Fulham Fallout

By rights, I shouldn’t even have been in the country, never mind at St. James’ Park watching my 9^th successive visit of Fulham. The last encounter between the two sides I’d missed was the 1-1 draw on a Monday night in April 2002 when I was at a conference in Bournemouth. I shouldn’t have seen this one either; I should have been in the Cusack Stand at Croke Park watching Dublin drag themselves past Donegal, the Stoke City of GAA, by the margin of 0-08 to 0-06, in what has been widely reported as being the worst All Ireland Semi Final in living memory.

However, the lousiness of the game would not have taken the shine off my intended first visit to Croker, as it is a huge mark against my assumed Irishness that I’ve never seen a game of bogball in my life. Well apart from Cu Chulainn’s versus Brothers Pearse (Huddersfield) at Killingworth in April 2009 that is, but we’ll not go there just now.

Anyway, it would also have only been a small part of a weekend that had been scheduled to begin  on the Thursday with the cricket at Clontarf, where Ireland were taking on England, captained by Eoin “William Joyce” Morgan. The FAI Cup last 16 Louth derby at Hunky Dory’s Park between Drogheda and Dundalk was to be my Friday entertainment, with Saturday a toss-up between coming west along the road for another FAI tie, between Sligo and Louis Copeland’s XI Monaghan United, managed by Roddy “Howyas” Collins or heading in to the heart of D4 for the rugger at the AVIVA where the Oppressors were the visitors in a World Cup warm up. I’d even contemplated rebooking the flight back, delaying my return until Tuesday early so I could finally get to Tallaghtfornia to see the Shams hosting UCD in the Cup. In the end, despite splashing out on a £19.98 return flight, I didn’t see any of it, because I didn’t go.

Frankly I didn’t end up missing much, other than stoking the fiery embers of my passionate, abiding love of the old country and sinking upwards of 5 gallons of liquid rope. The Dirty English Bastards won the rugby and the cricket, Drogs and Dundalk played out a dreary 1-1 draw and the GAA was as reported. Frankly, the best fun to have been had would have been winding up the St. Pat’s and Celtic fans in the New Town in Maynooth about Shams qualifying for the Europa League group stages, while the Tic crashed out (subjected to an appeal about some convoluted Sionist conspiracy; did you like what I did there?). For a variety of complex questions involving responsibility, obligation and duty, I missed out on a small lake of black porter, some grand craic and a cross-code sporting weekend par excellence. However, I had a decent time over here I must admit, even if the ethnic pangs of alienation and despair were keenly felt.

Thursday night involved watching Newcastle away to Scunthorpe in the League Cup second round. Now I’m not normally a fan of watching our games in the pub; while I can choose which bar to watch it in and what to drink, I can’t control the mindless inanities of those sitting or standing in the immediate vicinity. This goes back to a 6-0 loss to Man United in January 2008 when Allardyce had just been pedalled. Some clown in the bar declared Newcastle had tried to get Mark Hughes in as boss, but couldn’t because “it’s something to do with a transfer window for managers.” This was, and is, horseshit, so I told him so in unequivocal terms, but he was having none of it, as apparently his mate had texted him about seeing it on Facebook, which along with Wikipedia is the font of all knowledge in the post-cultural era. Cretins like this drink Fosters or, more often, Carling. They don’t sell those beers in The Cumberland, where I chose to watch it in the company of other middle aged Real Ale bores supping a nice steady 6 pints of Wylam Golden Tankard. Nobody complained when I was bouncing up and down on the seats when Raylor equalised and then Ameobi Minor won it either, which was a pleasant surprise on reflection. When Sammy scored I was on the piss.

Friday night provided some cultural pleasure. The magnificent Trembling Bells were playing The Cluny and, having adored all 3 of their albums and recommended them to play this place when I’d seen them back in April with the Unthanks, I felt beholden to be there. Obviously it’s nice when a band are setting up and they wave and smile to you from the stage, exchange a few pleasantries and then dedicate a song to you. For the second successive time, it was “Willows of Carbeth” and I felt duly humbled. They were brilliant as well; moving slightly away from the explicit folky roots of Fairport Convention towards an artier, progressive sound that reminded more of Incredible String Band or even, dare I say it, Henry Cow, though not quite that challenging.  Totally sober, I sang tunelessly but word perfectly along, exchanged warm handshakes at the end of the night and headed home.

 Saturday means football. Having been magnificent off the bench for Winstons last time out (3-0 when I went on after 15 and 3-0 at full time), I was disgusted to be dropped again. Then again, after a calamitous 4-1 loss to Billingham Vets, I was lucky to be SNU for this one. With Percy Main away to Blyth Town, I was unable to do both Over 40s and the Villagers, so I missed out on a glorious 3-0 win against a bogey side we’d never previously beaten in any competition. Instead, I met up with Michael Hudson (http://theaccidentalgroundhopper.blogspot.com/) for Chemfica v Gosforth Bohemians in the Alliance Division 1. After Benfield School, Cartington Terrace, Cochrane Park and now Coach Lane, this was the fourth home ground I’d seen Chemfica play at in a 2 mile radius during the past 4 seasons. It didn’t bring them any luck, as they went down 2-0 to a youthful Bohemians outfit, but you’d best read Michael’s account if you want to know the ins and outs of this game. From there, I headed back down Coach Lane to catch the last half hour and final goal of Team Northumbria’s 4-0 win over a very poor Thornaby side. With my proper football urges satisfied, it was time to focus on the loathsome Premiership.

In my last Newcastle themed blog post, “The Charmless Men,” I pondered how much I would be prepared to pay to watch a Newcastle game, providing I didn’t have something better to do with my time of course. I came up with the nominal figure of £5. That sum is based on it being a Premier League fixture; for a cup tie (especially a League Cup tie), I would probably go up to £15, depending on whether it was on terrestrial TV or not. After 37 years of support and 20 years of being a season ticket holder, including 6 years when I lashed out for 2 season tickets, I find it half insulting and half hilarious that the Newcastle United Box Office (yes, I know…) database has me down as being in possession of 41 Membership Loyalty Points. I honestly find it difficult to visualise what this concept actually means, as I don’t recall ever becoming a member of Newcastle United or just where these mysterious loyalty points came from. While I bought tickets and went to each and every home game at St James Park after returning from Slovakia in 2001, apart from the April 2002 Fulham game, until Keegan’s departure in September 2008, the number of away games I applied for was negligible. Possibly these 41 points have been awarded as recompense for my level of acceptable support, though I’m unsure what’s the maximum rating possible for dutifully observing the CONFORM! CONSUME! OBEY! mantra is.

Where I do believe the club deserves some kudos is in their swift response to the Fiorentina abandonment.  I’ve no doubt that under a previous administration, those who’d seen their afternoon curtailed by the inclement weather may have been fobbed off with a free pint or a half price cup ticket in return. Indeed, I remember the Oxford abandonment of March 1991; when it was replayed the following month, only those with season tickets got in for free. The poor buggers who’d half drowned in the Gallowgate and the Leazes had to shell out another £7; “league rules” said the McKeagues, behind beatific smirks that cemented their image for me as being the Barclay Twins crossed with a brace of Mr Punch puppets. The Ashley regime is nothing if not sensitive to money; empty seats in the ground don’t buy drinks, snacks or programmes. Not only that, acres of empty grey plastic looks bad in the sales brochure, like a broken garden fence or graffiti on the garage door when trying to sell your house. Consequently, they allowed those with Fiorentina tickets to exchange them for Category C Premiership games; Fulham, Wigan, Blackburn and the like, to try and nudge the attendance figure above the critical 40k mark.

The one problem with this is, and I’m speculating here, the crowd of 12,000 versus Fiorentina, a great name from the past but holding little cachet these days as Serie A flounders in the European doldrums, would probably have included only a small percentage of part timers or the curious. Most in attendance would have been regulars and overwhelmingly season ticket holders; so why would they need a free ticket when they’ve already got one? There was talk of NUFC Fans United (and I’ve a feeling I’ll be blogging about my involvement in this loose amalgam fairly soon) organising a redistribution of Fiorentina tickets to the needy but, like the scarf day against Fulham, it didn’t quite happen. That is a pity, but at least it meant I got a freebie (thanks Jamie) in the North East corner and a great view it was too.

Apart from my bicycle, my favourite toy is my Ipod. I don’t go anywhere without it. This day it had kept me company from home to the ground and all the way up until kick off, with the usual mixture of Teenage Fanclub, The Wedding Present and The Fall tracks to soothe me in my own personal happy space. As the game was about to kick off, I put it away. Within 10 minutes I wanted it back on, not because the middle aged woman next to me had warbled “Home Newcastle” in such an alarmingly maudlin way as the teams came on to the pitch, but because of the incessant whining of the three pricks sat behind me. If you are, or if you happen to know, those sitting in LL 6, 7 & 8 in the North East corner, please can you do me and all of those sitting nearby who tried to lift the team during the Fulham match, a great big favour by shutting the fuck up if you’ve nothing constructive to say.

One of the key factors in me abandoning the club in 2009 were the two tachey moaners from Ashington who sat 3 rows behind as I’d realised I’d have to kill them if I ever wanted to enjoy a game in the Gallowgate again. Right at the other end of the ground I had the same constant bleating today and I knew exactly why I would never be a regular at SJP again. At Percy Main if someone makes an error, you encourage and you support; here today mistakes were assumed and apportioned, even when none had been made. Possession football was frowned upon, which was insane when Cabaye looked a sparkling acquisition with the ability to run the game.  

Admittedly the first half, up until the 40 minute mark, was terribly cagey and despite the eventual outcome, the forward line of Best and Lovenkrands didn't inspire confidence in anyone. That said, what is achieved by repeatedly slagging off Best, Lovenkrands, Obertan, Tiote (who is apparently a “flash in the pan, one season wonder” and “a liability” according to these clowns) and Ba, who wasn’t even on the pitch? All it did was unsettle those who were trying to lift the team, not in the self-consciously Messianic, Level 7 ultra uber shoewaving kind of a way, but by being positive and encouraging their team. The pervasive climate of intolerant negativity allowed the waverers to side with the sulkers, as it seemed they were holding sway in our section. Like any form of bullying, those doing the name calling are a tiny minority of miscreants who are eventually aided and abetted by the weak and the wary, once they see it is acceptable to be antagonistic. This is wrong on every possible level.

At half time, with the game goalless, the three were discussing what sort of players Pardew needed to buy; left back, striker and creative midfielder were the obvious conclusions they reached. Despite the fact any one of the 7 year old ball boys at the perimeter of the pitch could have come to this conclusion based on the 45 minutes we’d just watched, they obviously felt they were a kind of Magpie Brains Trust. However I had to interject and point out what the club really needed above all was new fans that would be prepared to support the team rather than snipe, bitch and barrack. Thankfully two Best goals and three outstanding Krul saves meant maximum points for the Magpies, the first time I’d seen such an occurrence in the top flight since  May 2009; it also meant further discussions with those three were not needed. Anyway, they’d cleared off even before Clint Dempsey had cut the deficit, so they didn’t get to see me in paroxysms of fear we’d throw the game away. Goodness the full time whistle sounded sweet!

I did enjoy the game; the presence of Krul and Cabaye mean there are some potentially world class players on the pitch, while the imperious Coloccini and newly disciplined Steven Taylor are a great centre back pairing. However, the squad is paper thin and even before Enrique, Nolan and Barton left the club, we needed more bodies in. That is now an absolute imperative and as I write this, 48 hours before the window closes, I can’t say with any degree of certainty I expect new faces to appear. Those three departures have been debated to death, but suffice to say that if the latter had been true in his protestations of love for the club and fans, he’d not have gone to Loftus Road on a £70k per week gap year. It was a decision no better than Nolan’s to take West Ham’s money; at least Enrique was leaving with some semblance of ambition, rather than just to make even more money. In mitigation, Barton did look stylish in the stands at Wigan.

Despite the club’s sensible early spending with the June signings, Newcastle have reverted to type and are scrambling around looking for cast-offs in the bargain bins just as the shop shutters are being rolled down.  It isn’t good enough and it is worrying. Frankly I fear that there may be 1 more high profile departure before 11pm on Wednesday night.  Mind, having seen the state of Spurs and Arsenal in the televised games later in The Bodega, I wonder if we should all pack up and go home as the Premiership appears to be going the way of La Liga, with two behemoths out front, half a dozen plucky underdogs and the rest making up the numbers and trying to avoid relegation.

Monday morning saw me back on home turf; hungover and tired as I gloomily watched Percy Main Amateurs 0 Seaton Delaval 2. It was shite! Anyone got a spare for the Spurs game on October 16^th?