On this day...

[Guest HTT II]

2 minutes ago, TheGuv said:

Lost 2-0 at home to Chelsea.

 

KK said we would never be a top 4 club within his 3 year contract. He was certainly right. This seemed to spark the downfall that we’ve taken 14 years to get out of. Hopefully we strive to become the club that Keegan wanted.

 

I’m meeting him next week and I can’t wait to discuss this with him!

Tell him I said hello, that I love him, and to please come back to a game so we can roundly applaud the man.

[Guest HTT II]

They say never meet your heroes. KK spent over an hour at our table, didn’t drink, we were all mortal, but engaged with 10 of us as a group and individually and was an absolute gent and very sincere, what a man. 

[HaydnNUFC]

3 hours ago, TheGuv said:

Lost 2-0 at home to Chelsea.

 

KK said we would never be a top 4 club within his 3 year contract. He was certainly right. This seemed to spark the downfall that we’ve taken 14 years to get out of. Hopefully we strive to become the club that Keegan wanted.

 

I’m meeting him next week and I can’t wait to discuss this with him!

 

 

[Hovagod]

To this day, has anybody within football been this direct and outspoken about the sheer ridiculousness about the situation at the top of English football? On Sky Sports as well!

[HaydnNUFC]

2004, last home game of the season to relegated Wolves, drew 1-1. Shearer missed a pen and no one stayed for the lap of honour at the end. .com match report in the spoiler.

 

Spoiler

Amazing, incredible, unbelievable. 

Three days after the semi-final of a European Cup competition and with a top four league place up for grabs, Newcastle are booed by a section of their own supporters and then handed a colossal vote of no confidence in the manager and players by a collective walkout at the final whistle.

But when the dust settles on this apparent show of petulance and emotions are checked back enough to allow for a modicum of perspective, then the reasons for this display of social disobedience have been plain to see for months. Since around 4pm on the first day of our season to be exact. 

At that juncture, Newcastle fans were filing out of Elland Road after a 2-2 draw from a Sunday afternoon early kickoff, having just seen their side scrape a point from a game they should have won against a piecemeal Leeds side who even at that juncture looked to be in the proverbial - reminiscent of back in August 1988 when losing at Everton......

In our report of Leeds game, we finished by saying, "there's no real evidence of progression from last season at this admittedly very early stage" as well as saying of Bowyer that "this right wing role doesn't seem a good use of his talents." Two statements that have almost been repeated mantra-like ever since.

Can I just say straight away, before keyboards are abused and poison pens picked up, that booing is not something that we subscribe to. The arguments for doing it in certain circumstances are beyond question, whether you choose to throw in the examples of anger expression ranging from the suffragettes to Solidarity in Poland. 

It's just something that just doesn't come into our heads - a bit like loser's parades. Just give us a quick wave and then everyone can go home and forget about it, don't play the extra extended 12 inch half-paced mix of Local Hero before traipsing out long-forgotten juniors and glum-looking crocks. 

We didn't even have the Northumberland Senior Cup to hide behind this year - the only thing we've won was when Shearer's horse was first past the post....perhaps that should have been on the field, a nice bit of manure might have improved things....  

No, something snapped collectively amongst the crowd on Sunday when Wolves equalised. It had been almost eerily quiet beforehand, aside from the celebration of the Bowyer goal, people too tense, depressed or sullen to try and lift the team. 

A second goal before the interval might have masked the fraying edges and extinguished any remaining embers of ambition for the visitors, but the same piece of woodwork that had denied Drogba and Terry in the last two games was there at the Leazes end for Shola to bounce his shot off.

As it was we left the field for the interval having missed three good chances to augment Bowyer's effort and if the atmosphere wasn't hostile, then there was a certainly an air of apprehension.

That had become outright hostility by the time Wolves scored and then festered as Robert embarked upon a series of ludicrous efforts to tackle, win and then keep and pass the ball, to howls of derision. He was eventually withdrawn and replaced via a mixed reception of boos, catcalls and applause, but missing was the old shout of "Hugo Hugo" when the Portuguese midfielder emerged, the booing continuing as he entered the action. Some people were so het up I doubt they knew Chopra was on as well.

Amid an atmosphere of total negativity and fractiousness, those on the field became ever more desperate in their efforts and consequently their waywardness. In a word, rattled. Wolves sensed it and in their own half-baked style tried to impose themselves, Ince producing a cameo of his former fiery self with some thuggery and arguing with colleagues. 

Then, apparent salvation. From the far end of the ground there was mixed opinion over why we were awarded a spot kick, but no doubt that the ball was on the spot and that the man placing it there was en route to his 29th goal of the season.

Only there was a doubt. A colossal doubt. Not for one second did I believe Al would score and the same line was repeated time and time again when asking fellow drinkers after the match. Who knows why? Maybe we are just fated to foul up, very publicly.

Under those strained circumstances, the announcement from the "I was only obeying orders" PA man of a post-match tramp round the field just further stirred up the emotions of people who had seen enough.

Seen enough: bad play, boring games, questionable tactics, unenjoyable wins, players not trying, fellow fans not getting involved, people walking out, inaccurate newspaper articles, patronising player interviews. 

Ten months of slowly fermenting frustration, now mutating into sheer bloody disappointment once more.  

I think it's safe to say that not one person walked out of this ground thinking about Boro winning the tinpot league cup, but in a way that's part of the problem. We may mock, but we cannot even excel to that extent. Generations of fans are now reared on disappointment. 

Bobby and Co. may have cringed and griped at the booing, but they should reflect that it was typically British - in other places they would have waved handkerchiefs, (like his beloved Barca) hoyed cushions or bottles or come on the field and attacked those held to account.

(Long gone from proceedings, television footage later confirmed that Robert had taken part in the post-match cortege, filming his own personal long march with a camcorder - maybe he just wanted to gather evidence in case someone came out of what remained of the crowd and smacked him one.)

Partizan Belgrade is seen as a watershed for the club in recent times, but the seeds of discontent were sewn at Elland Road and the countless other homes of second-rate clubs that we underachieved in all season.

That feeling was crystalised on Thursday, when we were potentially ten minutes away from a UEFA Cup final. One goal would have put us level with Marseille and made for a nervous end to the game amongst the citizens of the Velodrome. But we never looked like getting it and continued to play in an unconvincing, dispiriting manner right to the end.

And here on Sunday it all fell down. Would 50,000 fans cheering themselves hoarse at the end of this game have sent the team off in better shape to win those last two games? It would have been nice to find out, but I doubt it - things like that don't seem to matter to that lot on the field anymore, expect when tossing off bland platitudes in interviews. After all, it didn't work at Wembley did it? 

Never mind that we were without certain players. We've been without Bellamy and Woodgate as much as we've seen them and the contributions of Jenas and Dyer overall this season could be recorded on the back of a Bacardi Breezer bottle top.  

On Thursday and Sunday, we had a team on the pitch composed of professional footballers acquired at great expense, cosseted, well-remunerated and with the potential to be the focus of adulation for decades to come. Just ask Bob Moncur. 

Once again though as Jim Bowen would say, we got close enough to see what we could have won, before tossing it all away. We failed to beat a tinpot, tosspot team from Wolverhampton yet again and you wonder why people get upset? 

Paying through the nose to sit (and stand) through a mind-bogglingly mediocre campaign doesn't leave one well-disposed to sympathising with the people appointed to carry your hopes and dreams, who week after week do a good impression of rubbing your face in the muck. And knowing that the rest of the league barring one team are utterly bloody ordinary just makes it worse.

Bobby may wail about bleeding black and white and pin on his toon army medals, but he was many, many miles away when we suffered in near-silence the tribulations of the Dalglish and Gullit eras. It's a mite unfair, but those on the field on Sunday bore the brunt of successive failed administrations and countless regrettable signings in recent decades.

Thanks for trying Bobby, but it's defeated you, like all the rest. We've cheered you, we've supported you and now we just plain don't believe you anymore. And neither do the players. We got close, we've almost failed. Again. 

We'll now trudge off to Hampshire and Merseyside with whatever the opposite of hope in our hearts is. But not boo.

 

One thing I thought about reading that and yesterday when the Man City goals were going in with the state of that ground, I hope we don't become soulless. Atmospheres et al will always drop off as you improve as expectations change, like a home game against Brighton in 5 years time won't have as good an atmosphere as the one this season did. But if we were to move from SJP (hope not) and we're consistently in Europe and challenging there's going to be a huge tail off in regards to atmosphere. The guy who does the NUFC 1980-1994 accounts on Twitter and YouTube I've asked why he cuts off the name of his accounts at 1994, and he said that the expectations after 1993-94 went up quite a bit and the atmospheres and occasions at SJP were hugely affected and weren't what they used to be. It's inevitable but it's disheartening to think about a bit. Long way to go I suppose.

[Wolfcastle]

The atmosphere drop off was the same everywhere in that time frame. Leeds from probably the most intimdating place 89-92 to sterile by the mid 90s.

Part all-seater stadiums, part the price paid for sanitising the game.  Least we had the excuse of expectation levels.

The atmosphere was incomporably worse 89-91 too, probably an all-time pre-Ashley low, but he's included that?

 

 

 

Edited May 9, 2022 by Wolfcastle

[Superior Acuña]

55 minutes ago, HaydnNUFC said:

2004, last home game of the season to relegated Wolves, drew 1-1. Shearer missed a pen and no one stayed for the lap of honour at the end. .com match report in the spoiler.

 

  Reveal hidden contents

Amazing, incredible, unbelievable. 

Three days after the semi-final of a European Cup competition and with a top four league place up for grabs, Newcastle are booed by a section of their own supporters and then handed a colossal vote of no confidence in the manager and players by a collective walkout at the final whistle.

But when the dust settles on this apparent show of petulance and emotions are checked back enough to allow for a modicum of perspective, then the reasons for this display of social disobedience have been plain to see for months. Since around 4pm on the first day of our season to be exact. 

At that juncture, Newcastle fans were filing out of Elland Road after a 2-2 draw from a Sunday afternoon early kickoff, having just seen their side scrape a point from a game they should have won against a piecemeal Leeds side who even at that juncture looked to be in the proverbial - reminiscent of back in August 1988 when losing at Everton......

In our report of Leeds game, we finished by saying, "there's no real evidence of progression from last season at this admittedly very early stage" as well as saying of Bowyer that "this right wing role doesn't seem a good use of his talents." Two statements that have almost been repeated mantra-like ever since.

Can I just say straight away, before keyboards are abused and poison pens picked up, that booing is not something that we subscribe to. The arguments for doing it in certain circumstances are beyond question, whether you choose to throw in the examples of anger expression ranging from the suffragettes to Solidarity in Poland. 

It's just something that just doesn't come into our heads - a bit like loser's parades. Just give us a quick wave and then everyone can go home and forget about it, don't play the extra extended 12 inch half-paced mix of Local Hero before traipsing out long-forgotten juniors and glum-looking crocks. 

We didn't even have the Northumberland Senior Cup to hide behind this year - the only thing we've won was when Shearer's horse was first past the post....perhaps that should have been on the field, a nice bit of manure might have improved things....  

No, something snapped collectively amongst the crowd on Sunday when Wolves equalised. It had been almost eerily quiet beforehand, aside from the celebration of the Bowyer goal, people too tense, depressed or sullen to try and lift the team. 

A second goal before the interval might have masked the fraying edges and extinguished any remaining embers of ambition for the visitors, but the same piece of woodwork that had denied Drogba and Terry in the last two games was there at the Leazes end for Shola to bounce his shot off.

As it was we left the field for the interval having missed three good chances to augment Bowyer's effort and if the atmosphere wasn't hostile, then there was a certainly an air of apprehension.

That had become outright hostility by the time Wolves scored and then festered as Robert embarked upon a series of ludicrous efforts to tackle, win and then keep and pass the ball, to howls of derision. He was eventually withdrawn and replaced via a mixed reception of boos, catcalls and applause, but missing was the old shout of "Hugo Hugo" when the Portuguese midfielder emerged, the booing continuing as he entered the action. Some people were so het up I doubt they knew Chopra was on as well.

Amid an atmosphere of total negativity and fractiousness, those on the field became ever more desperate in their efforts and consequently their waywardness. In a word, rattled. Wolves sensed it and in their own half-baked style tried to impose themselves, Ince producing a cameo of his former fiery self with some thuggery and arguing with colleagues. 

Then, apparent salvation. From the far end of the ground there was mixed opinion over why we were awarded a spot kick, but no doubt that the ball was on the spot and that the man placing it there was en route to his 29th goal of the season.

Only there was a doubt. A colossal doubt. Not for one second did I believe Al would score and the same line was repeated time and time again when asking fellow drinkers after the match. Who knows why? Maybe we are just fated to foul up, very publicly.

Under those strained circumstances, the announcement from the "I was only obeying orders" PA man of a post-match tramp round the field just further stirred up the emotions of people who had seen enough.

Seen enough: bad play, boring games, questionable tactics, unenjoyable wins, players not trying, fellow fans not getting involved, people walking out, inaccurate newspaper articles, patronising player interviews. 

Ten months of slowly fermenting frustration, now mutating into sheer bloody disappointment once more.  

I think it's safe to say that not one person walked out of this ground thinking about Boro winning the tinpot league cup, but in a way that's part of the problem. We may mock, but we cannot even excel to that extent. Generations of fans are now reared on disappointment. 

Bobby and Co. may have cringed and griped at the booing, but they should reflect that it was typically British - in other places they would have waved handkerchiefs, (like his beloved Barca) hoyed cushions or bottles or come on the field and attacked those held to account.

(Long gone from proceedings, television footage later confirmed that Robert had taken part in the post-match cortege, filming his own personal long march with a camcorder - maybe he just wanted to gather evidence in case someone came out of what remained of the crowd and smacked him one.)

Partizan Belgrade is seen as a watershed for the club in recent times, but the seeds of discontent were sewn at Elland Road and the countless other homes of second-rate clubs that we underachieved in all season.

That feeling was crystalised on Thursday, when we were potentially ten minutes away from a UEFA Cup final. One goal would have put us level with Marseille and made for a nervous end to the game amongst the citizens of the Velodrome. But we never looked like getting it and continued to play in an unconvincing, dispiriting manner right to the end.

And here on Sunday it all fell down. Would 50,000 fans cheering themselves hoarse at the end of this game have sent the team off in better shape to win those last two games? It would have been nice to find out, but I doubt it - things like that don't seem to matter to that lot on the field anymore, expect when tossing off bland platitudes in interviews. After all, it didn't work at Wembley did it? 

Never mind that we were without certain players. We've been without Bellamy and Woodgate as much as we've seen them and the contributions of Jenas and Dyer overall this season could be recorded on the back of a Bacardi Breezer bottle top.  

On Thursday and Sunday, we had a team on the pitch composed of professional footballers acquired at great expense, cosseted, well-remunerated and with the potential to be the focus of adulation for decades to come. Just ask Bob Moncur. 

Once again though as Jim Bowen would say, we got close enough to see what we could have won, before tossing it all away. We failed to beat a tinpot, tosspot team from Wolverhampton yet again and you wonder why people get upset? 

Paying through the nose to sit (and stand) through a mind-bogglingly mediocre campaign doesn't leave one well-disposed to sympathising with the people appointed to carry your hopes and dreams, who week after week do a good impression of rubbing your face in the muck. And knowing that the rest of the league barring one team are utterly bloody ordinary just makes it worse.

Bobby may wail about bleeding black and white and pin on his toon army medals, but he was many, many miles away when we suffered in near-silence the tribulations of the Dalglish and Gullit eras. It's a mite unfair, but those on the field on Sunday bore the brunt of successive failed administrations and countless regrettable signings in recent decades.

Thanks for trying Bobby, but it's defeated you, like all the rest. We've cheered you, we've supported you and now we just plain don't believe you anymore. And neither do the players. We got close, we've almost failed. Again. 

We'll now trudge off to Hampshire and Merseyside with whatever the opposite of hope in our hearts is. But not boo.

 

One thing I thought about reading that and yesterday when the Man City goals were going in with the state of that ground, I hope we don't become soulless. Atmospheres et al will always drop off as you improve as expectations change, like a home game against Brighton in 5 years time won't have as good an atmosphere as the one this season did. But if we were to move from SJP (hope not) and we're consistently in Europe and challenging there's going to be a huge tail off in regards to atmosphere. The guy who does the NUFC 1980-1994 accounts on Twitter and YouTube I've asked why he cuts off the name of his accounts at 1994, and he said that the expectations after 1993-94 went up quite a bit and the atmospheres and occasions at SJP were hugely affected and weren't what they used to be. It's inevitable but it's disheartening to think about a bit. Long way to go I suppose.

 

Yeah, I always think about that game when I think about how quickly expectations will change. I was ashamed of our fans that day. There's a certain inevitability to it but hopefully can at least limit it, Wor Flags and that might help.

 

As Wolfcastle says though, think drop off in atmosphere post 94 is also down to being that when grounds became all seater etc.

[HaydnNUFC]

27 minutes ago, Inferior Acuña said:

 

Yeah, I always think about that game when I think about how quickly expectations will change. I was ashamed of our fans that day. There's a certain inevitability to it but hopefully can at least limit it, Wor Flags and that might help.

 

As Wolfcastle says though, think drop off in atmosphere post 94 is also down to being that when grounds became all seater etc.

 

Aye. Marc Corby though, the guy who runs NUFC 1980-1994, said that us missing out on Europe in 1994-95 changed the fanbase quite a bit. Great days and atmospheres after that obviously, but it will be inevitable. This season, next season and the one after (assuming we recruit correctly) will be the seasons that we look back on in years to come and say that we enjoyed the most.

[Wolfcastle]

Beresford made a point in some documentary an example of the change that you used to have 15k in the stadium 40' before kick-off. Players would get clapped on and off for their warm ups. All-seater had to be the main cause of that going, no need to get in early

On my first sight of the new Leazes people were drinking and looking out to Leazes Park.

 

Expectations is key too though. You felt the team didn't need your support at times. Yet Sheffield Wed in 97/98 was one of the best atmos I've been in, I felt, probably because of the exact opposite, without Shearer and others and after getting battered by Juventus the week before.

 

In retrospect they're probably a lot better than people remember having a watched a few non-descript games back recently and the atmo rocking, but 92/93 93/94 were exceptional, nationally.

 

 

Edited May 11, 2022 by Wolfcastle

[Yorkie]

If we'd won that Wolves game as opposed to it being a deeply disappointing draw at home to a relegated side, the turnout would have been much better imo. I think one thing we've learned about the matchgoing support (mainly during the Ashley years) is that the matches are the ultimate dictator. The bigger picture comes second. 

 

We were shit on the day, missed a late penalty, and no one could be arsed to stick around, particularly as the season was a bit of a disappointment on the whole. I'm not letting off the hook those fans on that day, I just don't think you can use that incident as a signifier of something more existential. It was probably moreso a case of people being pissy at a shit game rather than actually fuming enough at losing the race for 4th to turn their back on the lap of honour. 

 

The way the Etihad empties during a routine victory does make you wonder but ultimately I suppose it depends on who's in the ground to begin with. 

[woody]

On 05/05/2022 at 08:52, HaydnNUFC said:

 

 

The presenter in the background going "He's such a moaner" is genuinely infuriating

[Hovagod]

13 hours ago, woody said:

The presenter in the background going "He's such a moaner" is genuinely infuriating

Smug cunts. We’ve got the cash now though so fuck them.

[HaydnNUFC]

 

The .com match report, especially the last 6 or so lines has always stuck in my mind after reading it for the first time.

 

Quote

 

Some matches are forgettable. They come and go, holding the attention briefly before fading quickly from the memory on the bus home.

Games that, through some freak quirk of statistics, feature Coventry City with unfeasible frequency. Games that would apparently never have existed, if it weren’t for an obscure reminder in Rothmans at the end of the season. Games that only Paul Joannou can remember.

Other matches are special. Matches which live in the memory forever. Matches which involve more than just a good performance or a stunning goal, but have electricity and fulfilment. Atmosphere.

Memories and images of those matches quicken the pulse, send a tingle up the spine, and (in unguarded moments when watching them on the video whilst pissed) can bring a tear to the eye.

Keegan’s debut against QPR in 1982, when the Gallowgate sucked the ball off Kev’s boot and into the net. Keegan’s farewell against Brighton in 1984, when Beardsley chipped Joe Corrigan, and Kev shook the hands of all 36,286 spectators on his lap of honour, whilst wearing over 70 scarves. The promotion party in May 1993, when a breathtaking 45 minutes saw the scoreboard reading Newcastle 6, Leicester 0. And it was only half-time. Anfield, April 16th 1994 - 5 years on from Hillsborough. The final days of the glorious but doomed Kop; Keegan and Beardsley’s return to Anfield; a simple wreath in a goalmouth inscribed “Respect from the Toon Army”. Pure emotion (and an almost incidental 2-0 victory). October 20th 1996 - Howay 5-0.

And then there’s May 11th 1997.

I’d had that nightmare the night before the match - the one where it gets to 2:00pm (I suppose it should have been 3:00pm in this case, but - you know what I mean) and I’m just leaving home, and suddenly I remember it’s an away match in London. It didn’t add up to a good night’s sleep, but I took it as an optimistic omen (I admit it - I even checked the morning paper for some bizarre reason).

It all looked so unlikely on paper. Sheffield Wednesday had to upturn their recent poor form and take at least a point off Liverpool. We needed to beat Forest - and we needed to beat them by more than Arsenal would probably beat Derby. At the bottom, Boro and Sunderland had to drop points, and Coventry needed to win at Spurs. Six results had to go the right way - a betting man wouldn’t even contemplate such foolishness. Yet walking up Gallowgate, there was an eerie feeling in the air that you just knew that it was on. Atmosphere.

An improvised drum-band was giving it seven bells outside the Gallowgate End. Not your poxy snare drum or Boy Scouts big bass drum these (as practiced by a couple of misguided rhythm-less tossers at a few away games this season) - these appeared to be modified dustbins. Played with admirable violence by a group of people with soul. Real percussionists. A sizeable crowd enjoyed the spectacle, and while they weren’t exactly competing with The Strawberry, at least it gave the thirsty punters outside the pub something to take their minds off their absent, unreachable beers.

And, even better, they left the drums outside for the match (a laudable display of knowing where and when something’s right, and when it’s just shite).

Inside St. James’, there seemed to be an extra buzz. Things were different. Around me, the faces were unfamiliar - the result of a Sunday League Cup-Final somewhere in Gateshead (unlucky, lads).

Team news told us Kenny was going for it with the 4-3-3 that Keegan never quite got clicking properly. Forest were without Crossley, Pearce and Van Hooydonk, and Roy and Saunders were only on the bench (not that I’m that familiar with their regular line-up, but they seemed like big names, and I hoped they would be missed). That bastard Woan was playing, however, just to add a bit of menace and a few bad memories to the occasion.

The first 10 minutes were a bit shaky. Barton seemed to get off to his customary uncertain start with a couple of mis-controlled traps and poor passes, while Beresford seemed to slice the ball every time he touched it. Forest created a couple of chances, and Pav was forced into making a couple of saves, including a good block at the near post from a deflected shot by Gemmill.

Then Tino went on one of his mazy runs and created a couple of good shooting opportunities, before predictably twisting one time too many, and into the assembled wall of defenders. This seemed to settle the side, and it all got far more fluent. I don’t know whether news of Derby going 1-0 up against Arsenal got through to the pitch, if it did, it can only have helped.

After 20 minutes, we were well in control and Barton, who at last looked like he wanted the ball, rather than shying away from it, threaded a great pass through the Forest defence. Tino (who, it has been scientifically proven, actually runs in slow motion) outpaced and out-muscled two defenders, and chipped the keeper as if he was at Maiden Castle. 1-0.

Three minutes later, Asprilla played in Ferdinand, who rounded the keeper, and scuffed the ball towards the centre of the goal. The covering defender had one of those nightmarish moments when you’re sure you could have stopped, if only the laws of physics hadn’t been invented. As the ball fairly trickled towards his trailing foot, there was nothing he could do as his momentum whipped his body, and the despairing limb, away from the ball and into an unseemly tangle in the netting, while the ball gently rolled towards the opposite corner, nestling accusingly in the back of the net.

Another three minutes, and Barton laid another inch-perfect through ball for Les, who clinically drilled it past Fettis from the corner of the six yard box. Fifty goals in a black & white shirt. I hope there’s another 50 more.

Not too long after this, news filtered through that Coventry were one up at Spurs. Well, this was perfect. If it stayed like this, we were in the Champions League, Sunderland and Boro were in the Nationwide equivalent. No way would it last. Probably not even till half-time.

Then it was Shearer’s turn. Robbie Elliott had a powerful shot from the edge of the box, which a Forest defender got a block on. The ball took a banana of a deflection towards the back post. The first man to react was Shearer who nutted the ball into the empty net, the keeper hopelessly wrong-footed.

At half-time, everything was still working out perfectly. Coventry had got a second, even. People started discussing their pre-match bets. The lad to my right had a quid on, for 5-1 (at an unbelievably stingy 40:1), someone else had backed 7-0 (at an equally tight 50:1). On my left, a bloke with a fiver on 4-0 was looking very pleased with himself.

My own prediction of 3-0 in the scorecast at work left me feeling like a miserable pessimist. Thoughts started turning to the Leicester drubbing four years ago. Maybe even the 9-0 Premiership record...

As is so often the way, half-time just broke up the momentum, and the rhythm took time to get re-established. Forest even came close to grabbing a goal back when Allen hit the post. Dalglish took the opportunity of subbing Tino and Albert for Clarky and Gillespie. Asprilla’s ovation was well deserved; we just have to trust in Kenny that we’re given the opportunity of giving him a few more next season.

All sorts started happening now. Massive cheering greeted Peter Beardsley as he warmed up and the number 8 board appeared in Terry Mac’s hand. Batty (who had got over-excited early on and did a bit of enthusiastic Rottweilering, getting yellow-carded in the process) made way for him. If this was Peter Beardsley’s last game in a black & white shirt (and Dalglish’s recent reluctance to play him suggests it might be), then I’m proud to have been there. He has been one of the great English footballers. Ever. Long may he stay with the club.

Pandemonium broke out when rumours of a Sheff Wed goal started circulating. The guy sitting behind us with a radio insisted it was a false alarm, but literally 2 minutes later, he was off his seat. Liverpool were a goal behind.

As if in celebration, Beardsley danced, laid a ball off to Shearer in the box, who rolled it back to Elliott 25 yards out. A sweeter drive he has probably never hit, and we were 5-0 up. His bet in ruins, the bloke with a fiver on 4-0 yelled “Bastard!” as he celebrated the goal. As we sat down, radio-man told us that Leeds were beating Boro. At this point I realised that it was all just a cruel dream. Nothing is ever this perfect. 

In a minute I was going to wake up, like I did that time I won the Lottery and shagged Assumpta off Ballykissangel.

And yet... Boro equalised. Arsenal went in front (but were unlikely to get another 5 by full-time). And then Liverpool scored. That familiar pit-of-the-stomach dread grabbed hold of my guts and began to tighten. I tried to convinced myself that it was OK - a draw was more or less the same result so far as we cared.

But then radio-man said something about a Sheffield striker being in goal and constant Liverpool pressure. They were going to do it to us again. Probably 70 seconds into injury time if the form-book was to run true. Even a Wimbledon goal failed to fully ease the tension, although it did spark a refreshing new version of Peter Reid - Monkey’s Heed (“Peter Reid’s got a First Division Team, a First Division....” etc).

There was still a match going on, and although I never took my eyes off it, I honestly couldn’t tell you much about the last 10 minutes. I was vaguely aware of the lad with the 5-1 bet shouting “Go on” at what seemed inappropriate moments, but didn’t really give it much thought.

I have a faint memory of the Man of the Match award being awarded to “All 14 United Players” and cringing at the naffness of it. My mind was East of the Pennines, 120-odd miles away. I was using every ounce of my concentration, trying to turn Andy Booth into Lev Yashin. Offering prayers to David Unsworth for allowing himself to be strangled by Robbie Fowler a couple of weeks ago in full view of the referee.

At the final whistle, there was celebration - of course. What a way to end the season. 5-0. Bollocks, even if Liverpool do snatch a winner, it’s been a hell of a season. Seven times at St. James’ we’ve scored four or more goals in a game. Eight if you include Ferencvaros.

Even the Monaco result doesn’t seem too disastrous when you consider the first leg injuries, and that they’re nine points clear at the top of the French League . We all know the team is likely to be broken up in the Summer, and everyone in the ground - including a decent number of Forest fans, and fair play to them for that - stayed to pay tribute, possibly to say farewell, for the lap of honour.

And don’t let anyone get away with telling you we’re a foreign legion, there were 5 Geordies in this side today: Watson, Elliott, Clark, Beardsley and Shearer. And a sixth if you include Pav. The players returned the applause, then gathered in a nervous huddle by the touchline with Kenny, Terry Mac, Sir John and the rest.

The final scores were read out over the Tannoy. Arsenal had not scored seven (Good. Fine). Boro were down (barely restrained mirth). Sunderland had lost (cheering). Coventry were still leading 2-1 (more cheering). Sheff Wed and Liverpool were 1-1, but still playing.... It all stayed a bit quiet for a good couple of minutes, save a bit of “Peter Reid eats bananas with his feet, bananas with his...” etc.

Then a voice behind me said quietly “It’s finished”. For a second I’m sure I was the only one in the ground cheering. Fists clenched, arms outstretched, eyes shut, yelling at the Gallowgate roof. A surreal moment. Then everyone was punching the air.

Bugger me, we’ve really done it.

It was a joyous moment. Real, exultant joy. Not the smug, arrogant self-congratulation of Taggart and his Old Trafford glory-seekers. This was the genuine ecstatic celebration of unexpected victory. Hard-earned success after so many disappointments. If we ever win something....

The players set off on their lap of honour. By the time they’d got half way round my hands were raw through clapping. Tino lobbed his boots into the Milburn Stand, and the players finally disappeared down the tunnel, the ground still reverberating to the cheers.

Everyone headed for the exits, and suddenly we all remembered about Coventry. Surely this would be the slight dampener on the day. Coventry were 1/9 to go down. They couldn’t escape again, Spurs would equalise and the Mackems would stay up.

As my feet touched the concrete outside the exit, the cheering started. Spurs 1, Coventry 2. Unbelievable, just incredible. I floated towards the City Centre. It’s a while since I had felt this drunk, but I hadn’t touched a drop. Honest.

Irrational behaviour became natural. Expected, even. Almost compulsory. A ginger-haired lad with a Walkman burst out laughing and doubled over clutching his sides. “They’re interviewing a Mackem blubbing his eyes out” he announced to the world. I found myself dancing down Blackett Street, arm in arm with a fat bloke I don’t even know, singing “Geordies, In the Champions’ League”.

As he teetered euphorically towards his bus stop, and I staggered towards Monument Metro, we simultaneously gushed “It just doesn’t get any better than this.” In truth, we both knew that one day we will win the League. In truth, we both knew that one day it WILL be better than this.

But it won’t be by much.

 

 

[Dancing Brave]

Keegan's last game as a player v Brighton 3-1, 1984 as promotion was in the bag

Of course he scored.

 

[WarrenBartonCentrePartin]

Not NUFC-related, but it's still utterly mental to think this actually happened.

 

 

[MrRaspberryJam]

John Karelse born on this day in 1970. 

 

Happy birthday. 

[Dancing Brave]

 

 

1 Iam McFaul

2 David Craig

3 Frank Clark

4 Tommy Gibb

5 Ollie Burton

6 Bobby Moncur

7 Jimmy Scott

8 Pop Robson

9 Wyn Davies

10 Benny Arentoft

11 Jackie Sinclair

12 Alan Foggon (for Scott)

 

 

[Bizza]

 

26 years ago, jayzus. 

[Guest HTT II]

12 minutes ago, Bizza said:

 

26 years ago, jayzus. 

Great summer, we missed the Germany match as me and the whole street were out playing football and then we got in and learned we’d lost, absolute heart break!

[Wolfcastle]

1990: England v Holland at Italia 90. The game that put Gazza on the World map, simultaneously Newcastle captain Roy Aitken captained Scotland to victory over Sweden.

1996: Euro 96, Croatia v Denmark, that Suker goal and prior shot - nowt to do with us except the bitterly enjoying Rudolph getting one shoved right up 'im.

2006: Cambiasso scores at least the best non Maradona goal in WC history, nowt to do with us but still (still think his finish was naff)

 

 

Edited June 16, 2022 by Wolfcastle

[Superior Acuña]

On 15/06/2022 at 06:09, Bizza said:

 

26 years ago, jayzus. 

I was a 6yo in the Scotland end crying  

[Guest HTT II]

We were pretty much dull as fuck until the Holland game, then quite average against Spain and I thought the Germany game on rewatch we were very good. Had we kept Venables or later on Hoddle for longer than they ended up staying I think we may have won something or did much better during those eras!

 

 

Edited June 16, 2022 by HTT II

[MrRaspberryJam]

22 years ago man. 

 

 

 

 

Edited June 17, 2022 by MrRaspberryJam

[Wolfcastle]

... in 1995 I first laid eyes on a young firebrand by the name of Javier Zanetti during Argentina v Brazil in the Copa America.

Liked the cut of his jib and he turned out alright.

 

 

Edited June 17, 2022 by Wolfcastle

[Wolfcastle]

Saudi Arabia, Holland and Philippe Albert's Belgium qualified for the 2nd round of the World Cup.

Belgium should have beat Saudi but Weber missed plethora of chances, Owairan scored one of the best World Cup goals but didn't beat wor Philippe.

Belgium 0-1 Saudi Arabia

Morocco 1-2 Holland