From the moment Mike Ashley bought Newcastle United this mess has been coming. In the post, like a stinking brown paper parcel full of dog shit that someone has lit, left on your door step and ran off after ringing the doorbell.
For most people there is intrigue and even excitement when a massive surprise parcel arrives out of the blue. The Geordie public at large, myself included were caught up in all the excitement and initial razzamatazz surrounding Ashley’s lightning purchase of the club. Billionaire, English, drinking and buying pints in the Toon, bringing Keegan back and dispensing of Hippo Heed himself – he got off to a decent start didn’t he? What could possibly go wrong?
He even had a media friendly and communicative Chairman in Chris Mort – the sky was the limit. ‘Was’ being the operative word.
Fast forward to today and Ashley has not only spectacularly failed to reach the heady heights we had all hoped for, but managed to alienate, demoralise and above all else – piss off at least 50% of his faithful customers on the journey.
These actions and bizarre appointments, (the crime sheet has been listed so many times I don’t even want to mention it again) his wall of silence, his lack of any involvement or investment, his complete disregard is obvious to all.
The bobby dazzler of a parcel that arrived has turned out not only full of shit and set a’had, its splattered your new sneakers, pebble dashed your jeans and charred your ankles.
Like Midas or Goldfinger – Ash the Cash was the man with the Golden touch in business. When it comes to Ashley’s decisions and tenure at NUFC he has had more had the skill of turning everything he touched to into tat.
Our very own St James park renamed the Sp*rts D!rect Arena and forcefully used like a mule for punting his crud – every orifice cram packed with socks and Tee’s.
The clubs reward for being scarred by his filthy branding iron (?) – sweet Fanny Adams.
The only reward is indeed his own. No commercial gain for the club in an era that has never seen so much money on offer by way of commercial endorsement.
Our Cathedral was now the biggest Sock shop in the world, pimped, cheapened and dirtied. A public embarrassment and monstrosity. Ashley is prostituting our name and abusing our Premier position of power to strengthen his tatty empire caring not one iota for the progression of Newcastle United.
That beautiful club that drove us all mental, but always gave hope of better times around the corner, has become the club of not even the hopeful, more the hopeless.
Everybody likes to think of NUFC being a crazy roller coaster ride filled with ups and downs, well it might be like a roller coaster ride – but it’s just been stopped upside down mid loop by the operator, the thrill a minute that’s going nee where. How much excitement can you take!
Whilst he sits in the booth counting his loot, he can hear the yells and screams from those above – but chooses to ignore them. Scream if you wanna go faster! Howay Mike, even a little bit?
Eventually he is going to have to let the good paying folk off, some brave buggers have already jumped. Who is going to be left on?
Look, things could be worse, a lot worse. This we are consistently reminded by those brainwashed by Ashley propaganda – we could all be doing a Pompey or a Leeds if it wasn’t for Sir Spend-Bottall racing to the rescue on his mighty black and white steed. What bollocks.
Look, no population the size of St James is ever going to agree on one vision. Fans will always have their own opinions and there will always be a faction of discord. However the swell of the tide is possibly irreversible. Those who agree with each-other are now disagreeing – madness!
People are not complaining for the sake of moaning, people truly fear for a club set adrift by Ashley in a brown river with a severe lack of paddles.
Watching the box the other day there was some poxy event on the Winter Olympics – drunk snowball fighting or something, and the commentator said the immortal words “This tie is a dead rubber match”. What am I banging on about hear you cry? Well we should have that as our new motto emblazoned across the stadium. The dead rubber society.
When you are safe from relegation, but have neither the interest or capability in effecting the top of the table – it leads to a lack of motivation and endemic disillusion amidst a squad already cocking a snook to their summer breaks – and possibly new clubs.
Usually a dead rubber game happens in the last game of the season and some oddball results can occur. From here until May – every game we cross the white line for is in reality a dead rubber. Happy days the Ashley mob cry! WE’RE GEORDIES, WE’RE MENTAL WE LOVE TO FINISH NINTH.
God above knows how Uncle Pard’s is going to get us to the end of season in a positive manner. There have been some unbelievably good results this season, but some have been gut wrenchingly woeful.
I am pretty certain that putting the nut on ex-Mackem players is probably not the positive leadership we are looking for! Though a couple of swift jabs to Niall Quinn or current mega-doyle Clattermole would probably raise a few cheers.
Mr Pardew has been banging on about having a big old kitty to raid come the summer, well he is going to need it as I reckon we could lose at least half a dozen players this next window. Is Pardew the man to spend it? I have spent more in my local offy than Ash has this last calendar year!
This big kitty has been spotted fewer times than the Beast of Bodmin Moor! No doubt soon to also become a thing of myth and legend. Pards will honestly swear he saw it. Fuzzy and shaky handheld video footage will no doubt appear from those who choose to believe, regardless.
Players come, players go – but if too many come and go in one job lot you are taking a massive risk and potentially can end up having a major struggle. This is also in the post, SACK THE POSTMAN!
Mike Ashley has been rumoured to be interested in selling via some dubious website, deep down I just don’t think he is selling for the foreseeable. He has the club in the palm of his hand and gripping it like a cows udder. He is going to milk that teat from the poor beast that is NUFC until the last drop plops.