Howe Great Thou Art

2017/2018: 44 points; 10^th place - El Estafador Gordo

2018/2019: 45 points; 13^th place - El Estafador Gordo

2019/2020: 44 points; 13^th place – Algarve Broooooth

2020/2021: 45 points; 12^th place – Algarve Broooooth

2021/2022: 49 points; 11^th place – Nice Guy Eddie

The table above represents the end of season position of Newcastle United at the end of the last 5 seasons since their promotion back to the Premier League in 2016/2017, as well as indicating who was the manager in each of these campaigns. Ostensibly, it reflects a period of relative mid-table security, with hints at improvement in the season just ended, both in terms of points and final position. This, as we know from experience of living through these last 5 years of Newcastle United, is an example of statistical mendacity. While accepting that the league table never lies, rendering spurious all arguments that claim the team was somehow “lucky” to avoid relegation, what cannot be denied is the abominable aesthetics of performances under both Benitez and Bruce. For more than 4 seasons, with the number of exceptions countable on the fingers of one hand, the football played by Newcastle United was sterile, contemptible and cowardly. Possession was ceded as an article of faith, attacking intent was almost entirely absent and, as time went on, the rigid functionalism of Benitez’s ultra-cautious defence-based play was abandoned in favour of the brand of lazy disorganisation that Norwich and Watford specialised in over the last 9 months.

One point I am absolutely clear on is that the takeover of Newcastle United by the House of Saud, under the aegis of that despotic regime’s PIF, was a morally malignant act that has besmirched the history and traditions of my club. Make no mistake, the odious Mike Ashley’s stewardship of Newcastle United had a catastrophic effect on the club’s standing in the game and the level of hatred directed at him by a fanbase whose beloved club was treated with base contempt simply isn’t understood by almost everyone without an emotional investment in the club; that said, he has never executed 81 dissidents in one day, advocated the death penalty for women accused of adultery or the defenestration of gays. For all supporters of Newcastle United who are able to park questions of morality, however troubling it is to do so or, as appears to be the case for the vast majority, who do not appear able to appreciate the ramifications of offering up uncritical support for not just Staveley and the Ruben Brothers, but the scions of the Saudi state, the takeover has been an almost unqualified success. For a start, ignoring the meatheads in fancy dress or the buffoons bevvying on the forecourt, it enabled the departure of arch charlatan Algarve Bruce, which eventually ushered in the arrival of Nice Guy Eddie which, in turn, brought back a sense of fun rather than a miserable duty in supporting NUFC.

Frankly, the fact Newcastle climbed to 11^th place and gained 49 points after failing to win until the 15^th game, is little short of miraculous especially, and this may be seen as treasonous among the more zealous members of the support, as the early days of Howe’s administration were not promising; nothing showed this more than the Cambridge United FA Cup debacle. After that fiasco, things could only get better and, following the arrivals of Bruno, Targett, Trippier and, to an extent, Wood, not to mention the reveille or renaissance of Fraser, Joelinton, Krafth and Longstaff among others, they did. Once we climbed out of the bottom 3 after beating Everton at SJP on February 8^th, we never again sat in a relegation place.

That said, there were still bumps in the road and when we last examined Newcastle’s progress, payaso de mierda: A Close Shave (payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.com), it was on the back of two successive away defeats to Chelsea and Everton, especially when that became 3, after Spurs kicked our arses up and down Tottenham High Road. Having been unaccountably distracted by Rotherham v Sutton in the Football League Trophy final, I didn’t tune into our game until almost half time, when I was elated to see us take the lead courtesy of Schar’s free kick. I’d actually have been better turning over after that, as it was all downhill following that. Mind, as the harbingers of social media doom utterly failed to recognise, Spurs are one hell of a side going forward and we were simply outclassed. Indeed, the 4 games we lost in the last 10 were all away to sides who qualified for the Champions’ League.

So, with 30 games gone, we still only had 31 points, with only two teams below us left to play. The situation wasn’t grim, but it required a certain degree of grit and application to get us to safety. Four successive wins went some way to achieving this and, in retrospect, the first of those over Wolves was of crucial importance, as it reminded the team they could win ugly. File this alongside Villa and Brighton at home; we shaded a dull game by sticking at it. Concentration at the back married to application in midfield and determination up top. The much maligned (generally by me) Chris Wood had his best game for us and his penalty was enough to win the game as Wolves performed on the toothless side of terrible.

Ben and Lucy had missed out on tickets for the Wolves game, but with a bit of help from my mate John in County Kildare, we got them seats for the Leicester game. I took my perch in The Rising Sun in Wallsend with my pal Curly Gary and ended up somewhere near the ceiling at full time. The game itself saw a cracking first half backed up by an excellent use of VAR to award our equaliser, and an utterly woeful second period. Frankly St Maximin was dismal all game which, allied to the fact we offered nothing up top, meant the only solace to be drawn was from our defensive solidity. And then, Willock got on and set up Bruno, at the end of one of the runs of the season, for the winner. The pub went ballistic and, soon after, when I met Ben and a still visibly shaking Lucy in The Bodega, the pub (albeit a different one) was still going ballistic. From then until my journey home, the chants of “Bruno” reverberating around the town showed no sign of diminishing. And why the hell not? He’s a world class player, who has completely bought into the ethos of the club and the positive aspects of the area, creating a mutual adoration society that I can’t recall since the early days of Ginola. Of course, a decent World Cup and he’ll be off to La Liga for £150m, so we’d best enjoy him while we can.

I’ve never been one interested in dodgy streams of games, and I maintained that stance during the Palace game. Despite getting several reliable links from social media, all I saw were zillions of pop-up porn adverts. Hence, with no live domestic coverage, I opted for Sky Sports News and then Match of the Day, being frustrated by minimal coverage on both. What I did see was an assured first half performance, including a long overdue telling contribution from Almiron, and a dull second half with Zaha wasting every piece of good possession Palace achieved. Perhaps the biggest surprise was St Maximin keeping his place ahead of Willock, especially after the dramatic end to the Leicester game. The surreal fact at full time was that Newcastle had clocked up 40 points and 6 successive home wins for the first time since 2004; who on earth expected that state of affairs when we were getting our arses handed to us on a weekly basis under Algarve-Bruce? The Palace game was a tribute to the guts and guile approach of Howe; the Norwich victory was a celebration of Brazilian flair.

43 points and a place in the top half of the table were the ultimate rewards for another scintillating display by Bruno and Joelinton. The latter’s finish for his first goal made me question whether the shambling oaf who appeared to be Lenny from Of Mice and Men in a football kit against the likes of Rochdale, is the same beast that terrorises defences and bites into brilliant tackles these days. His second showed great predatory instincts and Bruno’s immaculate finish was almost wasted on a keeper as inept as Krul. Howe made 4 changes to the side that had eased past Palace, and every single one of them put in a storming performance. In fact, the only NUFC person to have a bad weekend was the predatory misogynist Steve Wallwork, who refused to accept the error of his ways.

Obviously, there are better teams than us, and we lost to them both without scoring in our next couple of games. I didn’t see any of the Liverpool loss as I was playing cricket, but I was almost pleased by the narrow nature of the defeat, even if they scarcely stirred out of second gear. The result showed us two things; just how far we’ve come, as it wasn’t a hammering, and just how far we still have to go, as we couldn’t lay a glove on them. I said at the time Man City wouldn’t be so compassionate, and they weren’t. In the wake of their Madrid nightmare, I predicted they come again, viciously, and trounce us 6-0. In fact, I had no cause to be disappointed in either the score or the performance, despite only seeing the last 20 minutes after Northumberland v Cheshire at South North. I was encouraged by the performance of Sicknote Wilson, though saddened by the late gloss they added to the score by savaging our already dismembered corpse. Man City are in a different stratosphere to us and there’s absolutely no point in crying about such a loss on social media.

If you want to see cryarsing on the net, Arsenal fans do it best of all. They really raised the bar again after this one, seriously suggesting the team be made to walk back to London. You see Arsenal are absolute cowards when it comes down to it, and I’d fancied us to get something from this game, which is why John got me a ticket to accompany him on his last visit to SJP in his 60s. Despite the surprising level of noise generated by 500 Gooners outside The Victoria & Comet, they were silenced from the first whistle onwards. Not only did Newcastle play them off the park throughout the game, but the display by Wor Flags melted the heart of this cynical old curmudgeon. I’ve not heard the ground as loud, proud and defiant as this in years.

And what about those goals? St Maximin’s instinctive lay off to Joelinton, who produced the best cross I’ve seen all season for the opener or Sean’s sublime flick (worthy of a 3-year deal that one) and Bruno’s predatory instinct for the second. Even more delicious than the pre- and post-game bevvies in The Bodega and The Trent. We’ve got some very good players in our squad and working with Eddie Howe is helping them be even better. Benitez scared them and Algarve Bruce indulged them; Eddie works with them to produce a united display of solidarity and belief that is the equal of the fans’ pride off it. I could fall in love with this club all over again you know. I might even get the green and white third kit; not that I’m a fan of Saudi Arabia, but I am a staunch supporter of Hibernian and Irish Republicanism.

Sadly, not everything I hoped for came to pass, as our win over Burnley meant Dirty Leeds stayed up. Don’t get me wrong, I have no affection for a club that Eddie bailed on years back as the job was too big for him and who offloaded Chris Wood onto us. For me, Burnley are the epitome of former Red Wall Labourites turned reactionary racists with small minds in a small town; they won’t be missed. I missed the game as, for no apparent reason, Sky opted against showing it live. The highlights again showed Wilson to be almost the complete Premier League centre forward, if only he could be relied on to remain fit. Wood isn’t, of course, and he’s one of a number of lads who may well be out the door over the summer and, other than Hendrick I guess, they’ll probably go with our best wishes.

The close season offers up the exciting prospect of Newcastle United improving the squad for the second transfer window running; if that comes to pass, then the nightmare of the Ashley Years will truly begin to fade.