Bringing Home the Bacon

 Broooth's Front Trotter Mags are having a little rest. Here's my take on how they've done so far...

An underappreciated and oft unmentioned benefit of being a football fan is that joyous feeling of satisfaction you get on waking up the morning after a good win, which as a Newcastle you accept gratefully as it isn’t always obvious where the next reason to be cheerful is coming from. While mid-morning sanguinity perhaps doesn’t compare to bursting out laughing at the sound of the alarm on the Monday after the Spurs game, when recalling the last second penalty that was the best get out of jail free card ever tabled, that wistful smile of happy contemplation gets the day of rest off to a positive start. The two Sunday mornings after the victories over West Ham and Burnley were especially enjoyable; the cerebral equivalent of breakfast in bed. Breakfast in head, if you like…

Someone who must certainly appreciate the value of a full English is Steve Broooooth, not to mention his preference for large cod and chips with a portion of curry sauce from Gorman’s at Cowgate at lunch and teatime. And he certainly warrants an immense smorgasbord of deep-fried, lipid-infused comforting junk food for bringing home the bacon in the two performances against the claret and blue sides that Newcastle beat so comprehensively in the first and last games of the initial segment of the season, now ended by the unhelpful appearance of an international break. It’s best to enjoy our comfortable top-half position while we can, as there are games against: Man Utd, Wolves and Everton in the next tranche of games and to expect anything other than a trio of thumpings shows crass naivete, especially if Broooooth tries to impose his thinking on the players.

It’s an interesting statistic that Newcastle’s two successful outings in the Premier League have been against sides who are still wedded to an inflexible 4-4-2 game plan that, regardless of available personnel, must be strictly adhered to. A self-confessed tacticphobe, Broooooth is also one of the structural dinosaurs still carrying a torch for the football equivalent of black and white telly, Fray Bentos steak and kidney pies, half day closing on a Wednesday and taking delivery of two pints of gold top from the fella in the electric Unigate Dairies float each morning. This sepia-tinged nostalgia for Alf Ramsey’s wingless wonders can only get you so far and when it fails to pay dividends, the results make for grim viewing. Graham Potter may look like a Russell Howard impersonator, but he’s one of the newest English managers on the block and he certainly understands the need for flexibility in team selection.

Perhaps the single most damning fact about Brighton’s defenestration of Broooooth’s Front Foot Mags (I’m being ironic), is that the Just Eat gourmet sent out an unchanged side, including a plainly unfit St. Maximin, for that game. Despite his quaint, almost touching, sense that it was correct to stay as we were, to reward those who’d played West Ham off the park the week previous, the fact is, credible, tactically-aware managers pick the best team for the opponents they are facing. Dated notions that we should “let the opposition worry about us” are examples of lazy thinking and misplaced arrogance. David Moyes is possibly even more out of date in his approach to the game than Broooooth. It’s alright to celebrate a win against one of his sides as an example of a job done well, but to invest any importance to those 3 points when your next opponents come to town, unless they are Burnley, West Brom or Newcastle United, is a disproportionate reaction. Then again, West Ham have dismantled Wolves and Leicester in successive games, so what do I know?

I like Andy Carroll; he’s got the second best haircut at the club, behind Jeff Hendrick, now that Darlow no longer resembles Nick Cave, but he offers little or no threat up top. It isn’t as if he is missing chances; he simply isn’t having any efforts on goal. Alright, his aerial prowess remains relatively undimmed and he can still lay the ball off with unerring accuracy, but his mobility is so restricted he could justifiably apply for Disability Living Allowance. It’s like watching Duncan Ferguson in his second season, but without the goals. He tried his best, but the Brighton game was the day his race was run. Graham Potter understands the need for fluency; that’s why he shunted Glenn Murray out the door.

The point I’m trying to make is that not that we should dispense with Carroll entirely, as there will be a time when nuanced play must be jettisoned for aerial bombardment, but that discussions based around trying to pick a best XI are pointless. While Wilson must start every league game, as must St. Maximin, the appearances of Frazer, Almiron and Joelinton must be dictated by a differing tactical approach to each and every opposition side. Same with midfield: Hayden is a shoo-in, but his compadres in the centre should be selected from a revolving cast. I like Hendrick and Sean, but don’t get the reason Shelvey, who correctly identified how much better our football generally is when compared to the Benitez dictatorship, gets so little praise. He’s a good passer, scores the odd goal and generally thinks creatively. Also, I hope Matty gets back in the side when we need a muck and bullets battler.

Looking at our squad, I’d imagine there are quite a few contracts about to be paid up, especially considering the extensive list of those coming to the end of their deals next summer: the non-playing trio of Aarons, Lazaar and Saivet we can take as read, but I can’t see any futures for Atsu, Yedlin, Carroll or Gayle, unless something dramatic happens for either of the latter two. The jury is out on Fernandez, Schar and Clark, not to mention loanee Lejeune, but injury and loss of form makes centre back no longer a position of strength but one of concern.

Being a dinosaur does sometimes work in Broooooth’s favour. Witness his disarmingly honest reaction to the penalty at Spurs, especially in contrast to Mourinho’s increasingly bizarre stream of consciousness responses in interviews that appear to be based upon Michel Houllebecq’s template for discussing the disintegration of human society in these appalling times. Mind, Broooooth did himself no favours with his increasingly tetchy and hyper-sensitive reactions to criticism, real or imagined. Even his interview after Burnley was spoiled by crowing rather than simply celebrating.

Of course, to huge numbers of the Newcastle social media dysfunctional family, Broooooth can never do right and will always struggle to gain even grudging respect, though I must admit to laughing out loud at the observation the most enjoyable Premier League game we’ve seen where Broooooth was the manager, was the 5-1 twatting of the Mackems. That is slightly unfair, but nothing compared to the grudgeful, small-minded miseries who refuse to give the big man a scintilla of praise for getting us to a very winnable League Cup quarter final, bitterly observing we’ll probably be relegated by then. Alright so we stunk the place out against Blackburn and Newport, but at least we tried, however embarrassing that makes the Newport game in retrospect.

If you respond to any positive result for Newcastle United with anything other than joy unconfined, it’s not a question of red or brown on your bacon stottie, but arsenic or hemlock.