Thursday 28 November 2013

Season's Greetings

Another of the raft of brilliant new fanzines I've come across in the last 12 months is "Duck," which is dedicated to Stoke City. The following article appears in issue #4, which came out last Saturday for their home win over the Mackems, even though it had been supposed to come out on Saturday for the away game at Everton. Needless to say I'm delighted it appeared on a day the filth lost at the Britannia, but also because the game will go down in history as the day Gus Poyet took his coat off... It's just a shame I went to the NUFC v Massive Club citeh League Cup game to ruin the chronology of this piece, but no matter. Anyway, let's get festive.....



As far as I understand these things, issue #4 of Duck is being published to coincide with Stoke’s game at home to Everton on November 30th. If you’re reading it on that date, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you it is St. Andrew’s Day, though you may not be aware it is also my cousin John’s 52nd birthday. Happy birthday to him.

However, I’m writing this piece quite a long way before that date; a whole two months to be precise, on September 30th, the very day my team, Newcastle United lost 3-2 to Everton at Goodison Park. Of course I wasn’t there. Frankly I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d less like to be than at a football match 200 miles from home at 10pm on a Monday. I’m 50 next year you realise; I need to be tucked up in bed by that time on a school night. Actually, I didn’t even watch the predictable, though as I’ll explain, ultimately meaningless defeat at the hands of the Scouse Mackems, as I’ve cancelled all my subscriptions to Sky Sports packages. Though I must confess that I did watch St Mirren’s 1-1 draw with Aberdeen on line, having borrowed my 80 year old mother’s BT Sport log-in details. Although, as it was frankly terrible, that’s nothing to brag about is it?

On November 30th, Newcastle United play host to West Bromwich Albion, with a 5.30pm kick off. Quite a few years ago, before professional football sickened me, I used to love those Saturday tea-time kick offs; plenty of time for pre match boozing and a noticeably more raucous crowd as a result. Also, we seemed to do better at that time, never losing at home for instance. However, such feelings are in the past and what is a racing certainty is that I won’t be there for the Baggies game; not only that, I feel it’s very unlikely I’ll even get to see it on television, as I’ll be travelling back from watching my other team Heaton Stannington, of Northern League Division 2, playing away to Washington. Obviously this will be no great loss, as the only option available to me that of watching a game in the pub surrounded ill-informed cretins who know as much about the game as I know about marine microbiology, is about as pleasant as being painfully sodomised in a Turkish jail. Apparently.

The day after November 30th is December 1st; time to get your Advent Calendars up. I know that many of us view Christmas with the kind of enthusiasm turkeys have for the festive season, but despite the revulsion I feel when seeing adverts for Christmas parties appearing in the local press from mid-August onwards, acting as a nauseating counterpoint to the “back to school” adverts in supermarkets before the bairns have even broken up for their holidays, I’ve been looking forward to Boxing Day since the end of June. This is because I am going to see Newcastle United versus Stoke City on the Feast of Stephen, a fixture that last took place at The Victoria Ground in 1989, which will be my first NUFC experience of the 2013/2014 season. For the avoidance of doubt, I am solvent, able bodied and live, according to Google maps, 3.1 miles from St. James’ Park.

In 2009 Newcastle United were relegated for the third time in my life. Unlike 1978 and 1989, there was more than just footballing grief to cope with as I also had to deal with the fact my dad died and my son came out as an unapologetic rugby player. The cumulative effect of these traumatic events was such that I felt I had no choice but to bin the array of NUFC season tickets we’d had in the family since 1989 and 2003 respectively. While I was unable to comprehend my son’s sporting choice (he’s a second row, apparently) and left utterly inconsolable by my old man’s passing (still am I guess), it was a blessed relief that I no longer had to watch Newcastle United. For so many seasons, other than the Keegan and Robson eras in all honesty, the Premier League just hadn’t been any fun; mean-spirited, moaning twats in the stands, hysterical commentators mendaciously talking up the quality of the fare on offer, pampered prima donnas on the pitch and grasping owners fleecing the fans had broken my spirit. For years, I’d been delighted when games were switched to Sundays so I could get out and see real football, at a non-league level on a Saturday. Tyneside is home to the Northern League, which has produced the last 5 FA Vase winners, in Whitley Bay, Dunston and Spennymoor, so you can see a cracking game for £4 or £5 rather than lashing out the thick end of £40 to be defrauded by the likes of Michael Owen; on the rare instances he was fit.

Despite my intended abandonment of the Magpies 4 years ago, I found it almost impossible to stay away while Newcastle spent a pleasant, restorative gap-year in the Championship; in the end I saw a dozen home games, but in my defence, all bar 2 of them were Sunday or midweek (there’s loads of those in the Championship). I liked the atmosphere at the lower level; the away fans singing instead of grumbling and glowering,  teams trying to attack, the stick-thin wingers and porky goalkeepers and the fact we cruised to the title. I still watched the non-league game, but I was almost falling back in love with my club. Thankfully the Premiership stopped all that; the year after, I managed 5 games including a cup tie, all on free tickets. I don’t know if it was something to do with the fact we failed to win any of them (drawing 3-3 with West Brom after being 3-0 up for example) or because of the higher stakes of the Premiership, but the moaners were back in force. At that point I should have wised up and walked away, but like a dog that returns to its puke, my curiosity kept drawing me back.

In 2011/2012, my mate Chris took a 2 year contract abroad and I agreed to take on half of his season ticket, on the proviso I could have the Sunday and midweek games, in order to keep Saturdays free for non-league; it worked out well as I saw 7 wins, 2 draws and only 2 losses as the team finished 5th. I wasn’t to know it at the time, but the 3-0 win over Stoke in April 2012 was the last decent game I would see at SJP. The following season’s UEFA cup run saw, like Stoke the year before, huge numbers of NUFC’s fixtures changed because of the Europa League and the club’s form and fortunes plummet as a stretched squad failed to cope. Despite a chronic campaign, I managed to see 6 wins, 1 draw and 3 defeats, but the majority of these victories were like the 2-1 win over Stoke in late February; late, spawny and totally undeserved.

A blinding insight occurred to me after a 93rd minute Cisse winner in a 1-0 triumph over Fulham in early April; while Newcastle’s form, playing style and management were absolutely awful, none of that mattered. Whoever played for or managed the team, whatever position the club finished or even which division the side plied its trade, all of that was utterly irrelevant while Mike Ashley remained as owner of the club. Pardew could be sacked and replaced with another low-rent yes man from the diseased gene pool of failed second tier bosses, or even Joe Kinnear and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference; selling Cabaye and replacing him with Messi or a kid from Tranmere’s reserves would be equally pointless. Indeed, even if Ashley flogged the club to another shifty, avaricious venture capitalist concerned only with lining their own pockets, it wouldn’t matter one iota; all that matters is getting Ashley out and establishing fan ownership, hopefully at 100% though 51% will do for now. If that is the case, I’d be just as happy rubbing shoulders with FC United of Manchester as with Barcelona or Real Madrid, though I’d imagine most of our fans would settle for competing with Swansea City, an example of a fan owned club in the Premier League.

Sadly, I don’t have a recipe for either a plan of attack or the seamless transformation of my club from Ashley’s plaything to a fan owned democracy, but that won’t stop me from idealistically, perhaps unrealistically, hoping that one day we can bring about regime change on Barrack Road. Until then, I’ll continue supporting Heaton Stannington (and editing the programme), while repeating my mantra that whatever happens on the pitch, the training ground or in the dressing room is utterly irrelevant while Ashley is there.


As Christmas Day is a Wednesday this year, we get the treat of a full programme of Premier League fixtures on a Thursday. With no competing non-league fixtures, I have no choice but to head to St. James’ Park and the visit of Stoke City. I’ve known this would be the case since Sky Sports butchery of the fixture list for the autumn left Newcastle without a Sunday home game. I hope many of you reading this will be making the journey; if you can find The Bodega on Westgate Road, I’ll buy you a pint. I’d love to say “may the best team win,” but that wouldn’t be the truth; what I will say is that unless a miracle has happened at my club, it really won’t matter all that much who wins.




Monday 18 November 2013

All Apologies


I can be a complete arsehole at times; especially on Twitter. On Saturday 16th November, for no good reason, I posted a couple of stupid, childish tweets that were comprised of some childish, unnecessary digs at a pair of middle aged blokes I’ve never met before and who, I’ve been reliably informed by some independent intermediaries who I’m happy to call friends, are actually two very sound fellas. The tweets weren’t aggressive, threatening, intimidating, abusive or anything that could be deemed to be illegal; they were just childish, unnecessary and the work of someone who could only be described as a bit of a sad prick, with nothing better to do with his Saturday night than to act the cock on line. Basically I’ve let myself down, yet again, as really I should know better and prove that I’m a better person than this. 

As a result of my actions, two people I’ve never met before have had an on-line exchange with their mates where I was the main subject of debate, in highly derogatory and totally justified terms it has to be said. This is bad enough, as no-one likes to be thought badly of (especially those as insecure as me), though I am aware enough to know I’ve brought enmity on my head by my own daft actions, but what is far worse is that I’ve annoyed and let down someone who I like tremendously and who has been a firm and loyal friend over a number of years. Whatever explanation I try to find for my actions (I was half cut and in a bad mood, despite a thoroughly enjoyable evening with some vinyl classics from the past and a few drinks with my son), there are no excuses or even any justification for my conduct. Yes I’ve got a busy schedule and a lot of stress caused by my role as carer for my elderly and increasingly frail mother, as well as certain other difficulties going on in my life, but the existence of that stress doesn’t justify a snide and unnecessary pop at totally innocent people who went about their business without giving me even a second thought on Saturday. Despite the fact I deleted the offending tweets, their content was noted, offence was taken and there’s nothing I can do to repair this damage, other than making a sincere offer of sending £100 to the charity of choice of those I made mischief about. Even if they take me up on that offer, and I’ve no reason to think that they will, it doesn’t mean they’ll suddenly begin to think I’m a decent bloke, which I think I am most of the time. Perhaps I’ll find out at North Shields v Esh Winning in the Ernest Armstrong Cup on Wednesday 20th November.

Most importantly for me, someone I regard as a friend and who only days before made a wonderful gesture that I’ll be eternally grateful to him for, will think badly of me for the foreseeable future. I hope I can mend fences with him, but that is dependent on time I’d imagine, not to mention me proving that there are the actions behind these weasel words to show I’ve learned my lesson, rather than just moping around the place all day Sunday. If it is of any consolation, the two I had a pop at probably didn’t give me a second thought all day and my wronged friend no doubt had a great day with his family; meanwhile I thought of little else all day and could only find a degree of ease by penning this belated, ineffectual apology.

It is of course interesting to compare my self-inflicted, on-line wounds with the difficulties faced by Steven Taylor after his latest crass indiscretion on Twitter. Having had the mickey taken out of him by Massadio Haidara for his lack of skills, while struggling to learn French, Taylor responded by posting an insensitive tweet, including 3 stereotypical images of black people and one of Vurnon Anita. Following a universal negative reaction to it, Taylor belatedly wised up, took the tweet down and apologised profusely for any offence he may have caused. While his post was allegedly made in humour and apparently was accepted with good grace by Anita, Cisse, Haidara and Sissoko, it shows an appalling lack of tact, class and awareness by Taylor who may be charged by the FA for his indiscretion. Of course we are able to discount The Daily Mail’s manufactured, opportunistic outrage as it came at the end of a week where they endlessly campaigned against the presence of Slovak Roma in Sheffield. In addition, I was astonished to discover that Taylor is now 27 years of age. Indeed, next March will be the tenth anniversary of his debut for the first team. Where does the time go?

Taylor is an increasingly divisive figure among Newcastle United fans; initially being seen as the great Geordie hope, which resulted in him being inappropriately christened the Cullercoats Cannavaro, the Monkseaton Maldini or Steven “The Power” Taylor by those who really ought to have known better, he became better known as a figure of fun for his ridiculous theatrics to try and avoid being sent off for handball on the goal line against Aston Villa in April 2005 and a farcical run down the full length of the pitch after his debut goal in the 2006 UEFA Cup, which gave us a 2-1 win over Celta Vigo. Also, a stupid, impetuous streak entered his game that meant he was often more interested in kicking the player than playing the ball; the 5-1 loss at home to Manchester United in February 2008 demonstrated this, as did his red card on the opening day of this season away to Manchester City. In many ways this explains why, post 2009 relegation, no other top flight clubs came in for him; he just isn’t as good as he should have been or thinks he is. Certainly, I’d put Mike Williamson as our third choice centre back ahead of Taylor. When one considers Taylor’s glib quotations to the media and his arrogant persona, it isn’t far from the truth to state he is equally unpopular with Newcastle and sunderland fans.

However, despite the fact he had his jaw broken by Andy Carroll after a training ground fracas allegedly caused by Taylor’s big mouth, Taylor is still at St. James’s Park, though Carroll obviously isn’t. Taylor hasn’t been in any sort of bother off the pitch, other than this Twitter idiocy, but Carroll’s difficulties are legion and legendary; yet many Newcastle fans would forgive him still and some harbour a desire to see him back at the club. Personally I prefer to stick with Loic Remy, despite the continued presence of the pair of elephants in the room; his loan deal and the as yet unresolved rape allegation against him that is next up for review on November 21st. Without seeking to prejudice the outcome of that investigation or the legal process involving former Newcastle striker Nile Ranger, who is in court to answer a charge of rape in February, I do feel Carroll and Remy were given far more understanding, support and an easier ride by fans of Newcastle United than Nile Ranger.



It is my contention that Nile Ranger will prove to be the great lost talent at Newcastle United this century. Of course his off field antics don’t help him, especially as they appear to be continuing at Swindon Town, where he has repaid their faith in him by going missing without permission from training for the past week. While Swindon have now given Ranger leave of absence to prepare for the trial, where he intends to plead not guilty, the whole grubby mess seems to show all parties in a bad light. While Carroll’s antics off the pitch were seen as high jinks by a Geordie lad and Remy’s conduct is seen as none of the club’s business as it happened before he arrived at SJP, Ranger was relentlessly pilloried for any mistake he made; to the extent that one middle aged NUFC fan offered to meet Ranger for a pagger outside The Forth after the Chelsea home game last season. Such conduct is totally uncalled for; Ranger made mistakes and failed to do the business on the pitch in any sustained way, but he deserved more support than he got and he certainly didn’t warrant the kind of relentless personal condemnation he attracted.

I feel that Ranger suffered because he was English, black and a Londoner; all these elements combined to make him antipathetic to many of our fans. Remy is foreign and exciting, Carroll is a hot-headed local, but Ranger is arrogant and antagonistic. While Remy is French and therefore exotic, granting him a degree of latitude, and Carroll is a Geordie and therefore “one of our own,” Ranger pushes the button for many regionally intolerant types. I suppose it is relevant to point out Steven Taylor was actually born in Greenwich at this point.

I hope Steven Taylor grows up and realises the folly of his actions on Twitter, as do I; we’re both idiots, we both should know better, we’ve both apologised, we both need to learn from recent events, and we both hope that a line can be drawn under the past few days. However, even more sincerely, I hope Nile Ranger can get his life back on track and harness his undoubted talent to ensure he has a career he can look back on his pride and not regrets. I hope Andy Carroll can also achieve something tangible from his career once he is over his injury problems. All of these things are in some doubt, but it does put my stupid conduct in context.


Apologies again to all those I’ve offended. 


Tuesday 12 November 2013

ill communication



The pace of events influencing the current state of Newcastle United, both on and off the pitch, shows no indication of slowing below a breakneck gallop at any time soon. With most clubs, the near fortnight’s break from the Premier League provided by a couple of meaningless international friendlies would be seen as the ideal opportunity to step back and view recent happenings with a sense of perspective and detachment. Certainly, maximum points and clean sheets from successive fixtures against Chelsea and Spurs, the latter involving the finest Newcastle United goalkeeping performance since Krul’s debut away in Palermo 7 long years ago, should be reason to celebrate and allow the side a modicum of forgiveness for the appalling loss on Wearside at the end of last month. However, this is Newcastle United we’re talking about and while 9th spot, a negative goal difference and 17 points may not be enough to send the supporters into a frenzy of ecstatic street parties, it is probably better than many of us dared hope for at this stage of the season. That said, as the owner supports one or other of the two sides we’ve recently vanquished, he’s probably responded to Pardew’s idiotic post Spurs presser where he referenced the chance of us qualifying for next season’s Europa League, by demanding two home losses to Norwich and West Brom in the next couple of fixtures to ensure we don’t drift too far from the Premier League’s pelagic zone between 8th and 15th. To paraphrase the Socialist Workers’ Party; neither Europe nor relegation, but mediocrity.

While stating that Krul’s display at White Hart Lane was wonderful to behold, clearly this level of performance must be maintained on a regular basis by the Dutch keeper to prove that this wasn’t just a flash in the pan and he actually has the dedication and humility to knuckle down and become the goalkeeper he has the talent to be. Personally I feel that Frazer Forster is the far more accomplished keeper, but I’m happy to be proved wrong in the fullness of time. This issue, however, is a minor detail on the expansive canvas that is the intricate, abstract triptych of Newcastle United’s ceaselessly evolving self-portrait. 

It is a matter of some amazement to me that elsewhere in the North East, the insane and loathsome Di Canio, whose vile attitudes under the cloak of antics had appeared to have been granted carte blanche by his employer on the back of a certain 3-0 result back in April and the baleful Cro-Magnon impersonator Mowbray, who everyone assumed to have a job for life, both found themselves out on their ears by mid-October, while the hapless, tactically clueless, smug, bland, spineless, toadying yes man who is Alan Pardew continues in employment at SJP. That said, if the rumour mill is to be believed Pards, as no-one of any worth as a human being would call him except as a term of abject contempt, is being linked with the Crystal Palace job and lined up to replace the frankly detestable Ian Holloway. Aside from wondering just exactly why the current boss of a club the size of Newcastle United, regardless of the relative histories or the current situation of either team, would want to leave in order to assume control at Selhurst Park, where relegation is  assured, even if he did play for them for the better part of his career, this potential change of roles demonstrates the contempt in which Pardew is held by almost all Newcastle fans, by cognisance of the fact that the only voices expressing any disquiet about his possible decamping to the Eagles, Glaziers or whatever their current nickname is, are those whose worry is categorised entirely as a fear whether Ashley would apply one final humiliating dig in the ribs for the support by appointing (strictly speaking,  reappointing) Kinnear as manager as a cynical coup de grace and an attempt to empty the stadium forever.

And, despite learned tactical debates as to whether Cisse is worth a place in the team or exactly how Pardew manages to leave Anita out every week, this is precisely the point where Newcastle United goes from being quite interesting to utterly fascinating. Rather than between the touchlines and in the minutes from kick off to final whistle, it is in the labyrinthine machinations of the club’s third rate communications department, the fourth estate at both a local and national level and despicable fifth columnists among the support deviously pursuing their own agenda, that the club truly engages the minds of a city and the Geordie diaspora worldwide. All of which yet again proves the veracity of my mantra; wherever the team finishes or whoever plays for or manages them, is utterly irrelevant while Mike Ashley remains at St James’ Park. We need Ashley OUT and 100% Fan Ownership IN as an eventual aim, though I admit I am being swayed by the idea of 51% Fan Ownership as a time-constrained, transitional demand.

The essential meaning of the complex strands of related events that interweave and diverge throughout the bemusing, garish tapestry that represents the day to day life of being either an integral part of or a parasitic entity living off the body politic of Newcastle United, may not be immediately discernible, but a clear pattern is emerging and it is one that does certain elements no credit whatsoever. Just when it seemed like communication was providing a potential way forward in uniting the fans and exploring links with the middle echelons of management at SJP, hard faced confrontation and an utter disinclination to  compromise have now been adopted as the default position of most of those on both sides of the fence. Perhaps this is by design or perhaps it is by accident; whichever, the result is a depressing dearth of meaningful dialogue among fans and with the club. Even more alarming, strange alliances and unlikely liaisons have been formed for reasons of expediency that have the effect of alienating other elements of the support who find themselves rusticated and consequently otiose.

Towards the end of last season, Newcastle United banned The Daily Telegraph’s Luke Edwards from St. James’ Park because of a wholly inaccurate, mischievous article dripping with Francophobic enmity that suggested there was a schism in the dressing room between French speakers and non-French speakers. Subsequently, rather like Martin Hardy’s embarrassingly hysterical claim that the Wonga deal would see every Muslim player at Newcastle United depart the club in protest at this grubby, tawdry commercial tie-in, Edwards was shown to have written something that was either pure fantasy or deliberate lies, depending on your interpretation. Edwards had little or no sympathy among NUFC’s support or even his colleagues in the press, which was telling.

Rather like the messianic, arrogant narcissism that blights the career and reputation of David Conn, I don’t like Edwards’s work, his stance, his employers or his modus operandi and so I warmly applauded the fact he was kept out of the ground. I don’t hate journalists; many of them are excellent at their job. There are national journalists who report brilliantly on Newcastle United; George Caulkin is obviously the best of all, but Simon Bird, when he isn’t implementing savage Government spending cuts on the poor and weak in Newcastle in his role as a Labour councillor, and to an extent Martin Hardy also tell the truth about our club; critical fans with the interests of the club, not their own CV, at heart. However, please don’t assume I think journalists have to be fans of Newcastle United to report accurately on the team. As regards the local press; suffice to say that Bradford City supporting Mark Douglas of The Journal is unique is his ability to construct a simple declarative sentence involving both balanced thought and articulate expression. Consequently, it is with an immense amount of shock I am forced to accept that many NUFC fans now view Lee Ryder of The Evening Chronicle as the Rosa Parks of Thompson House.


With the kind of crass timing that has become an integral feature of the endless series of public relations disasters which have been the touchstones of the Ashley regime, the post-match press conference following the defeat at the Mackems was seen as the ideal moment to reveal that the club had placed an embargo on dealings with NCJ Media. Just as Alan Pardew was about to speak, Wendy Taylor the club’s Communications Manager, or whatever spurious title this Albert Speer in court shoes is working under, made it clear Ashley’s puppet would not be responding to any questions posed by The Journal or Evening Chronicle as they’d been sent to sit on the naughty step for having the temerity to give positive coverage to the Time 4 Change march that had taken place before the Liverpool game. The bizarre thing about this is that by no means did Time 4 Change attract universal approval; the depoliticised and the Wonga wearing sheep who would accept any outrageous act by the ownership as they simply “support the team” are not the only constituent parts of NUFC’s support that had no engagement with the Time 4 Change march. Realising that we’ve many inroads to make on the political consciousness of a support that apparently includes 37% who earn more than £50k a year, it is more depressingly to realise there are others who made a great show about their voluble lack of engagement with any public shows of opposition to the Ashley regime and I find that troubling.

One of the catchphrases of the Casual Connoisseur attired sticker brigade is Against Modern Football. However, despite endless use as a slogan, hash tag or both, it is becoming less and less clear to me just exactly what this statement means. To me, rather than a committed call to arms against the problems in the game, it actually appears to be an empty statement used by those who don’t stop to think exactly how conformist their stance actually is. Rather than being part of a solution, the stickerati seem content to hide behind a glib expression that, in their minds, justifies an obsession with fashion, as they consequently eschew any political stance that rejects all of the things that have gone wrong with our game. If they are Against Modern Football, are they in favour of Ye Olde 80s Football, embracing threats of violence, casual racism and unsafe grounds? I seriously doubt it, though I also seriously doubt they’ve stopped to think for a nanosecond just what they do stand for and, frankly, it’s time that they did think a bit more about the future of the game and a bit less about knitwear.

The Time 4 Change march was an opportunity to actually get involved with a visible protest against the evils of the current regime at SJP. However, it appears for a certain kind of podgy, bespectacled Chris Griffin lookalike that being Against Modern Football doesn’t actually mean involving yourself in fan led protests against the club being torn apart, but rather seems to concentrate on festooning pub toilets with brightly coloured bits of paper and posting selfies on Instagram of your latest hat taken on the bus each morning. Why is this the case? It is even more ludicrous than the behaviour of the club to ban NCJ Media.
Implausibly it appeared that this ban had been issued on the Monday before NUFC’s trip to the dark side, but had been hushed up by NCJ Media in the hope of maintaining a sense of unity of purpose in the build-up to this game. Frankly this struck me as about as morally defensible as Frau Fritzl encouraging her brood to send Fathers’ Day cards to Herr Jozef. In support of NCJ Media, or more accurately to complain about the club once again moving to suppress any form of dissent, an idea came from Twitter, not initiated by Time 4 Change or NUST, though unequivocally supported by both organisations, specifically that supporters took a copy of The Journal or Evening Chronicle to wave over their heads as a protest, as the front page featured a direct address to Ashley; bland, naïve and depoliticised in tone, naturally enough. There was also a mooted sit-in at full time in protest, but Remy’s late strike to seal the points probably put paid to that idea. 

I’m not sure of the efficacy of the newspaper gesture, but I am mildly surprised that NUST didn’t suggest fans waved copies of The Mag or some vehicle claiming to have an independent voice as a show of both strength and as a clear indication of whom precisely runs the Time 4 Change show these days.
It is interesting to think about the idea of a coherent independent voice inside the ground, whereby voice in this instance actually means the sound of supporters, rather than the philosophical concept of fans expressing their opinions in an official capacity. From the incoherent ashes of the Toon Ultras, whose sole raison d’etre appeared to be filling the Strawberry Corner with noxious fumes from smoke canisters in Europa League games last season, there has appeared the inchoate organisation Division 92 (http://division92.co.uk/) whose purpose appears to be to bring the noise back to St James’ Park. For this end, they “worked with” the club to identify a section of the Gallowgate Upper in which to wave their shoes during the Man City league cup tie. The particularly interesting thing is that while most of those interested in such public displays of uber fandom, as opposed to watching the game, remained loyal to their instructions from the club, a sizeable minority (Continuity Division 92?) drifted off to the Strawberry Corner to chant Get Out of Our Club to Ashley, when not informing Massive Club citeh that their support was fucking shit. Drawing a veil over the idiocy of such remarks, it is intriguing to wonder just whether NUFC will be prepared to allow such an experiment to happen again, consequently providing an established space in the ground for teenagers to abuse the owner. I’d guess this may have been a one-off opportunity and Division 92 will be restricted to pogoing because they love the Toon at the likes of Hull later in the season.

The serious point about all of this is just exactly how far fans can communicate with the club and not be manipulated, as Division 92 undoubtedly were in return for vague promises of a permanent singing section. The long hoped for NUFC Fans’ Forum, that Fans’ Liaison Officer Lee Marshall had worked so hard to bring to fruition, is in a state of crisis following the resignation of Gallowgate End representative Paul Robson, who is also part of the team behind the estimable Shite Seats blog (http://www.shiteseats.co.uk/), because of his disgust at the NCJ Media ban. While I can understand Robbo’s position and applaud him for both his honesty and integrity, I wonder whether he would not have been better inside the tent as it were; then again, he will be replaced and hopefully by someone of equal quality. Rather more ominously, also missing from the next Fans Forum meeting in December will be NUST who have been excluded from all future meetings because of an inexcusable breach of protocol after the first meeting that they are seeking to unconvincingly explain away as a minor indiscretion.

Having become disenchanted with NUST’s abject inaction following the 2010 elections to the Trust board, I allowed my membership to lapse at the end of that year. However, I recently re-joined, as have a number of people of my acquaintance. My reasons for doing so are twofold; while NUST has demonstrated itself to be largely toothless, impotent and complacent over the past few years, it exists as a democratic organisation and thus it is ripe for reanimation at the next set of elections for board members. I believe such a policy is known as entrism and was rather successful in the Labour Party in the 1980s. Basically: join, stick together, take over and use the structure to achieve something tangible. Watch this space…

The other reason I’ve re-joined NUST is to register my disgust at the way their representative Peter Fanning approached the matter of posting minutes of the Fans’ forum meeting on line. Rather than allowing the club to put it on their site, NUST had their version of the minutes, written in a cynical, negative tone it has to be said, up within a day. I’m not sure this was Peter Fanning’s idea, or whether he simply wrote the minutes. Whatever the reason, I have to say that to me, this was an unprofessional and discourteous act to all in attendance, especially as they had all agreed to and subsequently signed a code of conduct. Let’s be clear about this; the Trust were not banned from the Fans’ Forum for speaking their mind, but for behaving in this crass manner. Now, personally, I do not know whether the decision to place the minutes on-line in breach of protocol was done in error or as a deliberate act of sabotage, but the effect of it was not only to get themselves banned, but to ultimately render the Fans’ Forum almost an irrelevance, mainly because of the increased profile recent events have given NUST. I’m not sure if this is simply my instinct, but it certainly feels as if the actions of NUST have had the effect of totally discrediting an idea that both Lee Marshall and NUFC Fans United have worked so hard and so painstakingly to make real. Rather than being a cause of regret, their exclusion has been a publicity opportunity they’ve seized with both fists.

The actions of NUST have further, in my eyes, utterly side-lined NUFC Fans United; this umbrella organisation that I have long supported and involved myself in sought to provide a conduit of communication between fans and the club. Because of the club’s idiocy in banning NCJ Media and NUST’s actions in getting themselves thrown out of the Fans’ Forum, whether accidentally or on purpose, the very idea of communication between the warring factions (The Chronicle, despite several bald men fighting over combs on Twitter, is now in a shotgun marriage of convenience with NUST) is simply off the agenda. As a result, excellent, hard-working supporters like Bill Corcoran, Zahra Zomorrodian, Steve Hastie and Steve Wraith have seen all of their hard work go to waste. Consequently, NUST, The Mag and others in their corner have been able to harness the energy, ideas and organisational ability of Time 4 Change, despite the need for a few Stalinist purges of those not quite “on message” and reposition a large section of the organised fan base into a conflict setting that serves their purpose.


As a result, it appears to me that NUFC Fans United can only really exist in future as a conduit to take items to the Fans’ Forum as suggested by participants and then to feedback on what has been learned, but all the while realising that the meetings convened by the club are not representative of the whole support, not to mention running the risk of another mercurial, confrontational decision issued from on high, guaranteed to upset the fans. Consequently, I won’t be attending the NUFC Fans United meeting on Wednesday 13th November (I am at work in any case), but I would urge all those who do, to also join NUST as that organisation is ripe for change and appears to be the vehicle most suited for the purpose of both leading the support forward and for re-engaging with the club in a meaningful way, providing we join in enough numbers to sweep away the current leadership.

Monday 4 November 2013

North by North West


Dublin may have won the football final and Clare, much to my despair, the hurling after a replay against Cork, but the garrison games still have a central place in the Irish sporting consciousness. While Ireland beat Australia in the compromise rules series and Scotland in the hurling meets shinty tests, proper football was drawing to a close as the 2013 Irish domestic season concentrated on the FAI Cup Final at the AVIVA Stadium.

Anthony Elding’s 93rd minute winner helped settle a pulsating final in front of a disappointing crowd of 17,753 when Sligo Rovers, who came third in the league overall, overcame a spirited Drogheda United side 3-2 in a game that managed to outdo the drama of the other excellent FAI Finals  that have taken place since the showpiece event moved to the AVIVA in 2010. The Bit o’ Red’s third success in 4 years at this venue was achieved with 5 Englishmen in the team: Elding, two-goal Man of the Match Danny North, ex Newcastle United trainee Jeff Henderson, captain Danny Ventre and former AFC Wimbledon player Kieran Djilali, not to mention their former Scunthorpe United boss Ian Barraclough. In addition, 38 year old Cameroonian international Joseph Ndo, the finest player in the League of Ireland for 10 years of more, bossed the centre of midfield all game. Sligo are a great club, with a smashing ground in a fabulous part of the world and I’m delighted to see them doing so well.

The cup final brought down the curtain on the 2013 domestic season that saw the usual collection of superb games and farcical financial malfeasance that characterises the Airtricity League. St Patrick’s Athletic were deserved champions, winning the title from Dundalk, who had a great campaign to finish only 3 points behind. The EA Sports League Cup saw Drogheda United again fail at the final hurdle, going down 2-0 to Shamrock Rovers, who finished the league in a disappointing 5th place, but who have apparently signed a pre contract agreement with departing Hibs boss Pat Fenlon, to bring the former Bohs supremo to Tallaght. Lucky him. Unlucky Drogs, who lost their third cup final of the season early on, when Shams won the largely ignored “cross border” Setanta Sports Cup, by the enormous margin of 7-1. After all those cup adventures, it’s no wonder that Drogs ended the season down in 8th place. Poor sods.

Consequently, the European qualifiers are St Patrick’s Athletic in the Champions’ League and Dundalk, Sligo Rovers and Derry City in the Europa League, where they’ll all be granted the opportunity of having their pants taken down by a double digit two legged loss to the likes of Sheriff Tiraspol in mid July 2014. 

Cork City were a solid 6th and Limerick, featuring former Newcastle United reserve Patrick Nzuzi, had a commendable first campaign back in the top flight to finish a place below them and above the cupless Drogs. UCD were 9th and former Big Club Bohemians were just about safe in 10th. Oh how Da Boez have come to regret not selling Dalier at the height of the Irish property bubble and relocating out by the airport; the club, Ireland’s finest, still struggles along. This all meant Shelbourne, who finished bottom, went back down after 2 undistinguished seasons in the top flight that they’d struggled so bravely to get back into. Bray Wanderers went into the play-offs and overcame Longford Town over 2 legs to maintain their status in the top flight, much to the relief of denizens of what is always referred to as Wicklow’s soccer-mad town.

As ever, the first division held the most intrigue and farcical happenings. Athlone Town were champions by 5 points from Longford, who were required to play off home and away against Mervue United to face Bray. If Longford had lost, Bray would have been safe without a play off as Mervue had no intention of accepting promotion as, after their best ever season in the senior game Mervue have, along with fellow Galwegians Salthill, who finished adrift by 14 points, both served notice of their decision to quit the league. They may also be joined in the departure lounge by 5th placed Wexford Youths, on account of the business troubles of owner Mick Wallace TD, the love interest of purged former Socialist Party TD Clare Daly. Unless some kind of reanimated Galway United are admitted to the league, which is the FAI’s dearest wish, then the first division will presumably run on 5 teams next season. Absolutely insane. Waterford United, as is their wont, blew any chance of the play-offs by finishing 4th, only 3 points behind Longford, while Finn Harps and Cobh Ramblers, the latter re-joining the league after a 4 year hiatus, were second and third bottom, both on 31 points.

Of course, all this is subject to the machinations of the FAI licensing committee, who’ll not confirm the make-up of the league until mid-February 2014. Before then, they’ve the unenviable task of persuading a cynical support (especially me) that the ideal solution to the hangover lingering after the terrible Trappatoni era is to appoint Martin O’Neill with Roy Keane as his assistant, to the gig of national team boss.

Two mad, paranoid, self-obsessed failed ex Mackem managers; what could possibly go wrong? Expect Ireland to win the 2016 European Championships…..