Halloween, gore, blood-curdling screams and of course the M*ckems.
That tingling in the spine increases as we draw nearer yet another duel with the dark side. The unavoidable stress of a trip to visit the monsters of the black lagoon is upon us once more.
But before we reach that gruesome encounter, we have to deal with the lingering nightmare that lurks only one week before – the marauding red peril of Merseyside.
SJP had never witnessed such a one sided blood bath in 80 odd years. A cricket score was dished out on a day that could have come straight from a horror movie. It was such an horrific massacre that it’s black shadow has never left the club, or indeed Alan Pardew’s side.
Like Edgar Allen Poe’s Raven tapping at the door – it won’t go away. With our trousers taken down and backsides well and truly spanked, the result and performance shrieked from the roof tops that trouble was brewing at the Cathedral on the hill.
The fact that this home result had been preceded by being toppled by the unwashed, just added to the growing fear that all was not well and the stench of relegation choked the throats.
As we all know, we escaped the relegation trap door by the skin of our teeth – but the form of last season has left us all haunted.
Since then our resident ghoul JFK, managed to drag one player over the magic line in the transfer window. A case of “we know what you did last summer” – f&ck all. But Joe tried his hardest bless him, and his hectic schedule of Hotel and Airport Bar lounge rendezvous left him very tired and emotional.
Don’t get me wrong, Remy has turned out to be a revelation so far, but for how long like? We will all be happy whilst he keeps banging them in (just as well somebody is by the way) but we will all be pretty hacked off if, or indeed when, he toddles off into the heat of the Brazilian sunshine for a World Cup (shop window) bonanza, without having any agreement in place. Who is to bet against that happening and us being taken to the wire again in yet another summer of striker-angst.
United have been described as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, referring to the schizophrenic nature of their performances. The Toon have swung so much so from disaster to glory with no in-between that it has left all and sundry scratching their scalp to the skull in bewilderment. Most frighteningly for us, at the top of the baffled list includes the bloody team manager. If he can’t put his finger on it, God help us all.
The conundrum for me is that we are even more extreme than Jekyll and Hyde. At least there was a reason for that. He took a potion, flipped his pot and ran amok. Victorian Jager bombs no doubt! Depending on which way the wind is blowing, we don’t know whether they can be arsed to put a shift in or not.
It’s up to the gaffer to have them focused and firing from the first whistle, but once they cross the white line, it is up to them to react to the game as it unfolds. If we concede first, we cannot just pick the ball up and gan home to Mammy saying that we don’t want to play anymore. Captain Coloccini needs to step up.
After Hull and especially Everton, the words you will have read – clueless, gutless, spineless, useless, no backbone among a few expletives. Mentality is a huge concern with the team, motivation another. When the going gets tough, the tough get going? When the going gets tough, this lot’s heed just goes. But when they are at it, they really do look like they could give anybody problems.
We are told over and over again that we have a good first team. Agreed, we have some excellent first team players, but team I am not sure. One thing about us that we are certain is that we are the most ‘consistently inconsistent’ team in the league! Like the famous line from Forest Gump – “Newcastle United are like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are gonna get”. Or necessarily like it…
The fixture ball-bag has spewed these two fixtures together and we can only pray to God, Allah, Vishnu, Buddha, Colonel Sanders, Elvis or even the God of Hell fire that we don’t end up on the wrong end of nine against and nil for. My very soul could be lost forever.
Liverpool are in very good nick, Sturridge has been exceptional. Last season he tore us to bits – warning heeded? They are led by a pretty big Cheese ball -fortune cookie logic – soundbite of a manager who makes David Brent seem like the greatest philosopher of the modern era – but that aside he has them playing good stuff and they are going to represent a massive challenge.
What can we expect from the SMB’s? The timing of our meeting probably couldn’t be worse. New manager at the helm, who in his previous incarnations as Brighton manager and Chelsea player was our very own Grim Reaper.
Aye, Gus Poyet has seemingly enjoyed sticking the knife into Geordie hopes over the years. Wembley under Sir Bobby in the FA cup semi’s was the biggest sickener for me. Weeping with joy when Bobby Lee netted, weeping again after those jammy cockney toads smashed and grabbed a cup final spot from us via the boot and noggin of old Gustavo. The twat.
The early exits in consecutive FA cups was not so much down to his managerial brilliance, more to our own deficiencies.
I truly hope that we can ram the reality home to him and that deluded mob, that the last encounter was a blip. Victory for us would be sweet however it arrives, more importantly it could see him off to a bad start and keep them rooted to the bottom of the pile.
But the stark reality is that we stride heed first into the unknown, like a blindfolded mine detector. We might get to the other side unscathed, we might not. Heads or tails? Just hope that come bonfire night that I’ll not be volunteering myself as the Guy following a double dip on the United roller-coaster!
Keep the faith, and a spare pair of kegs handy!