It was 2nd September 2013, 11pm Transfer deadline, Ground zero or just plain old Monday.
This was the date that the A-Bomb was dropped on NUFC and it’s innocent civilians.
The ‘A’ stands for Absurd, by the way! The absurdity of our club and it’s transfer market inactivity.
A nuclear error has occurred at Gallowgate!
This blast of ridiculousness has left a post-apocalyptic land-scape smouldering in a pile of radioactive black and white ash(ley).
Hopefully it also brought that moment of brilliant clarity to all Newcastle fans – however optimistic, pessimistic or somewhere in between…..
**Mike Ashley is a clear and present danger to all things Newcastle United**
We can’t say we weren’t warned, but this is not the time to be smug and say – I told you so. No, there is nothing to be smug about. In this war, we the fans are all losers.
But, we all heard the sirens going off didn’t we? Seriously, you did hear them right? They have been going off loudly since the same time last year. If truth be told, they have been going off since the Despot Dictator took the reigns from the previous incumbents.
But, we are a proud and stubborn nation, here in Newcastle.
Too proud, too stubborn? Maybe. A brave face and stiff upper lip, laughing in the face of danger?
Nobody is laughing any more. That is apart from the whole country outside of our City.
Opposing fans are reveling in our personal misery, Radio Talk in’s, the written press and TV are having a field day. What can we do but take it on the chin? You cannot argue with people laughing at us. We are now officially a joke.
The problem is the alarms have been ignored. Many clung onto the hope that the warning signs were a mistake. Sitting watching the clock tick by, glued to the TV waiting to be proved wrong. Still waiting now.
Every right minded fan had hoped that common sense would prevail at the last minute. Players would be signed, as has been promised and speculated all summer.
Why don’t be soft! Mike Ashley, JFK and unfortunately Newcastle United, cannot be uttered in the same breath as the words COMMON SENSE.
Many fans had heeded the warnings, dug the bunkers and were prepared for the blast. However prepared you are, the sheer shock and the stark realisation that your club has just became the Nations laughing stock, still has left the eyes stinging and the ears ringing.
Some of the more optimistic among us, were seen running towards the Deadline-Day mushroom-cloud blast site, in Speedos and flip flops with Marshmallows on toasting forks, blank autograph books in hand.
Those fans may well be standing now admiring their new Atomic tan, Wonga tops melted to their chests, and discussing what a successful window we have had. Who knows?
Despite setting ourselves up for the impending disappointment, regularly discussing the thought that we were going to sign NOBODY, it has still hurt.
There is pure disbelief at the decisions made by those responsible for keeping our old and proud clubs heart beating. I say, those, I mean him. It, thing, lump – whatever you may call him.
But this should be of no surprise to anybody.
Since taking over as the undeserving custodian of our club, our very own War Lord Ashley, has blazed an almost irreparable trail through the club.
The long list of embarrassing misdemeanors of the man, is well known and needs no reintroduction.
This time his guilt is associated through lack of actions.
In football by standing still, you go backwards. A football club is like a river, if you stop the flow it’s going to stagnate and die. The player pool constantly needs refreshing, both in and out.
Imagine Ashley came and built a dam at the mouth of the Tyne, stopping it in its tracks, killing it dead? Wouldn’t put it past him by the way!!
If he did carry out this evil act, (no doubt hidden away down South), Statler and Waldorf (aka Pardew and JFK) megaphone in hand’s, would be tasked with walking the quayside to scream “We are happy with what we’ve got, you should be happy too, you thick Geordie Wanker’s, trust us…”.
Now you wouldn’t believe that shite if you heard it under those circumstances (however ridiculous that may be), why would anybody believe the pre-prepared statement that Alan Pardew has had to put his name to?
We are not expected to swallow this tripe? I am embarrassed for the man.
What’s new though? We all have had a giggle second guessing the Spin-tastic nonsense that would come firing out of Pardew’s gob following the slamming of the transfer window.
This propaganda release, to me resembles the scenes created by an unhealthy backside indiscriminately pebble dashing somebody else’s porcelain. Verbal diarrhoea.
The people of North Korea get more open, frank and honest communication from the own Glorious Leader than we do.
Funnily enough, I don’t blame JFK for us failing in the transfer market. Mike Ashley was the man who hired the goon in the first place. A clown of the highest proportion, who from minute one was neither qualified, nor capable of fulfilling his role. Nor that of his ludicrous drunken promises of challenging the top four.
The man who abused fans as clueless when announcing his arrival on radio! The man who said he could phone any manager in world football, open any door! Why aye man Joe, take another pill and settle down.
I don’t think he has many phones at hand in his padded, rubber lined suite.
What chance did we have under JFK’s professional approach? Zero. But was that the plan?
After all you don’t send Inspector Cleaseau to solve a serious murder case do you?
I am sure he would give his all, no doubt with the same hilarious consequences, though ultimately fail miserably.
I think from Mike Ashley’s view, it is Mission accomplished. Wanted to spend sweet FA, and did. Bravo fat boy.
Though he is probably a little disappointed they didn’t bag a big sale like Cabaye and stuff a few more suitcases full of the clubs cash under his mattress.
All we are left with now is the conspiracy theory that the club must be for sale. Why else would, or could these events unfold? It could be the only explanation.
Christ on a bike, I hope that this theory is true and that Mike is shortly to depart our black and white world.
The fear is that he, who cares nowt for the club, the fans or the city, will happily ride the wave, impervious of any criticism or ill feeling and milk the living life out of our club.
Running it on a shoe string budget, whilst leech-like, ravenously sucking the blood from the club.
If only he was a leech, you could get rid of him by burning him off his perch with a big Benson and Hedges!
He is not to be moved. The only thing that will, is cold, hard cash. Here is hoping that somebody out there has enough to see him release his grip and allow the club, the fans and city to breath fully again and flourish once more.
Till that day lads and lasses, I wish us all the very best of luck.
Keep smiling. HTL.