While I’ve barely stopped skipping around the room in joyous
rapture at the news about that appalling four eyed twat Colin Murray getting
his cards from MotD2, there hasn’t been a great deal else to laugh about
during the past week; realising that IPhones autocorrect “mackems” to “jackets”
was about as good as it got, though seeing the descendants of the Boys of 73
clumsily tumbling out of the FA Cup at home to Bolton in front of barely 17k
cheered me up no end. Even better was the news that Michael Owen had suffered
the indignity of a bird shitting on his head; the Twitterati speculated
that it must have been a vengeful Magpie to blame, which was funny. However,
hoping that Michael Owen was the pilot of the helicopter that crashed near
Vauxhall station last Wednesday simply wasn’t funny. It’s especially not funny if you’re the kind of blind guide who strains
at a gnat and swallows a camel by spending considerable amounts of time befriending
FCUM fans, even if you don’t actually go to any games with them, as well as
(rightfully) decrying Munich chanting against Manchester United. The Biblical
reference in the previous sentence (Matthew 23:24) is actually a pun, as the
Aramaic word for “camel” (galma) is very similar to the word for “gnat”
(gamla). The Ancient Greeks were great fans of punning, or paronomasia as it was known, believing it to be a sign of
intellectual suppleness and rhetorical skill.
Sadly, this is no time for rhetorical sophistry; no time for
jibes about treating the Royals like royalty, double-teaming the team in yellow
shirts or playing milky biscuit with the Biscuitmen. Instead, taking my cue
from the unequivocal, forthright Hegelian dialecticians, who provide the same
answer to every question they’re asked, regardless of the subject, let me state
at the very outset that I want Alan Pardew to remain as manager of Newcastle
United for the foreseeable future. I say this in the full and frank realisation
that the last 25 minutes of the tortuous disaster that was the Reading game
left those of us who count ourselves as unapologetic members of the pro Pardew
faction with absolutely nothing on which to base our support for him. Stating
that you believe Pardew is the right man for the job at around 5pm on Saturday
was almost to admit that Leon Festinger’s theory of cognitive dissonance had
taken root in the NE1 area. As Frantz Fanon, the French-Algerian psychiatrist,
philosopher, revolutionary and writer phrased it;
Sometimes people hold
a core belief that is very strong. When they are presented with evidence that
works against that belief, the new evidence cannot be accepted. It would create
a feeling that is extremely uncomfortable, called cognitive dissonance. And
because it is so important to protect the core belief, they will rationalize,
ignore and even deny anything that does not fit in with their core belief.
Obviously his words have greater currency than the travails
of Newcastle United; the anachronistic, bigoted minority of Flegs
protestors in the Six Counties are one example that comes to mind
immediately. Supporting Alan Pardew is in rapid danger of becoming another, as
we supporters of the current Manager of the Year have nothing to bring to the
table in our defence, other than the kind of unfounded optimism that can be
viewed as sheer blind faith by those of a less tolerant mind-set; for example,
the angry young fellow in U38 of the Gallowgate Upper on Saturday who lasted
until 2.51 of the first half had elapsed before announcing “Ashley wants to
sack that cunt now,” a phrase he reiterated with monotonous frequency at an
increasingly immoderate volume, especially during the second half.
This lad’s ire was initially drawn by a team selection that
effectively set us up a man short, as Shola was inexplicably given a start,
shambling around somewhere between the right wing and just behind Cisse. This
was a baffling way to begin the game, as was the distressing inclusion of
Williamson with Taylor fit again when, from my perspective, a reasonably strong
4-3-3 picked itself in the shape of: Krul – Debuchy Santon Taylor Colo – Perch
Cabaye Anita – Marveaux Obertan Cisse, with Xisco on the bench; ready,
prepared, poised. Admittedly we were still shorn of Tiote at the African Cup of
Nations and the injured Ben Arfa, but this would surely have been a line-up
with more than enough to beat a limited Reading outfit.
Despite the unbalanced team selection Pardew had saddled us
with, we got off to a great start and should have been at least 3 up at the
break against frankly woeful opposition; what happened after that will haunt
Pardew for the rest of his time in charge at SJP. The second half may not have
been the moment he lost control, as I maintain that event was marked by his
inability to sort things out away to Arsenal when he failed with his tactics
after we’d made it 3-3, but the Cabaye withdrawal was the moment the crowd
turned on him, decisively and vindictively, as exemplified by a current Labour
MP attempting to lead the crowd in a chorus of “you don’t know what you’re
doing,” directed squarely at the manager. In many ways, you couldn’t blame the
kid in U38, when it all went to shit, for saying what he did; in the same way
you couldn’t blame Pardew for saying what he did after the game, knowing what
he did.
Even before Saturday’s defeat, Pardew had been in bloody
awful shape; his press conference on Thursday had been painful to watch. His
hesitant stumbling and bland imprecations showed a bloke who appeared to have
had the bollocks knocked out of him by the whole Remy debacle and the still to
be resolved Coloccini situation, which just gets ever more ominous the longer
it drags on. Stories of lawyers discussing the club captain’s future, when he
ought to be on the training ground sorting out the shitstorm on the pitch are a
bad, bad sign. Under the negative glare of a room full of cynical pressmen,
Pardew was struggling to provide adequate answers to simple questions and not
just the difficult ones, but I didn’t detect a groundswell of support of
concern for the bloke, either among the fourth estate or more crucially, those
who fill the ground. This widespread lack of sympathy suggests to me that
things have come full circle at Newcastle United. Events stretching back to the
summer have not been forgotten about and in many people’s eyes he’s viewed as
complicit as Ashley or Llambias for the lack of squad strengthening, presumably
because he didn’t have the bravery to stand up to the two of them and point out
how woefully short of adequate cover we had left ourselves, when only Anita came
in to the club, ready to play first team football.
It all means that the manager’s stock has fallen so low that
he once again seems to be viewed by a considerate section of the support as the
kind of lickspittle, obsequious toady and proto Peter Lawford of the Ashley and
Llambias Cockney Mafia rat pack, that he was when he walked through the door to
replace Chris Hughton in December 2010. It may be tough on him and it definitely
shows the mercurial nature of our support, but that’s the reality of the
situation we now find ourselves in. Pardew’s terrible tactics versus Reading,
almost as much as Ashley’s appalling stewardship of the club, have left
Newcastle United in a position whereby relegation looks at worst probable and
at best likely, despite the relative strength of our first choice XI, as
opposed to the side that actually played, on Saturday 19th January.
At full time, I don’t think I was actually in shock, but I
was stunned; mind at least I’d only come from High Heaton to watch this latest
sorrowful mystery, unlike poor saps of my acquaintance that’d flown in from Kildare,
Dublin, Dubai and Norfolk for the pleasure of watching the worst 25 closing
minutes to a game I can recall since our last relegation. Faced with a post-match
choice of standing round in pubs talking to people I know about the
substitutions that had cost us the game, or spending time on Twitter
talking to people I don’t really know about the substitutions that had cost us
the game, I chose the latter option, glumly tweeting opinions on a packed bus
replete with equally glum fellow supporters, all of whom seemed to be engaged
in the same cyber autopsy. Not one person, either on line or in real life, was
able to explain, much less defend sickening tactics that seemed to indicate cowardice
on the part of Pardew who, in seeking to maintain a flimsy single goal lead at
home to a side in the drop zone, withdrew Cabaye and Marveaux for Perch and
Bigirimana, changes which spectacularly backfired as Reading scored two utterly
pathetic goals; the first as a result of predictably calamitous defending by
Williamson and the second the kind of outrageous misfortune that we deserved
for the timidity of the substitutions.
Watching the highlights (I use the term advisedly) on Match
of the Day, I heard Pardew’s comments about losing the crowd when we
were still leading for the first time and his more than plausible explanation
that Cabaye was feeling his injured groin so had to come off. What immediately
struck me was just how unkempt and dishevelled Pardew looked in the interview;
normally so suave and immaculately groomed, he appeared to be struggling to
keep a lid on things and his professional veneer, as he almost begged the ”owners”
for new signings. The news that
Birmingham City are financially on their uppers, even brought about depressing
speculation in the wake of Pardew’s beseeching imprecations that Peter
Lovenkrands could be on his way back to us for a third spell, all on free
transfers.
What subsequently struck me was a feeling of even deeper
regret that Cisse had not converted even one of the 3 presentable chances
Federici had saved in the first period. If he had and we’d gone in at 2-0,
Cabaye could have gone off for Perch with the job almost done; Reading wouldn’t
have come back from that sort of deficit (even if they had done the week before
against West Brom) and any enforced tactical change during the break would have
given Pardew time to talk through proposed on-field adjustments in front of the
whole team. At least Pardew admitted that taking off Marveaux had been a
mistake, but that is of very little comfort, as an error of judgement as
profound as that is simply not acceptable; in our position the manager simply
can’t afford to make terrible decisions that cost us the game. Furthermore, he
still didn’t adequately explain why we’d ceded the initiative before the
changes, during a desperately dour opening 20 minutes of the second period when
literally nothing happened.
Sunday came without any deepening sense of perspective on
the loss, as angry, bitter fans made scattergun attacks at just about everyone
involved in the club, from individual supporters right up to the real villains,
who are the guilty men who own and run the club. Whilst the club itself maintained
the usual communications lockdown, fringe players such as Sammy Ameobi and, in
particular, Nile Ranger took to Twitter to clumsily ask for support
for the beleaguered players, echoing Pardew’s questioning as to the beneficial
side of booing a terrified squad when we were still leading the day before.
Their youth and inarticulacy did them no favours, as furious supporters leaped
on their naïve, banal comments with immoderate and wrathful personal attacks.
Ranger even offered to meet fans in Nandos (where else?) to discuss the
club’s problems, which was obviously interpreted as an aggressive gesture by
people who know nothing about the player other than what they’ve read in the
papers.
While that may have been a foolish offer, I don’t believe it
warranted the immoderate and extreme reaction from a section of our support, which
launched a wave of vilification at Ranger. To be perfectly honest, I can
understand their anger, if not their tactics; they’ve supported this club since
Ranger was a babe in arms and see him as embodying all they hate about modern
football, with his regular court appearances, reported lack of application in
training and seeming utter lack of self-awareness he resembles nothing more
than a third division Kieron Dyer. I’ve never met the lad, but I’ve seen him
play and I simply don’t think he’s good enough for the Premier League; that isn’t
his fault of course, even if he doesn’t help himself with his conduct in and
out the club, or the persona he presents. However, he isn’t the root cause of
the club’s current travails and offering to meet him in a back street boozer
for a frank exchange of opinions is unnecessary and frankly indecorous conduct.
That said, the person I wanted a square go with on Sunday
was the club’s webmaster, or whoever takes ultimate responsibility for spewing
out an interminable series of junk emails, exhorting me to waste my cash in the
club shop on NUFC branded tat, including an early morning suggestion that we “buy
a personalised going away gift for someone special” (I kid you not; so long Alan & thanks for everything?).
Perhaps the most bemusing comments on-line came from those who blamed Graham
Carr for not doing his job properly, by only scouting French players on the one
hand and on the other suggesting that Laurent Blanc would make a good manager.
Indeed, the inevitable discussions about the manager’s future were both labyrinthine
and emotive. Certainly, it seemed bizarre that anyone could begin to suggest
that Newcastle United had a squad fit for purpose, because of the strength of
young players, but one that merely needed a new manager to achieve full
potential, especially when the identity of any proposed new manager was not
suggested. That’s the problem with these Hegelian dialecticians. They can’t
take any question on its merits; they have to give their stock response to a
topic, regardless of however vaguely relevant or otherwise their answer may be.
It’s a shame, but it reinforces my belief that there’s not been a realistic,
viable alternative to Pardew mentioned so far; which is the main reason why I
remain in the pro Pardew camp.
If we imagine a scenario whereby any potential successor for
Pardew is identified as being the manager of another club at the current time,
the first question that must be answered is whether the other club would allow
NUFC to speak to their boss. If their answer is no, that’s the end of the
process. If their answer is yes, two further dependent questions immediately
pose themselves; firstly, would Ashley cough up the compensation required to
buy someone out of their contract? Considering every boss he has appointed has been
either resting or done on the cheap when getting the SJP gig, I would be very
surprised, meaning the process would end there. Secondly, assuming that a deal
regarding compensation could be agreed, would the target be prepared to work
under the strict conditions imposed on them by the current “owners,” such as
having Dennis Wise appointed above your head or not being allowed the luxury of
an assistant after Colin Calderwood went off to manage Hibs, as Keegan and
Hughton were asked to endure? I would very much doubt it, which would again end
the process.
To my mind, the only realistic way in which Newcastle United
could find themselves a new manager at the current time, with the current “owners”
and their regime in place, would be if the target is currently between jobs,
like Di Matteo or Blanc. This being the case, then the second question is even
more pressing. Could you see either the former manager of the French national
side or the last manager to guide a side to Champions’ League success accepting
the role of Ceasar’s wife in a Puma bench coat? The stark, unpalatable fact is
that only the truly desperate, for reasons of money, egotism or both, would
accept a job with Newcastle United on such a basis. Consequently, we are left
with the stark reality that Alan Pardew represents Newcastle United’s best hope
of getting ourselves out of the mess that Ashley and Llambias have caused, but
that he is increasingly showing himself as being unable to cope with, as his
level of responsibility rises with each passing game. It all appeared that the
next game, away to Villa, was not only a relegation battle, but the last chance
for the managers of both clubs to rescue their league form, then suddenly Newcastle
United bought some players, though not the magnificently named Sporting Lisbon
striker Ricky van Wolfswinkel; our signings were French, naturellement.
On the day that areas of Essex and east London endured foul
air courtesy of an escape of gas from a factory near Rouen in Normandy,
predictably named Le Pong, by the media, it seemed fitting that Newcastle United invested
in or, more accurately, began the interminable process of concluding deals
relating to the purchase of, a quartet of Ligue
1 players that only I thought about calling Les Quatre Mousquetaires.
Now, I don’t know anything about Mapou Yanga-Mbiwa who has joined us from
Montpellier, but it is a fact that he’s a full French international and centre
half of the current champions, so I expect great things. Bearing in mind the
late developments in the Remy deal, I am aware that I may jinx any potential
transfers, but all things considered, I expect left back Massadio Haidara to
join us from AS Nancy and striker Yoan Gouffran to arrive from Girondins Bordeaux.
I am also hopeful that Toulouse midfielder Moussa Sissoko, who is very highly
rated by those who know the French game and has long been linked with us in the
papers, will also join, either on a pre-contract agreement or, more likely, in
the summer.
My first thoughts about this influx are almost entirely
positive as the squad desperately needs a centre half (He’s big! He’s French! Williamson’s on the bench! Mbiwa!) and another striking option.
However, let’s have a reality check; we needed strengthening in those positions
last summer and the new arrivals are actually only positional replacements for
Ba, in the case of Gouffran and, sad as it seems, Coloccini in the case of
Mbiwa. I welcome Haidara and Sissoko as well, but the cynic in me wonders
whether their arrival paves the way for summer departures of Tiote (preferably)
or Cabaye (please no) and Santon.
That, of course, is the future and the reality of the
present is that these deals represent unequivocal support for the manager from the
“owners.” Even Llambias isn’t obtuse or idiotic enough to lash out close to £20m
on players, only to fire the boss a week or so later; as we all remember, that
used to be Shepherd’s trick. However, the stark reality is that these four
arrivals, if we get them all “over the line,” will be either Pardew’s cavalry
or his Calvary.
New players are a welcome bonus for the club; they boost the
support and give us renewed hope for the rest of the season, as well as buying
Pardew some time and deflecting major criticisms of Ashley. However, it is
crucial that expectations are kept in check. We need to take small steps on the
path to recovery and safety, starting a Villa Park next week, where I’d imagine
2 of this quartet at most will start. It is a huge ask for them to make the
kind of instant impact Cisse did last season, but let’s give them all our
support. It’s a whole new game for them
in this country; as Motson pointed out on MotD, Remy needed to learn the
offside law as presumably it doesn’t apply in France. Remy; let’s hope that
name doesn’t haunt us on or off the pitch for the rest of this season.
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