Planespotting

Seven years ago, on May 24^th 2009, Newcastle United produced a limp, somnolent non-performance as they slid to a hideous, preventable relegation, losing 1-0 to Aston Villa. Following that demotion, caused by boardroom incompetence and lazy, uninterested multi-millionaires phoning in their appearances, it seemed at the time that, unlike 1977/78 and 1988/89 where relegation was inevitable from early in the season (about 32 seconds in the case of 88/89) there was a kind of stunned, mournful air of unreality around the city. I got terribly drunk and staggered home, cursing. Of course, personally speaking, the pain was intensified as I was awaiting my dad’s imminent death from cancer (he passed the day after Bobby Robson, on August 1^st), which clouded my vision and my judgement. What I didn’t do though, was actively look for ways of torturing myself by feasting on gleeful predictions of NUFC’s imminent demise by polyversity media studies and sociology drops out supporting the likes of Huddersfield and Ipswich.

Less than a decade ago, social media was in its infancy; Facebook was still a way of reconnecting with long lost pals and not a place to share photos of cats with cute expressions and endless shaky clips of bands you half liked half a lifetime ago. There was no Twitter to my knowledge and the only way football fans could keep in touch with each other was through the fetid swamp of message boards, where lollygagging hobbledehoys essayed mendacious persiflage. If you went looking for it, you found foul, personal abuse, threats and all manner of disgusting comments, often between supporters of the same team. Nowadays, the abuse may be restricted to 140 characters or made by people using their real identities, but you can still avoid it; unless you enjoy being outraged about nothing much.

Even though it seemed fanciful to suggest it at the time, the 2009 relegation was the making of a generation of our support and those players who had the cojones to stay. It would be difficult to pick a particular game when everything fell into place during the Championship gap year, but somewhere around the last-gasp victory over Doncaster at SJP or the dogged win away to Sheffield United the week after, both courtesy of Kevin Nolan, once the clocks went back, Newcastle United went forward. It was an educational, humbling, life-affirming season and thankfully the club learned from its mistakes to ensure we’d never suffer the ignominy of relegation again… err, hang on…

Well, it’s happened again; Newcastle United have been relegated to The Championship. Unlike last time when an elusive single goal (specifically Howard Webb, the original Payaso de Mierda, disallowing Viduka’s header against Fulham in our final home game) was all we’d needed to stay up, things were sorted long before the final day. After the ultimately false hope provided by Andros Townsend’s winner over Palace that took NUFC out of the drop zone at the end of April, another spineless, shot-shy debacle in the 0-0 at Villa ultimately did for us, while the Mackems won their final two home games; 3-2 over Chelsea in a thriller and 3-0 against a disintegrating Everton who dispensed with Martinez the very next day.

You’d have to say that, providing you’ve suspended your moral judgement about the case of convicted predatory paedophile Adam Johnson playing for Sunderland with the full blessing of their senior management, the Mackems deserved to stay up by winning those two games. It is a real shame that John Terry has signed another deal with Chelsea as the idea of his final performance being curtailed by a red card after an agricultural scythe too many was a delicious prospect. On May 11^th, I played Over 40s away to Hedworthfield (drew 2-2; equaliser my fault – soz) and afterwards we went back to their bar, The Red Hackle in the Scotch Estate. The arrival of a dozen ageing Geordies appeared a popular move as most of the pub leapt to their feet as we entered. In actual fact, this was Sunderland’s second goal and it would be fair to say it polarised opinion in the pub. Unlike 2009, I’d didn’t get rotten drunk; I had 3 pints and headed home for a bath. Frankly I was over it by the next morning, relegation not the equaliser against Hedworthfield, and looking forward to what happens now at Newcastle United.

Rather like 77/78 and 88/89, ultimate failure was seemingly inevitable in 15/16, if not from day 1, then certainly after McClaren didn’t get his cards after the Chelsea scudding in February, or even the Palace demolition at the end of November. Charnley’s vacillating inaction after the slaughter at Stamford Bridge was ultimately fatal to our prospects. That said, my take on the season just finished is influenced by the fact I only saw home games; I know plenty of away games were live on Sky or BT, but I don’t have them, so the only one I saw was Chelsea, because it was free to watch for some reason. Mind, you wouldn’t pay for that shite would you? Honestly, my heart goes out to those who witnessed a series of abject surrenders from Sunderland to Southampton throughout the season, because that’s where the seeds of relegation were sown.

At home I saw 9 games live (as well as the Norwich and Liverpool games in The Bodega on fanzine selling duty); 2 wins (West Ham, convincing, and Spurs, more of that one in a bit), 4 draws (Southampton, Chelsea, Man United and the Mackems, when we could, perhaps should, have won all of them) and 3 defeats (Arsenal, Everton, both unlucky and Bournemouth, which was the only truly appalling performance I saw all season). If a comparable points per game ratio had been repeated across the whole season, we’d have accrued something like 42 in total, which was the sort of total I’d imagined McClaren would bring us. Shows what I know eh?

Being honest, I expected this season to be dull beyond belief, with McClaren’s trademark stifling, cautious football strangling games at birth; I thought 0-0 would be our most popular score. However, that was a prediction based on a belief that not only was McClaren still halfway competent and not a vastly retrograde step after John Carver even, but that Newcastle United would assemble a squad fit for purpose; some chance! Of last summer’s signings, only Mbemba has been a success, though the two lads we got from Forest the year before, Lascelles and Darlow, look exactly the kind of hard-working, passionate, dedicated players we will need next year. Mitrovic, despite a few goals, is the Serbian Billy Whitehurst; a carthorse masquerading as a hard man. Thauvin was a joke; as unsuited to the Premier League as his pal Cabella, though if he’d got his toe to the ball in the last seconds at Old Trafford, the tone of this piece may have been completely different. Ivan Toney is a bit part player for Barnsley, which says a lot about his prospects I feel. The most frustrating case is Wijnaldum; a player capable of stunning goals and utterly dominant performances at home, too often he has hidden away. I feel that he, Janmaat and Sissoko will be the first ones out the door; saleable assets with a selfish attitude and an utter lack of conscience for our situation.

Obviously, the players need to look at themselves, but the hierarchy are the ones ultimately to blame; this means Ashley for appointing the wrong people to sign the wrong players in the wrong positions at the wrong time. Look at January’s arrivals; yes Andros Townsend has been inspirational, but Shelvey has been a flash in the pan, while Saivet and Doumbia didn’t play so we can’t judge them properly. The captain didn’t play on account of a thigh strain that immobilised him for the best part of 4 months and we can certainly judge him as a coward and a fraud because of this; in retrospect, alarm bells should have started ringing when he got a new contract in summer 2015. It was a foolish decision and made McClaren fatally weak from the very start.

You may have noticed that, so far, I’ve not mentioned Rafa Benitez in this piece. Well, everything that needed saying was said on and off the pitch at the Spurs game. Twenty years on from the tears and heartbreak of the 1-1 draw that confirmed we’d finish runners-up to Manchester United, we assured 18^th place by simply thrashing Champions’ League hopefuls, becoming the only side to do the double over them. The team played like men possessed, winning battles all over the pitch, humiliating the opposition and gaining massive rounds of applause from the stands (other than the reaction one annoyed bloke gave Janmaat after the last goal). In retrospect, it was a logical result of Rafa’s influence; he has begun to sort the team out, stamp his authority and modify tactics. How my heart sings when I realise he likes Vurnon Anita as much as I do.

Going back to the Spurs game, I must admit to an uneasy feeling on the walk up to the ground. I’d previously expected SJP to be unpopulated by 7,000 empty seats, to boast a smug, packed away section, with the home following made up of 40k stoics suffering in mute disappointment and a handful of drunk, bald, middle-aged men in chunky Italian knitwear gesticulating impotently and making dicks of themselves. Of course the latter pile of human detritus surfaced on Twitter post-match to denounce all those who’d applauded Sissoko, Janmaat and Wijnaldum, as well as getting unaccountably angry at us playing well. The best part of the day, other than the fact we all but sold out of issue 12 of The Popular Side, was just how enjoyable the whole experience was; the entire ground united in adoration of Rafa Benitez.

You know, I know, every single person who has considered Newcastle United’s best interests seriously knows, if Rafa stays we have a great chance of bouncing straight back in significantly better health than we left the top division. I’m not saying we’ll get 120 points or beat Rotherham 15-0, but we should do well. Of course, if he doesn’t stay, all bets are off as to how bad the hangover / comedown / cold turkey will be when Nigel Adkins appears in the home dugout; it’ll certainly not be pleasant. However, I am an optimist and will hope for the best while hope exists. If it doesn’t work out, well that’s football and it is all part of following your team. The fact is, if you can’t handle defeat, then you shouldn’t follow football. Your motto should be gracious in victory and dignified in defeat. Well done Sunderland for staying up and well done Boro for getting promoted, with the boss I said I wanted at SJP when Pardew left. Imagine what it’s going to be like watching them play each other on Sky when we’ve conceded a late goal at Preston? Still, you have to laugh.

That brings me to my final point; when did our support become such humourless cry-babies? At what point did we adopt a Year Zero chronology after Easter Monday 2006? If you remember the two volumes of Let’s All Laugh at Sunderland that probably still fill half the cellar of The Back Page, the A4 posters distributed ahead of the 4-1 derby, the Save Chimp; Don’t Let the Mackems Win merchandise, the changing of road signs to say Stadium of Shite in 2003 and a billion other digs, DVDs, CDs, JPEGs, wind-ups and parodies, you’ll know that what the Mackems are doing is exactly comparable to what we’ve done in the past and will do again, given half the chance. The fly-past during the Spurs game and the banner on the Tyne Bridge are simply par for the course. We’re both spiteful, vindictive, cruel, inventive and unforgiving. Schadenfreude is our middle name, but surely that’s better than hammering the shite out of each other?

If you can’t handle these digs on social media, then grow up or turn your phone off; go read a book, listen to a record or watch a game of cricket. That’s what I’ll be doing all summer; it certainly beats spending your holidays poring over an opposition club’s accounts, when you should have taught yourself that the Magyar word for hubris is önhittség.

the old 2-1

over the last week, the Tyneside Amateur League, of which i am proud to be chair, has staged its two cup finals at Newcastle Benfield FC. both games ended 2-1, with both losing sides going 2-0 down and conceding a penalty when their keeper was sent off for a last man foul, before grabbing a late consolation. both games were great adverts for our league, so here are my two programme pieces for your delectation. well done the gallant losers from North Shields Athletic Reserves and Ponteland United Reserves, but especially well done to the deserved winners Bedlington Juniors and West Jesmond -:

In my capacity as Chair of the Tyneside Amateur League, it gives me enormous pleasure to welcome you all to the final of the Tyneside Amateur Challenge Shield sponsored by Bill Upsall Trophies. Today’s game is between Bedlington Juniors, who clinched the Tyneside Amateur League title on Wednesday 11^th with a single goal victory over Gosforth Bohemians Reserves, and North Shields Athletic Reserves, who are vying for runners-up spot with Ponteland United Reserves, who face West Jesmond here on Tuesday 17^th at 7.00pm in the final of the Neville Cowey Cup, which I hope to see many of you at. However, I’m getting a little ahead of myself here.

I’d like to welcome all players, officials and supporters of our two opposing teams today to Sam Smith’s Park, home of my beloved Newcastle Benfield FC. It is a source of enormous pride for me that Benfield have agreed to host our finals, as this is the home of Newcastle’s senior non-league side and, I would suggest, an appropriate venue for our league’s two cup finals. Indeed, following recent results on Wearside, today’s game is arguably the most important fixture in the North East this weekend, though the Whitley Bay A v Blyth Town Northern Alliance Premier Division decider at Hillheads runs it close. As the club formerly known as Newcastle United have failed to learn from bitter experience, football is meaningless unless there is aspiration; striving to improve, to better yourself and achieve more is the very reason why people still play the beautiful game. It is for that very reason, we at the Tyneside Amateur League vigorously support Bedlington’s application to the Northern Alliance; our champions of the previous two seasons Monkseaton (formerly Lindisfarne Custom Planet FC) and Hazelrigg Victory have gone on to distinguish themselves at a higher level and we hope Bedlington Juniors came follow suit, progressing up the non-league pyramid. This is why we’ve brought both of our finals to a Northern League Division 1 ground; it isn’t the San Siro or Camp Nou, but it’s a great place for local football games to take place. I sincerely hope many of those playing today will regularly play at Northern League Division 1 standard and above.

I hope today’s game is also a fitting end to this season, though our league still has games as far ahead as May 28^th, because 2015/2016 has been a uniquely appalling season in terms of weather. Has this been the wettest season on record? I’m not sure if simply calculating millimetres of rainfall adequately describes a season where snow flurries in May resulted in postponements, but I would imagine so, however one decides to measure inclemency.

More seriously, this has been the most difficult, frustrating and infuriating campaign for clubs, players and administrators at all levels of the amateur game and I give my heartfelt thanks to all those who give up their time so willingly to keep the game going at our grassroots level. Perhaps grass is the problem; with the impending onslaught of wetter winters on account of climate change, the paucity of 4G pitches at our level becomes ever more acute. If it hadn’t been for 2 clubs in our league boasting artificial home surfaces and several others digging deep to pay for the hire of facilities, the season may never have ended.

However, let’s be positive; today’s final is the only game in the Tyneside Amateur League, so I sincerely hope those associated with other clubs have come along to witness proceedings. I hope all of you here present will enjoy today’s game and, if you can spare the time, join us for our next final here on Tuesday. Even better, could you see yourself becoming involved with a local club? Don’t be shy; they all need help. There’s far more to the beautiful game than allowing Mike Ashley’s circus to depress you.

All the best,

ian cusack, Chair

Tyneside Amateur League

In my capacity as Chair of the Tyneside Amateur League, it gives me enormous pleasure to welcome you all to the final of the Neville Cowey Cup. This evening’s game is between Ponteland United Reserves, who are also vying for runners-up spot in the Tyneside Amateur League face, and West Jesmond.  I’d like to welcome all players, officials and supporters of our two opposing teams to Sam Smith’s Park, home of my beloved Newcastle Benfield FC. It is a source of enormous pride for me that Benfield have agreed to host our finals, as this ground is the home of Newcastle’s senior non-league side and, I would suggest, an appropriate venue for our league’s two cup finals.

Indeed, anyone who chose to attend the final of the Tyneside Amateur Shield here last Saturday, as opposed to the Whitley Bay A v Blyth Town Northern Alliance Premier Division decider at Hillheads for instance, would agree that Bedlington Juniors and North Shields Athletic served up a high quality game, enjoyed by all in attendance, that was a great advertisement for the standard of football on show in our league.  The decision to cancel all other league games on Saturday was vindicated both by the healthy attendance and the large number of clubs who were represented here. Let’s hope the decision to play tonight’s game on a Tuesday attracts similar numbers of interested onlookers. 

If this evening’s game is of a comparable standard to the game on Saturday, we will be in for a treat. Bedlington shaded that final and completed a league and cup double with a 2-1 victory. As the club formerly known as Newcastle United, despite a quite stunning performance on Sunday afternoon, have failed to learn from bitter experience, football is meaningless unless there is aspiration; striving to improve, to better yourself and achieve more is the very reason why people still play the beautiful game. It is for that very reason, we at the Tyneside Amateur League vigorously support Bedlington’s application to the Northern Alliance; our champions of the previous two seasons Monkseaton (formerly Lindisfarne Custom Planet FC) and Hazelrigg Victory have gone on to distinguish themselves at a higher level and we hope Bedlington Juniors came follow suit, progressing up the non-league pyramid. I sincerely hope many of those playing today will regularly play at Northern League Division 1 standard and above. This is why we’ve brought both of our finals to a Northern League Division 1 ground; it isn’t the San Siro or Camp Nou, but it’s a great place for local football games to take place. I implore you to make use of the superb catering facilities available in Snack Attack and to have a drink in our luxurious, well-stocked bar, which will be open before, during and after the game.

I hope tonight’s game is also a fitting end to this season, though our league still has games as far ahead as May 25^th, because 2015/2016 has been a uniquely appalling season in terms of weather. Has this been the wettest season on record? I’m not sure if simply calculating millimetres of rainfall adequately describes a season where snow flurries in May resulted in postponements, but I would imagine so, however one decides to measure inclemency. This has been the most difficult, frustrating and infuriating campaign for clubs, players and administrators at all levels of the amateur game and I give my heartfelt thanks to all those who give up their time so willingly to keep the game going at our grassroots level. With the impending onslaught of wetter winters on account of climate change, the paucity of 4G pitches at our level becomes ever more acute. If it hadn’t been for 2 clubs in our league boasting artificial home surfaces and several others digging deep to pay for the hire of facilities, the season may never have ended.

However, let’s be positive; I hope all of you here present will enjoy the game and, if you can spare the time, seek out another Tyneside Amateur League game before the end of the season. Even better, could you see yourself becoming involved with a local club? Don’t be shy; they all need help. There’s far more to the beautiful game than allowing Mike Ashley’s circus to depress you.

All the best,

ian cusack, Chair

Tyneside Amateur League

The Sound & The Fury

Issue 12 of The Popular Side is out this weekend. The fortunes of Newcastle United are so bleak I've written a piece about music in 2016. Here it is. Remember, football always lets you down; Trembling Bells never do....

They’re selling Hippy wigs in Woolworths man. (Danny; Withnail & I)

Huh you think it’s funny, turning rebellion into money? (Joe Strummer; White Man in Hammersmith Palais)

Newcastle has a proud and glorious tradition of independent record shops; not just second hand ones like Pet Sounds or Tony Fiddes’s wonderful Stay Free on Vine Lane that I’ve mentioned here before and where I recently found a copy of the very rare 12” Wedding Present John Peel session EP, including a blistering version of Orange Juice’s Felicity. Incidentally, the only gig I’ve been to this year so far was The Weddoes supporting The Wonder Stuff at the Academy. It was Good Friday; the Weddoes came on stage a 7.00 and were off by 8.10. How were they? Fabulous frankly; 12 songs, 4 new, 8 old. Tight, good humoured, superbly paced and blessed by a VERY appreciative crowd, which should ensure a sold out Sage for their next visit in September. Highlights? You Should Always Keep in Touch With Your Friends starting like a Fall pastiche with Mr Gedge coming on last, Click Click, blinding, 56 sounding like Big Black, Dalliance as ever, Corduroy as ever; simply superb. Obviously I didn’t stay for the headline act.

Now back to the main point, record shops. I’m talking about places to buy new stuff; emporia like Listen Ear or Volume which, in my youth, gave off a tangible frisson of excitement when you walked through the door, anticipating the imminent purchase of your latest slab of obscure John Peel inspired ephemera. These days we’ve got Reflex, Steel Wheels, RPM and the venerable Windows all catering for the expanding niche market that is vinyl sales.

Great eh? Well, let’s stick with two cheers for them at the minute; you see while they do a sterling job for 364 days of the year, there is the vexed question of the existence of Record Store Day on the third Saturday in April; initially it was a celebration of the highest format of music product available, though now it is rapidly losing credibility, possibly as a result of the likes of Justin Beiber having stuff pushed out on this date, but also the tragic spectacle of Undertones re-releases coming out for north of £40. That’s got to be wrong hasn’t it? Unfortunately, if you’re an independent record shop, you’ve no choice other than to buy into the hype and blatant profiteering of RSD.

Despite my principles, I still ended up lashing out just shy of fifty quid on a handful of 7” singles in my store of choice, Reflex. Now, don’t get me wrong, each of the 4 items I bought were of great merit, though I wonder at my sanity when I spent £13 on a Best Coast single that comprised two unreleased out-takes from their last album; Bigger Man and Late 30s are cute slices of sugary, C86 meets the Ronettes girlypop, but I’d have been happier to down load them in retrospect. The other 3 singles I purchased I am delighted with; I’ll return to Who Call the Law? by Trembling Bells later, but suffice to say grabbing the rerelease of Pere Ubu’s seminal debut single 30 Seconds Over Tokyo, replete with claustrophobic, paranoid guilt and a sense of primordial fear that equates to living on the set of David Lynch’s Eraserhead, gave me a sense of accomplishment.

Fifteen years before David Thomas (aka Crocus Behemoth) was stirring in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio, Shirley Collins was a fresh faced country lass up from Suffolk to record for Topic Records. The rediscovery of the master tapes of English Folk Songs 2 is a wonderful coincidence in Shirley’s 80^th year on earth and the 4 tracks, with minimal accompaniment by Robin Williamson on guitar and latterly banjo, allow the clarity and purity of her untrained voice to shine majestically through, especially on a glorious Dance to Your Daddy that pours scorn on Alex Glasgow’s hideously mannered theme to When the Boat Comes In.

Of course, records continue to be released at other points in the year; I’ve even bought a few. Speaking, as we were, of Topic, they’ve released a fascinating pair of 3CD sets of Irish traditional music recorded by the diaspora in London pubs over the past 60 years; It Was Mighty covers the 50s and 60s and It Was Great Altogether brings us up to the present day, showcasing stunning musicianship from fellas who also did 12 hours a day on the buildings before drinking their fill in Camden, Kilburn and bars all over the capital. It’s mainly instrumental, with a few attempts at lilting, but contains none of the clichéd rebel ballads, so unsuitable for expanding my last orders in the Tynemouth Lodge Sean Nos repertoire. Sadly.

Talking of boring old drunks, I wish I’d not bothered with Wise Ol’ Man by The Fall. Title song apart, it’s a live rehash of songs from last year’s Sub Lingual Tablet. Title song included, it’s a dull load of tripe that seems to consist of a homeless derelict mumbling unintelligibly over the top of a ponderous Killing Joke style electronic thud and sludge fest. Utterly without artistic merit.

You can’t say that about the awesome Spilt Milk by former Loft and Weather Prophets frontman Pete Astor. This is a classic album; pressed on milk white vinyl, it successfully harnesses the legacy of Astor’s two previous bands; the charming C86 goofy pop sensibility of The Loft and the slightly careworn Americana of The Weather Prophets. The languid, insouciant brilliance of The Getting There could be a spare track from the Velvets Live 69 it’s that good. Hat tips also to Really Something and Oh You; Astor is a singer with something to say and he leads a band in no hurry to make him say it too fast. Love this record.

Without doubt, the finest new (I’m taking relatively) band in the world are Trembling Bells. Last year’s Sovereign Self album raised their profile and showed a band at the height of its powers. Could they match the crazed, psychedelic early 70s atmosphere of that one? Oh yes indeed; this year’s companion mini album, Wide Majestic Aire, returns more to the folky roots of their early releases. Indeed one of the many stunning moments is Swallows of Carbeth, an optimistic postscript to their juvenile classic Willows of Carbeth. It is a song that they’ve been playing live for around 3 years, while Alex Neilson’s sublime a capella The Day Maya Deren Died has been available as a download from their website for even longer than that. Of course, this is not simply the equivalent of sweeping up fallen leaves for compost; there are some glorious new songs as well, such as England Was Aghast and Marble Arch. Though the absolute stand-out is Neilson’s autobiographical cri de Coeur that is the title track; never have the band flown so daringly high, never has Lavinia’s voice been more beautiful. If last year’s Where is Saint George? is their A Sailor’s Life, then Wide Majestic Aire is their Who Knows Where the Time Goes? A band I love, individually and collectively; you should do the same. The Record Store Day single, a whimsical cover of Dan Haywood’s Who Call the Law? Isn’t half bad either.

The final purchase I’ve made of late is Wire’s Nocturnal Koreans, a companion piece to last year’s eponymous album. Where Wire screamed, pummelled and petrified, Nocturnal Koreans caresses meditatively; as ever the songs tell of arcane existential crisis, but smoothly played intelligent pop sensibility than reminds one more of 154 than Chairs Missing is the keynote approach. A delightful and beguiling slice of the alternative side of Wire, which can still never be called optimistic.

So, what’s next? Gig wise, there’s The Wedding Present in Leeds 28/5, Trembling Bells at The Cumberland 29/6, The Wedding Present at The Sage 9/9, Vic godard and the Band of Holy Joy at The Cumberland 14/10, before the big one; Teenage Fanclub at Whitley Bay Playhouse on 16/11, which will no doubt coincide with their new album. Remember kids, football always lets you down; music never does.

Books:

Not content with listening to music, I’ve continued to read a mixed bag of books, on varying subjects and of varying levels of worth. Christian Ryan’s biography of the lost genius of Australian cricket Kim Hughes, The Golden Boy, is by turns fascinating and maddening. While Ryan clearly set out to write a worshipping hagiography, the refusal of Hughes to give his account of events that fatally undermined his captaincy and scarred, if not curtailed, his later career, is a major flaw. While we hear condemnatory voices of the likes of Lillee, Marsh, Thompson and various Cappell’s, offset by more measured and sympathetic noises by Inverarity, Lawson or Hogg, what would have made this book dynamite would have been the shy, bibulous batsman’s take on it all. Sadly, since his retirement, Hughes has kept his counsel and rarely puts himself forward into the public eye. Considering some of the savage attacks he’s suffered from the media, I can probably sympathise with him.

John Tennant’s Football; The Golden Age is a sumptuous picture book of hundreds of sepia and monochrome photos of football players, supporters, managers and grounds in the first half of the twentieth century. The achingly beautiful nostalgia of the images requires neither text nor commentary, as the human imagination is enough to immerse yourself in the world from when our fathers were infants and grandfathers thronged the terraces. Lovely.

Richard W Hardwick works with disadvantaged and marginalised youths in Sunderland and Newcastle. I’m amazed, therefore, he found time to write a novel proselytising the cause of the feral tac and cider radgies who jump the barriers from Shields to Byker to Pelaw and back again. In all seriousness, the moral force of Kicked Out is seriously diluted by a bafflingly large array of similar characters; there are too many for the reader to gain any sympathy with, especially as Hardwick struggles to delineate them properly. The novel is also too long, containing far too many needless interpolations. Worst of all is the weak, inconsequential ending. Kicked Out is a decent idea and, with judicious editing, could have made a decent book; unfortunately it’s a sprawling, unsatisfactory mess.

Quite the opposite is The Mermaid and the Drunks by Ben Richards. Part murder mystery, part travelogue, part love story, it a richly enjoyable love letter to Chile and her people. The effortless prose and understated descriptions made the tale of rejected amour and family fissures all the more alluring. An enticing and beguiling read. Now, time to get Welsh’s Begbie-based book, The Blade Artist…

Simply the Bez

Just over 24 years ago, Newcastle United staged a remarkable escape from relegation to Division 3, by winning our last 2 games at home to Portsmouth and away to Leicester. In the Pompey team that late April afternoon was a certain John Beresford. Here's a piece I wrote about him for West Stand Bogs #12; the fanzine of Bez's previous club Barnsley. I really hope Newcastle engineer another amazing escape from relegation, though I also hope Barnsley can make it into the League 1 play-offs as well -:

Over Easter, I decided it was time to have one of those infrequent blitzes on the mountain of worthless music and football related rubbish I’ve accumulated over the years, in the guise of memorabilia that “might come in useful.” Raking through a few cardboard boxes of crap, sorting the gig set-lists and team line-ups from the blurred photos of bands and grounds, I came across a letter in a Southampton FC envelope, postmarked February 1998. Curiosity got the better of me and I postponed my ethical cleansing for a delve inside. Turns out it was a response from John Beresford to a note I’d sent him, thanking him for his time on Tyneside and wishing him all the best for the future.

Now, if you’ll ignore the question as to why a 33 year old bloke was writing to a footballer he’d never met, you can’t fail to be impressed by the fact the letter was clearly typed and signed by Beresford himself. Fair play to the bloke for that and fair play to him for making no bones about the fact he loved the North East and played his best football with Newcastle United, because his respect and affection for the club and the region was reciprocated by all fans of the Mags. I’ve genuinely never heard a Newcastle fan with a bad word for Beresford or his understudy at left-back, Robbie Elliott.

Kevin Keegan arrived as Newcastle manager in February 1992, with the situation looking hopeless. However, in those far off, halcyon days, pluck and courage were more important than tactics, meaning he could persuade the shower he’d inherited they were good enough to stay up. Amazingly this worked, but once survival was assured, Keegan overhauled the squad. For someone whose reputation was based on reckless, blood and thunder, attacking football, it is a surprise to note his first permanent signings were Barry Venison, Brian Kilcline and Beresford. The latter, unknown to me during his Man City and Barnsley days, arrived from Portsmouth, where he found fame for missing the crucial penalty when Pompey lost to Liverpool after a replay in an FA Cup semi-final. More pertinently, from a Tyneside perspective, he’d been in the Portsmouth team that lost 1-0 to Newcastle the week previous, which effectively kept us up.

Beresford had been tipped to sign for Liverpool, but a problem with his medical stalled the deal and Keegan brought him to Tyneside instead. £600,000 was a lot of money for us at the time, but Beresford was worth every penny. The 1992/1993 season was a memorable one; Champions with 96 points, Newcastle put in some great performances all across the pitch. Beresford played in 45 league games, scoring once (in a 6-0 win over the Tykes at SJP in April) and even got an England call-up in March; though Graham Taylor opted to play Andy Sinton in the number 3 shirt instead. Such recognition was thoroughly merited as, despite his lack of inches, Beresford had a storming campaign, haring down the wing and slinging in crosses for David Kelly and Andy Cole to greedily gobble up. For the second successive year, Beresford was selected for the PFA Second Division Team of the Season by his fellow professionals. The future looked bright.

1993/1994 saw Newcastle dubbed “The Entertainers” by Sky TV, as we ended a debut top-flight campaign in third spot. Sadly, a nagging groin injury restricted Beresford to a mere 7 appearances, making little impact on the nation’s collective consciousness. Thankfully, he was back to his best in the following year, when Newcastle United hared out of the blocks, only to tail off into a disappointing sixth place. Keegan again rebuilt, bringing in the likes of David Ginola and Les Ferdinand for a tilt at the title.

Beresford played out of his skin for the first 8 months of the 1995/1996 campaign, as the Mags established a seemingly unassailable 14 point lead at the top. Sadly, a series of poor away displays and the relentless march of Manchester United, culminating in Keegan’s “Love it! Just love it!” explosion on television after a win at Elland Road, meant the impossible dream wasn’t to be. However, NUFC fans had detected a gathering storm before that; Beresford was blamed by Keegan for not closing down his man in a desperately tense 1-0 home win over Villa. Instead of accepting his manager’s word, Beresford bit back and blamed Ginola; the famously sensitive Keegan wasn’t having that and hailed Beresford off for Robbie Elliott after only 18 minutes. It was the last we saw of him that season.

Despite the bravado involved in signing Shearer in summer 1996, the reality was Keegan was finished. If he’d left then, we’d have got Bobby Robson earlier. Instead, Keegan left in January 1997 and Kenny Dalglish arrived. This was initially good news for Beresford, as he came back into the team at the expense of Elliott, who was sold to Bolton at the end of a season where Dalglish had somehow managed to avoid a post-Keegan slump and finish second.

Being runners-up parachuted NUFC into the Champions’ League qualifiers, where Beresford suddenly found his goalscoring touch. Having not found the back of the net since that penalty against Barnsley, Beresford hit both in a 2-1 victory over Croatia Zagreb that allowed us to progress to the group stages, where he grabbed another in a 2-2 away to Dynamo Kyiv. Not only that, he got the winner in a 1-0 victory over Villa and the equaliser in a draw against Leicester, both at home. You’d think that was his place at the club secure, but Dalglish had other ideas. Having sold Elliott, he bought the ageing Stuart Pearce and the cowardly Alessandro Pistone to compete for the number 3 shirt. The best left back at the club was being squeezed out.

Hence, unwillingly, Beresford made his way to Southampton. It went well at first, but a cruciate injury sustained in the opening game of the 1998/1999 season curtailed his time on the south coast and he retired at the end of 2000/2001, having made only 2 further appearances. It was an anticlimactic ending for a talented, wholehearted and committed player, who is still a regular in the region at talk-ins, expressing forthright opinions on the club he still feels a strong connection with.