I’ve been wanting to blog about Newcastle United since the close season transfer business and the other attendant circus sideshow attractions started to kick in, but made the decision to wait until the season itself got underway to try and make some sense of it all, hoping that I’d be granted a sense of perspective by time. However, rather like Zhou Enlai when asked in 1972 about the historical importance of the French Revolution of 1789, I feel “it is too soon to say” exactly what the eventual impact of events such as the sale of Nolan and Enrique, the pitch invasion at Darlington, an insane pre-season jaunt across America when 3 players were denied entry visas and another had the unwanted distraction of a fortnight’s delay to his return, the signing of players mainly because they appear to be French speakers and presumably able to communicate with each other, not to mention the on-field and on-line saga of Joey Barton will be. I’ll have a go at interpreting things anyway.
When last season ended in a chorus of frustrated booing after the second half capitulation versus the Baggies saw us drop from 9th to 12th in the final Premier League table, to my mind there were 2 obvious candidates to be moved on from the Newcastle playing squad, as well as the assumed transfer of Jose Enrique, which assumed the role of a lo-cal Fabregas deal in its elongated timescale. However, he’s gone eventually and, like the Carroll money, we’ll never see it again, as Liverpool no doubt storm in to the League Cup quarter finals while heroically jostling with Spurs for the Europa League spot. Ho-hum.
What of those who seemed also likely to move? Well, we’ll ignore the likes of Leon Best, Niall Ranger and Danny Guthrie being put on the transfer list, as any and every player in the club has a price, as the on-going rumours about Coloccini’s move to Valencia may well have some truth in them by the end of August. Firstly, Alan Smith, who has been abject in his 4 years here and basically, ought to have retired after his horrific injury for Man United against Liverpool back in 2004. Another was Fraser Forster; a stiff, lumbering wardrobe with the reactions of a plesiosaur on ketamine. I’ve seen him have the piss taken out of him by Ian Graham and Mickey Chilton against Benfield in the Northumberland Senior Cup. He seemed a shoo-in at Parkhead where he’d picked up a Cup Winners medal and looked to have a decent career ahead of him, picking up an array of domestic winners’ medals and humiliating defeats in the qualifying rounds of European competitions on thundery nights in late July in the Transdanubian basin. Surprisingly he’s still here, seemingly as back up to Krul with Harper out of the picture, which is no great loss as the cuprinol complexioned one can only get worse. I have a feeling the presence of Forster and Smith is still much to do with the friendly loss to Leeds United at the end of July.
In recent years, friendlies have assumed semi-mythic proportions in the history of Newcastle United; the post relegation 6-1 mauling at Orient in July 2009 and subsequent dressing room inquest is largely credited with the birth of an indomitable democratic centralistbteam spirit among the vanguard of “this group of lads,” who embarked on the wonderful 2009/2010 promotion season. Post Hughton however, the players’ Central Committee have started to look vulnerable as the silent sportswear Stalin and his assistant Derek Dzerzhinsky began to pick them off. Nolan, the most vocal and articulate of the alpha players, was sold to West Ham early this summer. Initially after many supporters received this bewildering news in a manner reminiscent of Macduff learning of the fate of his family in Act IV of the Scottish play, Nolan has been forgotten about. While he scored the winner for the Hammers in his second game for them, it has to be recognised he is playing his second season out of three in the Championship and has been replaced by a French Championnat winner in Cabaye. The jury is thus out as regards the effect on pitch activities by those charged with representing the black and whites.
There is no such doubt as regards the value or otherwise of the pissed pitch invasion by a few hundred beer up radgies and teenages charvas at Darlo when Sammy Ameobi scored. It has been roundly condemned in a way that pre-echoed the sombre, shallow and unhelpful rhetoric of the ruling classes in the wake of the post Tottenham civil disorder. To me, that’s bullshit. The pitch invasion at Darlo wasn’t shameful, it was daft. It certainly wasn’t 1974 v Forest re-enacted. Move on, there’s nothing to see. For goodness sake, don’t adopt the reactionary rhetoric of the ruling classes as displayed in the second week of August.
The Leeds friendly is more important than that night for several reasons. Firstly Forster was woeful; the club’s brinkmanship in trying to extract top dollar from the ‘Tic backfired as he spilled 2 in to his net, meaning the Bhoys are looking elsewhere for a first choice gloveman. Thus he’s on the bench for us, with Harper’s time on Tyneside looking to be at an end. Remember, Chris Hughton has sold Ben Forster at Birmingham. How ironic would it be for Harper to end up across the second city from his friend and rival, the wonderful, God-like Shay Given? The Leeds friendly was also important as, seemingly unnoticed; it put the mockers on Alan Smith’s widely anticipated free transfer back “home,” as Ken Bates wouldn’t pay the bloke’s wages. However, with Simon Grayson under fire and a proposed takeover of the Elland Road outfit in the offing, we must again watch this space. Smith as player coach? It has a certain compelling logic.
Finally, the game was important for drawing the Joey Barton saga to another of its heads. Never mind the elephant in the room; this is the hydra in the club. Having been ready to sign a new contract when Carroll was flogged, Barton has been playing with the emotions of the fan base ever since, with the skill of a Jacobean dramatist exploring the nuances of character development in a 5 act tragedy, via the 140 character microblogging format on Twitter. Well, when he hasn’t been calling journalists “massive helmets,” demanding (without apparent irony) rioters were “steamed in to” by the cops, presumably at 4.30am in McDonald’s, or quoting Morrissey and Nietzsche that is. Barton is a clever lad, but not half as smart as he’d like to be. Like many of those who’ve recovered from addiction, rather like small children or Alzheimer’s victims, he has a certain monomania that makes him feel the world is actually revolving round him; not in a mentally ill paranoid way, but in an egotistical way that betrays a lack of mature insight in to the significance and importance of events.
Time will no doubt give him perspective, but he will be long gone from the professional game never mind Tyneside before that happens. At the minute, he probably sees himself as the Rosa Parkes of Newcastle United when being dragged off the bus at Elland Road to be given a free transfer. His Mandela-esque exile to train with the juniors was replaced by a PW Botha approach to policing civil disorder, before he was called back in from the cold to take part in the 0-0 with Arsenal. At that point, I’d had enough of him, just wanting him out the club as I found his relentless self-publicity had gone from being intriguing and amusing, to vain and shameful and finally boring. However 90 minutes of being kicked to kingdom come by a rapidly declining and rudderless Arsenal made me Barton’s admirer again, especially seeing that disgraceful stamp by Song.
Ironically, that is the part I’m least able to comment on. While I admit to knowing nothing of Cabaye, Ba, Marveaux, Abeid and having only seen Obertan and the injured Ben Arfa on telly, I can’t even begin to comment on the opening day 0-0, having chosen to take in Heaton Stann 1 Harraby 4 before heading to Middlesbrough to see The Wedding Present. My personal tipping point has long been reached; with this gig on there was no way I was going to miss it for football. If it hadn’t been on I’d have taken a free ticket or even paid £5 to watch it, but no more. I certainly wouldn’t have watched it in a pub. In the end, I saw the last 15 minutes, walking in to a bar just as Gervinho trotted down the tunnel.
What I did see was Shearer’s bitter, intemperate rage at Barton on “Match of the Day.” I’m with Joey as regards slaphead; the Diet Souness took Newcastle down by focussing on banning mobile phones and wearing suits, rather than trying to take more than a single point from Portsmouth and Fulham at home. Sitting on a BBC sofa and working out a personal grievance is shameful and embarrassing, betraying him as lacking class, dignity or a sense of personal responsibility. He’s gone from hero to traitor at Newcastle United.
So, one game in and we’ve gained a point and had the club charged with failing to control the players. Happy New Season eh? Next up; the mackems away. We’ve no left back and the strike force looks impotent to the point of being actively improved by the presence of Leon Best on the pitch. I’m not making this up. Thank goodness for Percy
Cracking read. Cheers.
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