When it happened we walked
through all the estates, from Manchester right to Newcastle.
In Darlington, helped a large man
on his own chase off some kids,
Who were chucking bricks and stuff
through his flat window.
He cussed us and we moved on.
(Mark E
Smith, NWRA, 1980)
As a
football fan, you’d surely laugh like a drain if your local rivals had reached
the October international hiatus without winning a game, were languishing in a
relegation spot and had commenced the search for their fifth manager in 3
seasons. Well you would, unless you were a supporter of Newcastle United, who
were the only team worse off than Sunderland in mid-October. The state of
affairs whereby two teams who pull in almost 100,000 disaffected and
disillusioned punters a fortnight, have failed to register a victory in 16
league games, is beyond farce, beyond tragedy and almost beyond imagining.
Looking
dispassionately at the Premier League table, anyone who enjoys the top flight
of English football, regardless of their own supporting preferences, would
surely fervently hope that the sides to be relegated at the end of this current
campaign were the three occupying the drop zone when the league had its
autumnal fortnight in abeyance. Let’s be honest, the minimal level of comic schadenfreude provided by the blundering
travails of Aston Villa, Newcastle and Sunderland is far outweighed by the fact
that the three sides have given absolutely nothing of note, much less value, to
the division for at least the past 4 seasons. They are the sporting equivalent
of landfill; prime detritus ready for fly-tipping into the Championship and
ignominious anonymity thereafter. They won’t be missed.
Leaving
Villa out of the equation, for reasons of geography more than anything else,
the North East “Big” Two (please stop smirking at the back) have long been an
utter irrelevance in the league, in Newcastle’s case since the end of
2011/2012, when Yohan Cabaye’s guile and Papiss Cisse’s goals propelled the
Magpies to fifth place in the table. Sunderland had a heroic run to the League
Cup final in 2014, but Manchester City denied them a fairytale ending, though
their miracle run to safety at the end of that campaign, with wins at Stamford
Bridge and the Etihad did stir the blood. Gus Poyet still got his P45 the next
season because the drop seemed inevitable.
At the start
of this season, Sunderland began to repeatedly apply the panic button after an
opening day trouncing by Ranieri’s eclectic and joyful Leicester side, while
Newcastle maintained an uncharacteristic air of stability until being
dismantled away to Swansea in the second game. Remarkably, Newcastle have
actually put in good performances in the supposedly more challenging fixtures
against Southampton, Arsenal, Manchester United and Chelsea, though these have
been offset by spineless capitulations against West Ham, Watford and Manchester
City, where 45 minutes of graft and guile was undone by 20 minutes of
cowardice. In contrast Sunderland have produced a mere 45 minutes of good
football this season; the first half of Advocaat’s final game against West Ham.
Reverting to type, they threw away 2 points and had a player sent off in the
second period, precipitating the Dutchman’s departure.
Since the
spring of 2013, Sunderland have dispensed with the services of Martin O’Neill,
a boyhood fan of the club in his native County Derry, the frankly unhinged
Paolo Di Canio, Gus Poyet, an ultimately antagonistic empty vessel and the
deeply frustrated and dignified Dick Advocaat. Now the ultimate Tyneside
pantomime villain Sam Allardyce has inevitably got the gig and is no doubt is
plotting an inevitable sixth successive derby win over Newcastle. Allardyce has
plenty of experience of ensuring Newcastle United lose, generally when he was
in charge at SJP.
In contrast
to their local rivals, the Magpies have dispensed with the concept of sacking
their bosses, however incompetent. Having endured half a decade of Pardew’s
charm offensive (whenever he tried to be charming, he came out as
offensive), his departure to Crystal Palace,
where he is proving his worth in a supportive environment by having an
excellent season, ushered in the six month car crash of John Carver’s interim
administration. Now, fresh from being shown the door for failing at Derby
County, on the back of a similar experience at Nottingham Forest, also in the
Championship, Steve McClaren is the one being asked to tame the raging beast of
Tyneside anger and expectation. I must admit I thought his calm, rational
approach would provide a measure of stability; so far, I’ve be totally wrong in
that fond hope, as McClaren has been a conspicuous, anodyne failure. However as
he was rewarded with a seat on the board when he was appointed, he’s probably
safe for a while yet, which deflects the even stickier question of just who the
hell would come in to replace him.
Ten years
ago, Allardyce against McClaren would have meant Bolton versus Middlesbrough,
which was the 2004 League Cup final. Despite the fact those two clubs are now
both in the second tier (though Boro look destined for promotion until the
superb stewardship of Aitor Karanka, who I’d hoped would get the Newcastle job
in the summer), fans on Tyneside and Wearside would give anything for a day
out, like the one enjoyed by Trotters and Smogs in Cardiff. The main problem
is; Newcastle and Sunderland were both dumped out the League Cup at home in
successive nights, where the final whistle called forth a torrent of booing
from those left in their seats. Whining and moaning about the fate of the two
clubs may be alluring if not an essential coping mechanism, but it doesn’t
explain why they’re both such a joke.
If ever
there was a club stalwart, both respected and eternally in tune with the
nuances of the opinions of his club’s supporters, it would be Gary Neville who,
as the terrace chants reminded us, “hates Scousers.” As well as being a
grandstanding populist on the pitch, Neville was also an accomplished defender,
though reappraisals of his career as a Mancunian Maldini are excessively
fulsome. He is, and we have to remember the vacuous popinjays and intellectual
plankton representing the biodiversity of the stagnant pond of television
football punditry, a reasonably perceptive and articulate analyst of the
game. In his Daily Telegraph column at the end of September, Neville elaborated
on a theme he’d touched on as a commentator during Newcastle’s last league loss
at Upton Park, namely the seemingly irresistible drift southwards of
footballing power and prestige, other than from his beloved Northern Powerhouse
of Mancunia of course.
We could of
course point out to Neville that the two Manchester clubs plus Arsenal and
Chelsea (perhaps not this year though eh Jose?) have been the only realistic,
credible clubs at the top of our domestic game, other than Liverpool’s
inglorious slip-up with the title in their sights the other season. There are
those far more conversant with the reasons why the Premier League sides have
stunk the continent out in the Champions’ League so far this campaign and folks
far more knowledgeable than I as regards the potential impact of Jurgen Klopp
on Liverpool’s future standing in the game.
However, if we add Spurs as perennial Europa League qualifiers to the
previously 5 nominated clubs, the stark reality is, other than the occasional
muted glory of a cup run, there are 14 clubs in the Premier League who are left
to do the sporting equivalent of busking in the tube station for chump change;
marginalised, patronised, sometimes scorned and often impecunious.
Ominously,
with the insane levels of money sloshing around the Premier League, which
rewards basic levels of competence in avoiding relegation with riches beyond
the imaginings of mere mortals, 14 clubs are happy to aim for safety,
pretending this is stability. The worst offender as regards this poverty of aspiration
are Newcastle United. Despite a stated intent of finishing top 8 and winning a
cup, the squad rebuilding was piecemeal, inadequate and tardy. If the club go
down, it won’t just be McClaren’s fault, the dread hands of Mike Ashley and Lee
Charnley are also gripping the tiller. Meanwhile, rich as Croesus hedge fund
devotee Ellis Short has shown himself basically incompetent when it comes to
building a solid foundation for the club he inherited in a cut-price deal from
the Drumaville Consortium, headed by Ireland’s answer to Sir Roger Casement,
Niall Quinn, when the Celtic Tiger foundered on the rocks of the 2008
recession.
The blame
rests squarely on the shoulders of those paid handsomely to ensure the future
of two of England’s flagship regional clubs. Sadly it appears the North East is
going the way of Yorkshire; a barren playing field of broken promises and
unfulfilled dreams. The forthcoming Tyne versus Wear fixture has been dubbed
the Donkey Derby. This may be true, but in Alan Clarke’s memorable description
of First World War trench combat, in the
North East the Lions truly are led by Donkeys.
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