Be careful what you wish for Part II – Newcastle United
Ah Newcastle, what evocative images that marvellous old name conjures up – Jackie Milburn looking forward to a simple dinner of a little fishy, on a little dishy, washed down with a bottle of broon. But all is not well in the land of Jimmy Nail, not well at all.
A few short months ago, the Toon Army were rejoicing. Upstanding members of society Freddy Sheppard and Co had been cast out of St James Park and the club’s salvation had come via that cheeky-chappy pedlar of chav wear Mike Ashley. Luverley jubberly, as they started to say up on the Tyne. Not only did Ashley take his considerable personal fortune up the A1(M), he cemented his place in the hearts of all Geordies by bringing back one of their favourites sons into the managerial fold, Joseph Kevin Keegan. The planets had again aligned and the future could hold nothing but never-ending success. Surely?
Keegan, Newcastle United Football Club and the Toon Army were, most definitely, made for each other. Keegan, he of the dodgy perm, best-passed-over pop career and a strange aversion to kipping in his Range Rover was undoubtedly a stellar talent as a player. But as a manager, it’s a different story. Spells at Newcastle, Fulham and Man City were memorable only for Kev’s adherence to the singular tactic of fielding a starting 11 comprised of two wingers, eight centre forwards and Norman Wisdom in goal, and for “loving it” if Newcastle could hang on to a seemingly insurmountable points advantage over Man Utd to grab the Premiership title – they couldn’t. Beyond the limits of reason, Keegan was also given a shot at the England job. The country roundly thanked him for overseeing defeat in the last ever game at Wembley Stadium at the hands of the our old foes the Germans.
Newcastle United are a great club. In the same way that Blackpool and Old Etonians are great clubs. Namely, that they won things a very, very long time ago. The last time Newcastle won anything of note, the faces in the crowd were wearing flat caps to a man. But the supporters are so passionate about their team! Indeed they are. On the day of St Kevin’s appointment, fans queued round the block to pick up tickets for that night’s League Cup match against lower opposition, tickets let it not be forgotten, for seats that would have been left empty otherwise. Had it not been for King Kev, the game would have been played out in a near deserted stadium. Newcastle do play to large crowds, in the Premiership, but then it’s not really that difficult to get bums on seats for games against Liverpool, Man Utd and co. And all the while the Toon Army drone on monotonously about the success that should be the club’s birthright with the media complicit in their continuing delusions of greatness. It is, apparently, a given that the fans of clubs from gritty places oop north that used to make things are more steadfast in their support than those of fey, southern nancy types. They stick with their club through thick and thin. Strangely at odds to this popular myth, I cherish a personal reminiscence of watching Newcastle host Cambridge United in an old second division game in the mid-eighties. A match played in a dilapidated stadium which, if memory serves, was nigh-on empty. What sort of attendances would St James Park see after a prolonged spell outside the top flight I wonder?
So what caused the dream to sour, you may well ask. Southerners! And not only that, but a veritable “Kerknee marfeeah” as the shell suit clad denizens of Tyneside will tell you. With mini-me thug Dennis Wise brought in as Kev’s boss and upsetting the locals by insisting on wearing his pearly king suit to matches, it was only a matter of time before things came to a head. Keegan stormed out in a strop. Again. Mike Ashley put the club up for sale on the grounds that he can’t take his kiddiwinks to games and the Toon Army are hoping for a rich foreign sort to come to the club’s rescue and bring back the good times.
It brings a lump to your throat, doesn’t it!
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Bets of the week
In keeping with the earlier part of my column I can’t pass up the opportunity to back against Newcastle until they sort their domestic issues out. Fill your boots with the true cockney pearly kings, West Ham, to pile more misery on the Toon. The Hammers are readily available at evens.
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