioning blame for the shambles that Newcastle United currently resembles, all
of which would have scarcely altered from mid-June until late August: we
haven’t signed anyone, the club ownership refuses to comment about anything
while the director of football and manager seem to be engaged in a contest to
see who can spout the most inane,
revisionist bollocks about the recent history of Newcastle United would
have been my stock-in-trade items for discussion. All of the previous points
have the utmost validity and indeed veracity, but as the pre-season tortuously
dragged on I found I was partly insanely busy helping my mother move house
(with the valued practical help of the Mike Ashley Out Campaign, who are
dab hands at reassembling dining tables I have to say; cheers Graeme!!), which
cut down the hours available to me to think, plan, write and revise articles about NUFC, though mainly
I found I was not inclined to speculate or second guess on the motives and
intentions of the club in the short, medium or long term, in the continued absence
of any meaningful communication from the soi-disant
hierarchy to outline this, until we had
reached a point whereby it seemed natural, timely and necessary to respond to
the situation. This decision did not necessarily mean I was in a rush to
express myself after a ball was competitively kicked or even uncompetitively,
as in the case of the opening day capitulation at CoMS.
I have to say
that I’ve not seen a single second of live Newcastle United action this season.
I took no pleasure in accurately calling the 4-0 defeat on the opening day at
Manchester City, though I did enjoy the cycle from High Heaton to Tynemouth
that I opted for instead of an evening in the company of griping dullards in
the pub, as the journey engaged me from the moment the first goal went in until
the score had reached its final tally, by which time frustration had given way
to acceptance tinged with gallows humour. Though reflecting on that opening
obliteration, I realise that at this point I could, and perhaps should, engage
in a 4,000 word tirade against the oafish conduct of the most embarrassing
player on the club’s books, Steven Taylor, but what would be the point? Anyone
among the support with a scintilla of self-awareness knows that Taylor’s lack
of dignity and repeated immature confusion of passion with petulance makes him
an object of scorn in the eyes of all clued-in supporters.
At least in
the aftermath, the only buffoon blaming the loss on Cabaye’s non-appearance was
the joker in the dug-out. The farcical events relating to the eventual failure
to sell Cabaye by the end of the transfer window, when by all reliable
accounts, only a disinclination on the part of Arsenal to pay the required £20m
fee for a player they saw as a squad member and not the fulcrum of their side
the player in question no doubt believes himself to be, resulted in the
continuation of a loveless, doomed marriage between club and Cabaye, and turned
the West Ham game almost into a sideshow, as news of a fresh bid from the
Emirates was awaited. Certainly Gouffran’s miss seemed more akin to the kind of
slapstick, knockabout farce one sees in a clown show than at a football match,
though without the tragicomic undertones relating to the appalling state of
affairs that means Shola Ameobi continues to command a starting place for a
side in the Premier League, 4 months after Pardew announced it was time for him
to find a new club. I do concede that even Shola would have scored the one
Gouffran missed, which I hope isn’t used as a stick to beat the talented and
diligent ex Bourdeaux man (who isn’t a central striker, Pardew) with by the
already radged-up Francophobes in les
maillots jaunes down le couloir de la
haine. There is certainly a case for suggesting we should keep all our
players (bar the woeful Shane Ferguson who has thankfully departed to
Birmingham City, hopefully never to return,) and get shot of a load of our most
idiotic fans, whether they set off flares at away games, drink in The
Forth or both.
Doing a spot
of early season groundhopping (Gateshead Redheugh 4 Bedlington Terriers 0 in
the Northern Alliance Division 1 at the vastly improved Eslington Park, which
reminds me very much of Monkchester Green, the home of Walker Central), I
missed the Morecambe game, though travelling westwards on the 49C for my last
ever night on Western Way at full time, I caught up with the Twitterati’s
posturing anguish as Marveaux failed again in his occasional walk-on
role as Lionel Messi’s Tyneside-based dauphin. I’d imagined a 3-1 win in
advance of the game, so the eventual margin of victory was the same, even if
the sub-standard performance caused a few raised eyebrows. Leeds at home in the
next round eh? I’m at work that night, but I still wouldn’t be going, because
there comes a point when you simply have to stand up and be counted, by saying
no to any further personal complicity in the disgraceful charade that the
current regime is responsible for. As I pointed out at the start of False
Memory Syndrome, I had no intention of using the tickets I won for the
Fulham game, the fourth consecutive season I’d acquired freebies for that
fixture, though typically enough Ben and his mate had a better time watching 30
minutes of fluent football at the end than I did as The Stan lost 1-0 at home
to Stokesley, though that is coincidental.
My mantra is
unchanging; it is irrelevant who plays for Newcastle United, who is sold, who
is bought or even who manages the club. Indeed the eventual finishing place for
the club in 2013/2014 and the performance in the cups are also irrelevant. The
only thing that matters is getting rid of Ashley; by that I don’t mean replace
him with another alleged benevolent
despot venture capitalist billionaire; I mean urge Ashley to abandon the
club and to give it to the fans. If this means he takes out his £130m loan and
we end up in League 2, so be it; if Newcastle United become 100% fan owned, as
we must surely be, it does not matter to me whether we then call FCUM or
Barcelona as our closest rivals, because we will be a club reborn. Yes Pardew
is a shifty, smarmy, weasel-worded, tactically-incompetent invertebrate; yes
Kinnear is a loudmouthed, deceitful, bellicose bullshitter, but they don’t
matter in the wider context of things, though
I would never call for Pardew’s dismissal as the identity of his successor is
as obvious as it is appalling. It’s important not to despair about our current
situation (if Gouffran had scored we’d be top 4 incidentally) and keep our eyes
on the eventual long-term target; we have to get rid of Ashley. Once that has
been achieved, we can address the question of the Vichy Magpie regime, in the
full knowledge that incompetent functionaries and minions can be replaced and
forgotten about
I spent the
evening of September 2nd at Team Northumbria 0 Marske United 2,
concentrating fully on the game, while many of those surrounding me engaged in
endless smartphone interaction and idle conversation with other spectators about
the looming transfer deadline. Obviously, my philosophical standpoint made it an
irrelevance; the comings and goings of players didn’t advance the date of
Ashley’s departure one iota, so I didn’t allow myself to become irate. I was
more annoyed with myself for assuming the Team North game kicked off at 7.45;
it didn’t and by the time I got there, Marske had scored both goals. However,
Alan Pardew’s statement in relation to Newcastle United’s utter lack of
permanent player acquisition in the period July 1st – September 2nd
2013 did raise my hackles slightly. This is what he said, via the club’s
official website -:
“We are delighted
to have brought Loïc Rémy to the club in this window and we believe he will
form an exciting and effective partnership with Papiss Cissé. Joe has worked
hard on numerous targets, particularly an additional offensive player. However,
some of the options that were available within our financial means were not as
good as the players we already had and there is no point bringing in new
players unless they can improve us and take us forward. We did the majority of
our business in the January window, signing five excellent first-team players.
With the strong squad we have we should all approach the season in a positive,
optimistic frame of mind.”
It would be frankly ludicrous to dignify this abject
tissue of horseshit by seeking to claim that while we may disagree with it, at
least Pardew has communicated with the fans and explained his philosophy,
because unless he’s Saul on the road to Damascus, his tune has changed so much
in 10 days as to be unrecognizable. One wonders just how this official statement
squares with his utterance of August 23rd; “We have to make sure we get one or two transfers over the line before
deadline." Or, perhaps even more telling, his detailed response to
last season’s shortcomings, issued in his post-match press conference after the
final game at home to Arsenal on May 20th -:
"We're
very, very lucky to have the support that we got and therefore we owe them a
debt next year to make sure that we serve up a better standard of football and
better quality of results.
We know, in that (dressing) room, we’ve got 80 per cent of the team.
We still need to make sure we get two or three recruits in there which take
us forward. If we can do that, they’ll grow as well, and we’ll be much, much
better next year.You hear managers taking about needing three players to make
the perfect side but we genuinely, genuinely need a couple in that first team
that complement the others."
As I pointed out back in June, the contempt in which Pardew was held by
many of our fans was replaced by a sense of pity following Kinnear’s
appointment. If Pardew had either resigned, on account of the fact he is
obviously undermined and utterly without authority in the club, or just stood
up and told the truth, the support would have respect for him. Such mealy-mouthed
twaddle does him no favours whatsoever and I’d venture he is viewed with even
greater scorn than he was at the end of last season. Though his words seem
positively bombastic when compared to the simpering, hand-wringing otiose
oratory from the discredited, ideologically bankrupt NUST who issued this grovelling, small minded press release,
to universal contempt -:
Newcastle
fans have reacted in disbelief to the events of this summer. To say the return
of Joe Kinnear was 'surprising' would be the understatement of the millennium.
At a time when every other Premier League club is strengthening their squad, it
defies belief that Newcastle United's is numerically weaker than the one that
finished last season. To not make one player purchase this summer is astounding
and calls into question the ambition of Mike Ashley and those tasked to run
Newcastle United on his behalf. A squad that narrowly avoided relegation is now
once again left right on the edge with no margin for error, only two or three
injuries in key positions would lead to potential disaster. NUST hope that one
day we will see a management structure worthy of the name at St.James' Park and
the club run with the ambition to match that of the fans, the same fans who
make Newcastle United the tenth best supported club in Europe. While in
addition the money the supporters plough into the club has helped push NUFC
back into the top twenty football club turnovers in the world.
Returning to Pardew, the only two explanations I can see for his
lickspittle volte face are that he really has so little self-respect and
dignity as a human being that he will do whatever he is told to by Kinnear and
Ashley, simply to keep his job, or that he has somehow developed Stockholm
Syndrome, which is a psychological phenomenon where hostages express empathy
and sympathy and have positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes to the
point of defending them. These feelings are generally considered irrational in
light of the danger or risk endured by the victims, who essentially mistake a
lack of abuse from their captors for an act of kindness.
Stockholm Syndrome is named after the Norrmalmstorg robbery of
Kreditbanken at Norrmalmstorg in Stockholm, Sweden, in which several bank
employees were held hostage in a bank vault from August 23 to August 28, 1973,
while their captors negotiated with police. During this standoff, the victims
became emotionally attached to their captors, rejected assistance from
government officials at one point, and even defended their captors after they
were freed from their six-day ordeal. In Pardew’s case, he’s had the 11 week
ordeal of working with Kinnear and the 2 month one of the transfer window, but
not to worry Alan; the window is shut and you don’t have to pretend you’ve got
the cojones to ask Ashley for the cash to buy a player until January.
Until then, let’s see if Shola, Sammi, Gosling and Williamson can show us
exactly the sort of flair and panache a Premier league side needs. Frankly, Pardew has gone from being a
potential Jan Palach, who would have professionally self-immolated for the sake
of the club’s future, to football’s version of Patti Hearst, helping the Sports
Direct Symbionese Liberation Army to steal from the poor and give to the rich.
Despite Neil Cameron’s 10 questions for Ashley in Wednesday 4th
September’s Evening Chronicle
weren’t the Thompson House equivalent of Martin Luther’s Disputatio
pro declaratione virtutis indulgentiarum, but they did show signs the
paper has the potential pluck to stand up and ask the club the kind of hard
questions Mark Brophy so astutely pointed out that they had singularly failed
to do (http://markbrophy.wordpress.com/2013/09/04/chronicle-capitulation-to-wonga/), that
evening’s NUFC Fans United meeting almost made me question my faith in
the organisation. Zero publicity on supposedly sympathetic websites or in the
papers, meant a significantly lower turn-out than the previous 2 meetings; only
46 people showed up in The Irish Club to hear Lee Marshall alternatively
presenting on-the-hoof response to Cameron’s questions and then attempting to
present the club’s sponsors as the nearest we’d had to wealth distribution in
this country since the 1945 Labour Government, while a couple of loudmouths in
the audience asked irrelevant questions to the wrong people and some smarmy
blow-ins tried to hijack the meeting for their own ends. That said, Robbo from The Shite Seats was utterly
brilliant in his analysis of where NUFC
Fans United needs to go next. Thus, it occurred to me that I was in
danger of failing in to cynicism and despair in the way that so many others
have. We need to keep the faith; I need to keep the faith. This club is 121
years old in December; we’ll be here a lot longer than Mike Ashley will be. We
all need to remember that fact on a daily basis.
My passionate hope and my sincere belief is that the club will be
better run and have its future properly safeguarded if we can get Ashley OUT
and 100% Fan ownership IN. Therefore,
after my personal summer of political inactivity that was almost as
indefensible as the club’s lack of signings, the closing of the transfer
window, during which time Newcastle United brought in one player who: turned us
down in January to play for a club that were relegated, had no pre-season
training, arrived injured, is on Police bail following an allegation of rape,
is on a season long loan, seems to be a fairly sensible point at which to make
my feelings known. I’ve written over 3,500 words in this blog, but they can be
summed up in one sentence -:
Ashley OUT;
100% Fan Ownership IN
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