So many times we have went there with probably much superior teams and ended up scraping draw’s or getting thumped. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Boo-bloody-hoo
There will be no tears wept from Tyneside for that club or its band of intercontinental “die-hard” fans oozing their very own brand of smug.
This wee club in the North after having its bottom spanked only days earlier by a misfiring Swansea side created history. That is exactly how it felt. An historic moment. The JFK being shot (don’t build your hopes up everyone), man landing on the moon moment. If you were alive you remember it, it was 7 years before I was born the last time we blackened their eyes with a swift Geordie upper cut – back in 1972.
Long hair, platform shoes, bell bottomed jeans were the fashion. T Rex, Deep Purple, Bowie even our very own Lindisfarne graced the airwaves. Absolutely mental, 41 seasons (albeit some apart) of being the sacrificial lambs to slaughter.
All the pain over the years has made that win, performance and result so sweeter. Generations have been hatched and dispatched in between then and now. Lost Geordie souls who never got to witness our bite for once matching the bark of the fans.
I was not there, I was in the boozer with some very good friends. But at the end we stood in shock and hugged before having our photo’s taken, with fists pumped for posterity.
After that I proceeded to party like it was 1999, basking in some over the top triumphalism. Even phoning a colleague who is a Hartlepool born and bred “die hard” ManUre fan – for a bit of long overdue gloating. Funnily enough, the bugger didn’t answer his phone – aye that’s reet Gary…!
We played hard and moved the ball with confidence. Swapped and rotated positions and chased every ball. Posed a threat and Willo yet again had the back door locked tight. We deserved it.
Ended up sozzled and missed MoTD, only to catch the next day for some familiar biased coverage from the good old Beeb. What the hell I pay my licence for I don’t know.
Yet again from that sorry bunch they managed to make the game look like we had dug a trench and defended our goal like a scene from Saving Private Ryan on the beaches of Dunkirk. Blink and you’d miss the goal that we scored – you know the one that won the game. Aye, that one. More replays given to the correctly disallowed goal. The commentator might as well have chanted “who’s the b*stard in the black” at the ref and lino-girl.
Well done to that lassy by the way!
Their own website even had the strap line – Man Utd lose to Newcastle due to Van Persie disallowed goal! Not NUFC win at Old Trafford through Cabaye Goal. A little bit of credit when its due would be nice!
It adds to our pleasure I suppose, knowing that everyone in the media wanted, nay expected failure. To be fair over the years most of us have expected the same. Some years you hoped that it would be no worse than 3-0. Don’t deny it!
Like the changing of the seasons, or the tides of the sea (watching Only fools and horses whilst writing this!) – for 41 years we went to the Theatre of screams and got duffed up. Let’s hope it’s not another 41 before we are celebrating another win again!
The Red peril no longer have the fear factor. They are proving to be human. The officials seemingly are no longer afraid of incurring the wrath of the Manager. They don’t mind sticking it to Moyes, where as in years gone by they would be Fergie’s lap dogs and scamper for treats thrown by the purple nosed fecker’s hand. Man Utd – welcome into the real world!
But that historical moment is now exactly that – HISTORY. We take this team and play our nearest rivals on in the league, Southampton.
I was very, very impressed by them last year when we played them home and away. As daft as it sounds I think we will find this a tougher game than the last. However, we are at home and I expect us to give them a good game too. Pushed to call it either way.
If Pards and the lads can pull off another win, we will be flying high. I read Luke Edwards piece the other day that described Newcastle as a slag heap of a club, due to Ashley and his nonsense, and that despite this a rose was growing from the slag heap that was a flourishing and fine football team. I liked that.
I haven’t got that word for word, but it is a cracking analogy.
Even though we would be better served by Mr Blobby and Baldrick at the helm than Ash and Joe, somehow through the smoke, strings and rivers of propaganda – Pardew has got a team together and has got them playing.
Good luck to the lads, another three points will make my Christmas night out that little bit more memorable – or not as the case may be!