More Than Just Name Calling?

The early afternoon of Saturday November 5^th was possibly as close to sporting nirvana as fans of Newcastle United could legitimately expect to get. Not only did Ryan Taylor score an absolute wonder goal, which alongside his winner over the Mackems and a series of assured, confident displays at left back have won over almost all of his doubters (as well as paying off the debt accrued by all those free kicks he got for Wigan against us), but also the team closed out a comfortable, almost assured home win over Everton to move in to second place in the Premier League. Considering relegation was assumed to be the inevitable result of the squad disposal policy of the summer transfer window by fans and pundits alike, that’s a hell of a place for the club to find itself.

As I’ve said on many occasions; you don’t hear many people talking about Nolan, Carroll or Barton these days, though perhaps alarmingly, you don’t hear many people mentioning David Santon either, but we’ll park that thought for the minute. With Tim Krul in the form of his life, Steve Harper’s move to Brighton on loan has caused barely a ripple among the support; much less the wailing and beating of breasts his pals on the Groat Market would have pretended it would have done. We’ve moved on. The amazing news is that Pardew is the most tactically astute manager we’ve had since Robson, which isn’t saying much I know, but the puppet is now being seen as the pragmatist. If Redknapp’s surgery to remove his VAT return doesn’t go swimmingly, I’d suggest Pardew is a candidate for the White Hart Lane gig, especially if that meant Lee Clark could return to Tyneside, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

To add to that sense of achievement on Guy Fawkes Night, the team remain unbeaten in the league with 25 points from 11 fixtures; if the same 11 fixtures are taken from last season (with QPR replacing Blackpool for the sake of argument), then we’re 18 points better off. In the series of games in between the unnecessary and unwelcome October international break and the recuperative and restorative November Premier League ceasefire, Newcastle won 3 times, at home to Everton, as we’ve noted, against Wigan (courtesy of a beautiful Cabaye strike) and away to Stoke, on a night when Pardew played Pulis at his own game and won by an innings. The ball-drying tactics were a masterstroke that made football tactics uproariously funny.  Lovely fella though Chris Hughton undoubtedly is (and I wish him nothing but success at Birmingham), he could not have set ps his team to play as quarter as well as Pardew has been doing. When I stated I felt Hughton deserved sacking after the Bolton and West Brom away games last year, I was accused of malice; I’d like to think it was foresight.

The other game in October saw a marvellously entertaining 2-2 draw with Spurs, when Shola grabbed a point with a stunning strike past the miraculous and ageless Friedel. In the aftermath of this goal, my celebrations in the Leazes wing of the Milburn Paddock (yes, I actually stirred myself to attend this one) caused my phone to become unlocked and dial a random number. Touchingly, it saw fit to call my late father, whose number I’ve been incapable of deleting from my phone ever since he passed away the day after Bobby Robson. I think the old fella would have appreciated it, as he always defended Shola. Here’s hoping Ameobi Senior can get back to fitness and score a few more of those beauties; he’s only 135 behind Shearer now, so at the current rate of progress, he’ll be our top goal scorer of all time around 2030. Perhaps as a result of the quality of the Spurs game, the crowd was 3k up for Wigan, though there were dark mutterings among my informers of mass a return of the whinging tendency, who demand entertainment or the opportunity to moan about everything under the sun before the mascots have had their photos taken; whilst the twist-faced twats are endemic, I’ll not be back at SJP regularly. Indeed, my next scheduled appearance is against West Brom on December 21^st.  It better not be a bleak midwinter.

Going back to November 5^th, the fact the club moved back down to third after Man United beat the mackems, courtesy of an obligatory, obsequious own goal by former Red Wes Brown, no doubt as a celebration present to mark Ferguson’s 25 years in charge, took nothing away from Newcastle’s magnificent early season run. Perhaps the only low point was the extra time loss to Blackburn in the Carling Cup. The third of a trio of crazy, goal-drenched games that all went to extra time (2-1 at Scunthorpe and 4-3 at Forest) ended with the return of that gnawing, horrid, hollow feeling of impotent despair that defeat engenders. Let’s hope it isn’t destined to be a more frequent visitor than of late; sadly, the fixture list has been unkind to us with a bleak and unpromising set of games to come. However, the real downer about Blackburn was rumours of bad fan behaviour.

A week after NUST rose like lambs after slumber to host their mini-conference on the future of football (which apparently involves zero discussion on the ethics and conduct of the Supporters’ Trust), the past of football reared its ugly head. The same sort of pissed, brainless low-lifes who turned Darlington away in to Christmas Eve in The Lowther circa 1983 with added replica tops, were out in force at Blackburn. Unfortunately, the racist comment brigade was there as well. Having been to Arsenal v Bolton the night before and marvelling at the cross section of races, ethnicities and creeds at that game, I mused just how some of our lot would respond to the presence in the crowd of a sizeable proportion of young women attired in hijabs. Perhaps such stark and unequivocal proof that not only do well live in a multi-ethnic, multu-cultural society, but we’re part of a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural fanbase of a multi-cultural and multi-ethnic football team  may make some of the EDL-supporting, Carling quaffing, poppy fetishists face up to their idiotic prejudices as well.

Clearly I don’t attend many Newcastle games these days and I’ve not been to an away game since Hull in 2009, so I don’t know the full story. I suspect there are isolated pockets of idiots who are reflecting the intolerant zeitgeist of British society as the death agonies of capitalism affect us all. That said, it isn’t acceptable; I’d love our crowd to be self-regulating, but some times that isn’t possible. We discussed this at the Utd4NUFC meeting on Monday 7^th November, where our mission statement was agreed. It states -:

1. To encourage and promote open and honest communication between NUFC and its fanbase, encompassing individual fans and members of supporter associations or similar organisations, with the aim of helping the club excel both on and off the pitch.

2. To respect all participants and their views in order to be an accommodating forum for anyone with an interest in the betterment of NUFC.

 3. To form a credible coalition, representative of the diverse range of opinion held by all those who comprise the fanbase of NUFC.

 As a coalition we are open to and accepting of all opinions except those which are discriminatory on the grounds of race, ethnicity, age, gender, religion, disability or sexual orientation.

How an individual reacts to racism in the ground is up to them, but it was tentatively agreed, if the incident is during a home game, the minimum responsibility for any fan should be to take the seat and row number, then report it to a steward or the club, if you don’t fancy facing some bonehead down. However we deal with it and however few the incidents are, this infection needs cutting out now. Let’s be vigilant and assertive in the face of fascism. This is especially true, not only with the Anton Ferdinand incident, but the abuse suffered on 5^th November by Richard Offiong playing for Spartans versus Colwyn Bay and at Percy Main, when our own Aristote Diamos was racially abused by a Carlisle City player. This stinks; it really does. And I haven’t even mentioned the appalling incident with racist abuse meted out to Sammy Ameobi on Twitter, which has resulted in a couple of arrests of 17 year olds. Some have responded to this by saying they’re only kids; well my son’s 16 and he thinks racism is completely and utterly unacceptable. He would challenge anyone who said anything racist, so don’t try and play the age card. We all need to act like civilised human beings.

Getting back to the team, obviously, there are the gloomy naysayers who point to the current crop of crocks, with Tiote, Cabaye, Marveaux and Obertan joining Ameobi and Williamson on the injured list, though quite how bad the situation will be when we return to competitive action on November 19^th is another matter. While it’s untrue to say the club is in a false position because “Newcastle have played nobody yet” (according to received media wisdom), the next 3 fixtures will be very instructive, though I no longer feel the urge to watch Final Score through my fingers whilst hid behind the sofa.  

With trips to Manchester to play citeh then United in successive weeks, before Chelsea come to visit at the start of December, it is a moot point whether a fast tracked return of any or all of those currently unavailable is a sensible move, considering the fixtures after that are the marginally less intimidating quartet of Norwich, Swansea, West Brom and Bolton.  Indeed, a couple of batterings at the hands of the really big boys may inspire an owner less inscrutable than Ashley to beef up the squad come January. What will happen to Newcastle when the window opens is as much of a mystery and as impossible to predict as ever. The fact still remains; the club is as intriguing off the pitch as on it.

As I completed my first draft of this Blog on Wednesday 9^th November, the news broke that St. James’ Park was to be immediately renamed as the Sports Direct Arena. As you can imagine, this caused the kind of hysterical shit storm that clogged the airwaves and local press for 3 days. While 99% of people were against it, I felt, as a matter of principle, I was required to swim blithely against the tide of popular opinion. You see, I have no problem with this, as I’ll always refer to the ground as St. James’ Park. I do think Ashley should pay for the privilege of having the naming rights to the ground, but I’ll expend neither energy nor hot air on the subject, nor lose any sleep about it. It’s the same as the cut price season ticket deals that were announced after the Wigan game; what a fabulous concept, but what atrocious club PR.

As ever, we heard less than half the story. While Llambias graced Radio Newcastle with some arrogant flannel about it being his job to maximise corporate income and Bobby Moncur toed the Sports Direct line in a way that would have got him chained to the railings in Belfast with a bucket over tar over his head around the time he was lifting the Fairs Cup, the real story broke on Friday night. Northern Rock, no doubt suffering further financial privations, have pulled out of the club sponsorship deal with immediate effect.

Basically, this leaves Newcastle United £15m down and with no name on the front of their shirts. Now, with Captain Colo renegotiating his contract, there is an unpleasant way to make up that saving. Thus, it may be the case that having SJP rebranded is  a bitter pill to swallow, but a necessary one, if Newcastle United are going to be run at a profit, as Llambias seems to insist.

This one is going to run and run, as always.