I 8 You 2

Defending the performance of his team during their defeat at Manchester United on Sunday, Arsene Wenger stated his case thus: “That was not an 8-2 game.”

The implication was obvious: the game’s annals are littered with games of that very score-line and whatever we deduce ordinarily from it was, on this one, not the way to go.

Was he right? Here, we study the circumstances of some of the more famous 8-2 games and see what patterns emerge.

Real Madrid 2-Brazil 8

A little like the game on Sunday, Real Madrid could argue that a missed penalty in this one changed their fortunes. They perhaps had more reason to feel aggrieved about its non-conversion given that it was taken by their mate Gary as they were out the front paying the pizza bloke.

Returning to the Xbox, and resolutely un-amused by the developments, they were further incensed by Brazil’s offer to ‘let them score’, which they deemed a huge insult. This was possibly on their mind when they spurned a glorious opening to level things, presented after uncharacteristic dalliance in the Brazilian backline, which the away team swore was down to temporarily switching their slice of pizza from left to right hand and nothing untoward.

Ill discipline crept in during a second half dominated by threats to abandon the game and a warning that they wouldn’t be pausing if Brazil needed to use the toilet, as they should have thought of that. A shameful evening in the club’s otherwise grand history was capped by a post match interview which centred solely on when they could expect to collect the money from everybody else for the pizza, not to mention the crate of larger they had all been happy to pilfer from.

Overly Keen Dad 8- His Bored Son 2

Making impressive use of the landing’s cramped surface, the home team raced in to an early lead against opponents who only began to settle in to game after a swapping of sides allowed them a better view in to the living room where the television had been left on as a condition of the game going ahead in the first place.

At times a cagey affair, the game sprung in to life during the thrilling period when six of the victor’s eight goals were scored, though some
were left wondering why the rule that dictated shots off the door handle counting double was only introduced after the feat was managed three times in five frantic second half minutes.

Marseille 8- Manchester United 2 (Monaco, 2011)

Despite being on the right end of it on Sunday, even Manchester United have fallen victim to this most famous of score-lines. You will remember the fall out and recriminations. Indeed, Fabien Barthez has not been spotted near a Manchester United shirt since appearing in
goal during this defeat. Admittedly, he hadn’t been spotted near one for the eight years previous to this defeat either. But the continued selection of David De Gea since the season started still feels like a very public snubbing for the Frenchman.

Frankie’s Brother’s and his Mates 2-8 Frankie and his Mates

As Frankie pointed out in his post match remarks, five-a-side only meant the amount of players on each side, not the amount of goals they
shared. And, as his brother countered, it didn’t mean that either, given the two players who had turned up ten minutes in and joined Frankie’s team on the basis that they didn’t know his brother that well.

Accrington F.C 8- 2 Wolverhampton Wanderers F.C

This is the earliest recorded 8-2 in English professional football, and, until Sunday, was also the most recent. The following day’s Times were surprisingly limited in their coverage of the game- contrast with the media’s reaction to the weekend’s events at Old Trafford- though that may have been due to the outbreak of hostilities. As the teams left the pitch at the end of the game, the word was already coming through of the fighting taking place in Cape Colony which was to spark the beginning of The Boer War.

Scunthorpe 1 2 Newcastle United

Watching Newcastle United being described as ‘giants’ during a cup game against lower league opposition on Sky Sports is, I suspect, the closest most of us will ever get to being wolf whistled. Which is to say that any sleazy urges to be flattered are overwhelmed by the awareness of the proponents’ deeper-lying impure motives. As Alan Pardew pointed out during his pre match interview, the broadcasters wouldn’t have been there in the first place if they hadn’t sensed blood.

Our season in The Championship threw this tie in to further confusion, casting dubious light on Sky’s David & Goliath angle. We were actually beat at this ground in 2009, on a night when certain fans took exception to Kevin Nolan’s overegged celebration of an equalising goal. Funny old thing, football. If you had told some complaining that night that Nolan’s over zealousness would be replaced in two year’s time by a French Championship winning international they would most likely not have opined that we would miss desperately Nolan’s leadership and grit. Because that night we were opposed to that type of thing, we considered it ostentatious and put on and plain tacky. Fans often look at a result first and branch out their complaints from there and we’re a remarkably resourceful bunch when it comes to things about which to be unhappy. And none of the complaints or sources of unhappiness truly make sense until you conclude how little they actually matter.

I was broadly in favour of the Nolan sale, and opposed to the Barton one (insomuch as you could always justify his presence in the team- I found his supposedly anguished tweets on it during the last days hugely boring, and there’s a certain relief he’s taking his drama queen act elsewhere), but what arguing about both does is serve to ignore the wider issue, and I’m concerned pointless veneration of either will help assist the club in their campaign of lies and misinformation, when in reality any dispute between the parties is self serving and childish on all their parts and of no material benefit to us and what we need. Because the thing is, the club can claim, with some justice, to be in the right on the Barton issue. And as long as they have a moral high ground they will abuse it and use it to distract from something they can actually do something about while we all squabble with each other to no meaningful conclusion.

So Barton’s gone. Thanks for playing well from the middle of August until the middle of February last season. Whatever. We need a striker. Failing that, we need Nicklas Bendtner. We created lots during this game; ignoring Gosling and taking it from Vuckic’s introduction, we have a midfield which is mobile and adroit and shrewd. But Best, hardworking and likeable but grossly limited, and Lovenkrands- lamentable- wasted each and every chance given them through timidly, bad decision making and that awful bit at the end of ninety minutes where Lovenkrands stood and watched a stinging low cross pass between him and the goalkeeper, presumably temporarily confused with a game
of heads and volleys where any goals hit from crosses played along the ground mean the goal scorer has to take over in goal.

The highlight was the kids. Vuckic simply oozes class, granite jawed and broad he looks straight out of one of our 1950s cup winning teams, and Sammi Ameobi is direct and purposeful and, weirdly, looks a bit brilliant. As much as everybody is L-O-Ling at the prospect of the surname Ameobi for another ten years, I can’t help but fear that’s wildly optimistic. In fact, that’s the nagging thought about the whippersnappers: for years Newcastle have produced pretty much nothing in terms of home grown, or at least home nurtured, stars. Now, when you can pretty much guarantee they’ll be gone to the highest bidder at the earliest possible junction, we apparently have an unending stream of the bastards.

On that note, with Manchester United surely considering their goalkeeping options, it can’t only be me hoping that Tim Krul managers to throw one in on Sunday against Fulham? Not to the detriment of the final result, obviously, but I have a feeling that the final nasty surprise of the transfer window is still to be unleashed upon us.

Theo's Restaurant Corner

“At dinner the other night I was the oldest one”- Theo Walcott

I was joined at dinner by two colleagues. As much as the ambiance, the drink, and of course the food, I have long been of the belief that a good meal is defined by your company. Many times has a mediocre desert tray been rescued by lively discourse. This is not to say that a restaurant should be given an easy reviewing ride simply because of rewarding companionship. Instead their task has become a more nuanced one: they are now charged with ensuring that not only your own spirits, but also the spirits of your fellow diners, are kept in thorough and fine fettle. Put simply: we didn’t want any more tantrums from Emmanuel because they had ran out of Last Airbender toys in the Happy Meals.

When we arrived the staff were attentive and brisk; we hadn’t been sat down five minutes before a lady with an industrial mop told us we would have to get what we wanted ourselves and that the milkshake machine wasn’t working. We had been planning on sampling a few different milkshakes as the night went on and so, as Aaron removed his bib disappointedly, there was a gloomy feeling that the night had already been soured. Theirs more than mine, I must confess: in the back of my mind I was relieved that they wouldn’t be taking hands sticky with congealed sugar and syrup back to the car with them.

Beginning with a chicken nugget starter, finished in Barbeque sauce (once I got theirs open for them), there was a moment of high excitement when Emmanuel told us that he had one shaped exactly like a beak. As somebody who values presentation, I nevertheless wonder about such gimmickry. It may be an interesting quirk giving the diner “the full and visceral experience of eating a chicken”- as a staff member explained it while wiping up the juice spilt by Aaron- but novelty crutches like these lead me to wonder if the sanest path for the restaurant isn’t the one more commonly wandered. It didn’t end at the nuggets either. I was forced to complain when I found a hair in my coffee. As I pointed out to the staff, chickens don’t have hair, they have contour and down feathers.

Waiting on the main course, which Emmanuel has gone to the till to order on the condition of being timed, I reflected on our surroundings. Though the ceilings are high and the artwork- abstract and sparsely coloured drawings of Ronald McDonald and The Ham Burgular presumably on loan from the nearby Tate Modern- challenging, it’s a slightly cramped and less than relaxing venue for dining. The seating arrangements don’t help, with barely enough room for Aaron to swing backwards on his, and, in an era of fast food sushi and affordable dining for all, it feels almost like a throwback to the type of place one might have visited with friends during summers gone by way of a last resort. I mentioned my thoughts to Aaron and Emmanuel but they’d never heard of Wimpy.

As the Big Macs and Fish Fillets arrived, the table has subdued a little and we ate our meals in thoughtful silence, a silence only punctured by Aaron’s occasional claims that Emmanuel got more fries than him. The mellow mood suited the dish, even if I did get more to chew on from the fish than from the conversation.

Over After Eight McFlurrys things picked up slightly, the previous lull presumably being missed bedtimes based and nothing to do with the sogginess of the fries. (They hadn’t been prepared wrongly- Aaron had spilt his juice again.) Chatting about this and that as one does waiting for the bill, it suddenly occurred that the last time we saw a member of staff was sometime before Aaron began on that mega random thing he had watched on the tele the night before, roughly forty five minutes earlier. Furthermore, the mops had been stored away, the lights switched off and, most damningly of all, both doors bolted shut. In the distance, as we peered out the window, smoke rose from the heels of the departing staff. It wasn’t the ideal circumstances in which to enjoy a desert.

Still. It’s not all bad. I’m looking forward to sampling the pancakes and Mcmuffins

Sunderland & Howard Webb 0 1 Newcastle United

Things Sunderland fans will say this week and how you should reply.

We battered you in the first half.
You were perhaps more fluid than us in the first half and this, coupled with a home crowd who initially seemed up for it, probably made it feel as though we were creaking under pressure. I imagine this feeling was enhanced if you were actually in the stadium. Funny old places to watch games of football, stadiums- particularly if you’re not used to them. In the cold light of day, though, you created very little. In many ways your team gave a performance which reflected your support’s during the summer time: all bluster and energy, little substance. Certainly, you failed to capitalise on Larsson’s cheating, and as the half went on it was clear your team had ran out of ideas which neatly complemented our intelligent game plan. You seem a bright enough young fellow, even if this conversation did begin with you asking me which is the metro stop with all the trains in it, and I trust you won’t be swallowing your manager’s nonsense about “dominance”

We never heard a peep from your fans until you scored (they always try this one).
Can I first propose a realignment of priorities? Trying to gain an upper hand on an intangible and wholly subjective concept like a singing contest when others are attempting to analyse the game of football that has taken place is a little like judging an X Factor contestant on the quality of their back stage keepie-ups. Secondly, have you considered that, what with sound waves and acoustics and the person next to you tapping away on their annoyingly loud mobile phone keys, the Newcastle fans may have made a peep to which you were not immediately privy, given you were sat at the other end of the stadium surrounded by forty five thousand Sunderland fans? I was happy to eventually defer to you on your other argument - and yes, looking again, you’re right to say the colour of the cornflakes in your beard matches your tie- but I’m afraid I can’t let this one go unchallenged.

We have more class.
This, as I’m sure you’re aware deep down, is a laughable argument (and I don’t say that to imply anything about you personally, you strike me as the type that could get quite paranoid about that type of thing). On Saturday your fans cheered the award of a corner kick when Larsson got away with cheating, and then applauded Phil Bardsley off for attempting to break a better player’s leg. Meanwhile, study our captain’s reaction to the non-award of the penalty: a puffed out cheek, a call for calm, and an immediate intent to get back on with the game. As far as I can see this entire class idea comes from the fact that Niall Quinn talks in a soft Irish lilt during press appearances.

You just handled the occasion better.
Indeed we did: the occasion being a football match.

What hurts is that the Mags were so awful and still beat us. (They always try this one too.)
As a Sunderland supporter you are in the fortunate position of having seen your team defeated by Newcastle United teams of all shapes and sizes. With that has came a keenness to cast an eye on our relative weaknesses compared to years past. The problem with this is that- yes, don’t worry, I’ll tell you when it’s your stop- for all your post match arguments about our failings remain consistent, so too does the outcome of the match. This leaves any rumination from you on our team ring exceedingly hollow. Besides which, the best performance I’ve ever seen from Sunderland against Newcastle- the 3-2 in 2005- came from one of the country’s worst ever teams, which goes to show such judgements are pointless and mere distractions.

I’m glad- that result will paper over the cracks.

Well being that enough cracks papered over in a manner which leads to three points should see us safe from relegation, I fear Newcastle fans are rather stuck for a few years with papered over cracks. Still, as papered over cracks go it was a bit of a superb one, you have to admit. Lines about cracks being papered over is an attempt to not treat the derby game as an end, retroactively pretending to view it as a means. After months of giddy hysteria about the prospect of what you were going to do to us now you have added genuine class like Wes Brown and Craig Gardner to your squad, this is very poor, cowardly even, backtracking. Don’t try similar at the station- you’ll put someone’s eye out with your holdall.

Newcastle United 0 0 Arsenal

The problem with attempting to defend Joey Barton these days is that by the time you try to he’s already done it for himself on Twitter. There was certainly some dissatisfaction on Sky’s ghastly Sunday Supplement shout-a-thon about Barton’s medium of choice, with the argument that him stating his case on Twitter only allows for messages of “140 characters or fewer” put forward. And there we were again, at the dawn of a new season, with that oft-preached lament about modern football and its lack of characters.

There’s no doubting that, aside from a character limit that allows only double the amount of words one would ordinarily expect to hear from a footballer in a post match interview, Joseph’s online activities have been the cause of some concern over summer: I was as disappointed as anybody to discover he follows Piers Morgan. Apart from that, though, his Twitter stuff is largely harmless (does anybody believe he and the owners wouldn't have eventually found some way to clash over his new contract without Twitter- using mesenger pigeons if necessary?). And, like Eric Cantona taking a sip of water to conceal his laughter during a crucial bit in his ‘seagulls follow the trawler’ press conference, pompous journalists who can’t work out that he is clearly taking the piss with the Orwell and Nietzsche quotes are succeeding only in making themselves look stupid.

Over the weekend, he got in to an argument on there with Jack Wilshere. The fact that Wilshere (whom Barton has in the past showered with fulsome praise) instigated the argument was largely lost on everybody, which is odd. If somebody with a recent history of drinking to excess is picking fights with a teetotaller on Saturday night, one would ordinarily expect the doorman to remove to former, not chastise the latter. (The comparison of the British press and the nation’s bouncers is not a spurious one- anybody who has ever been a subject of Pubwatch will tell you that they both posses pretty nifty surveillance equipment.) Yet here the roles seemed confused in the mind of the media. Strange.

As for Saturday on the pitch? He’s probably explained already, but, for the record: there is a huge difference between diving following non-existent contact to unfairly alter the course of the game and going to ground softly to alert the referee to a genuine offence, and though the latter is dubious practice, it is understandable when the officials have previously missed a malicious stamp on the back of your leg, and certainly not comparable with the first example of genuine cheating. There is nothing people feel as smug about as pointing out supposed hypocrisory in others, which might explain why so many people rush to do it when it isn’t actually appparant in the contrasting words and actions of their subject, but in drawing attention to Gervinho’s red card offence, Barton was not cheating or conning anybody: he was aiding a referee who had displayed myopia in a previous incident. Barton- and Taylor’s- reaction is irrelevant: Gervinho was a goner anyway. And if not, if the referee is basing his calls on the reaction and behaviour of the players, then he is not doing his job correctly, and that’s nothing to do with Joey Barton.

But enough of that nonsense, what of the debutants? Ba was unlucky to get taken off before Ameobi, Cabaye struggled to impose in a game clearly not made for him, Obertan showed some promising flashes, and in my new seat in the East Stand I was immense. Obviously, pre-match nerves had been marked (I had began my previous tenure, in the Gallowgate End at the start of the 09/10 season, by attempting small talk about the new design of the metro tickets to blank embarrsment and from there never really recovered), but I put them to one side and gave a masterful display in close control- not correcting the gentleman behind me when he mistook Ameobi for Ba- and enterprising flank play- running quickly down the stairs to see the replay of the Barton/Gervinho incident and reporting straight back.

An impressive start, but nobody is getting carried away. It’s easy to get plaudits against Arsenal; will I be as well received on a cold Wednesday night in December against West Bromich Albion when the shirt lettering is frazzled and the stairways are slippery? It’s a long season and the real challenges still lie ahead.

(Incidentally, the Arsenal fans that ended their day screaming for their manager to “spend some money” had begun it by telling the home fans that they “pay [our] benefits.” There’s symmetry there, I think, and both songs manage to neatly capture an attitude of greed, entitlement and crass, finance obsessed superciliousness which contributed towards many of their city’s residents finally losing their patience last week in one of the most horrible ways imaginable. I’m not saying that Arsene Wegner’s spending policy helped cause the London riots. But, with those riots as a backdrop, the bunch of charmers in the Arsenal support may want to consider their song selection a little more carefully.)

What to do when you like your left back

"I keep looking at him and smiling...he smiles back"- Alan Pardew on Jose Enrique


The venue where we spend the majority of our waking life, our place of work is an ideal place to form bonds and meet people. Many a glorious coupling began at the photo copy machine, and of course a great many ended there too. However, given the close and involved nature of the working environment, it’s best to take precautions and not rush in to anything. It may seem like a good idea to declare your feelings after three gin and tonics at the Christmas party, but try to keep in mind that you will have to see the object of your affection again. There is nothing quite as awkward as the moment when, as manager of Newcastle United, you run in to an old crush in the Players’ Lounge at Anfield.

Before you do anything, it’s best to deduce whether your feelings will be reciprocated. Never an open and shut thing, there are nevertheless signs that indicate whether pursuing your interest will be welcomed by the source of it. And once you have spotted these signals, you can
best decide on a sensible course of action conducive to a healthy, long term relationship which leaves you both satisfied. Here we do our best to guide you through the dos and don’ts of the early, often stressful but always thrilling, stages of the workplace wooing of your first choice left back.

*Study body language. Does he smile a teeth showing smile if you use the word ‘we’ when outlining your hopes for the coming season? Does he appear to be giggling with friends whenever you look over during a briefing on defending corners? Is he paying particular attention to his hair- shampooing it when you try to go through his new contract offer, for example? These are known as ‘cues’- or ‘tells’ if you’re a
poker player- and largely involuntary indicators of attraction. (This may also help explain why the team appear so reluctant to have you over for poker nights.)

Be warned that a lot of players give off these cues without particular concern for their coach, so, before assuming anything try and study how he acts with other managers when he’s chatting with them and his agent over coffee in the training ground’s canteen.

*Establish communication. Initial attraction is one thing, but few people are likely to act solely on piqued curiosity. A rapport needs to be formed. Introduce yourself- explain who the hell you are and what the fuck happened to the last guy. It may feel like you’re being a little forward, but remember that most footballers are used to being approached by a new Newcastle United manager and are unlikely to view it as big a deal as you do. Tease and make him laugh- a self-deprecating quip about your time at Charlton should loosen things up nicely.

*A lot of people wonder about the more traditional gesture and whether or not it is appropriate. While caution is advised, a little romance never hurt, and offering to carry his wash bag and boots is a perfectly harmless and charming way to forge closer contact and impress with your chivalrousness. It’s crucial to not be seen as a pushover, though, politely refuse any request to give him your back a minute so he can tie his laces.

*Be yourself. More accurately: be yourself as stipulated by the exact terms of your contract leaving no room for deviation, repetition or hesitation.

*Be seen with other full backs. While being careful to not mislead anybody, it would serve a certain purpose for the full back you harbour thoughts for to see you communicating in a relaxed manner with as many other full backs as possible. This theory is known as ‘peer approval’ and any hurt feelings on James Perch’s part when he realises the nature of your scheme will most likely be softened by his relief at his presence in at least one of your plans for the season.

Be careful to avoid the trap fallen in to by characters in American teen sitcoms when seeking advice from the plain girl on how to
attract the bombshell- which is to say, don’t suddenly realise that it’s James Perch you’ve wanted all along when it’s too late and he’s already going to the prom with somebody from his after school science club. That wouldn't be fair on James Perch.

Derek Llambias's Guide to Summer Spending

The Newcastle United M.D has had a busy summer of shopping. Here he explains how, registered to the right mystery shoopping agency, a typically stress filled experience can instead be fun, productive and profitable.

•Changes to the system in recent years have lead to some people panicking, but I am from a school of philosophy that dictates one should never rush through purchases. In fact, I have even marked down till assistants for that very practice.

I had been charged with buying a breakfast to the value of £5.00, excluding the price of a hot drink which I was also required to sample, from Gosforth Asda during their busy morning period. The young lady behind the till put through my order without first confirming each item, as staff are required to in case of allergies or fussy preferences, and seemed more concerned with tending to the bags under her eyes than with acknowledging my presence (and if that done enough to hint at a heavy session the night beforehand, the overheard reference to “up all night being sick” surely confirmed it). I would love to name and shame her right here but, in a further affront, she was sans name badge. As I pointed out in the further comments section of the online feedback form: I was wearing mine; why wasn’t she wearing hers?

•Balance is everything. And in pursuit of balance things can something be sacrificed: that’s just the way of life. Like when I was asked to take a guest to the Pacific Bar Cafe in the city centre with their famously wonky tables. It wasn’t ideal having to ask a member of staff to stand by us as we ate with his foot wedged underneath the shorter leg, but in the long term interests of the table’s stability it was the best thing for everybody. Apart from the young gentleman himself, conceded. But he was amply rewarded with a toilet break- during which time a beer coaster was forced to suffice- and the staff themselves were given a generous six out of ten for their ‘helpfulness and overall demeanour’ (having lost some marks for smirking when I ordered a sex on the beach cocktail).

•Keep deadlines in mind. Submitting your findings after the twenty four hour cut off point is no good to anybody, and as well as details being naturally forgotten one may find oneself tempted to exaggerate or take liberties with the truth- overcompensating and reflecting their overall feeling for the place rather than reporting the bare facts, doing what some may refer to as ‘lying’. Strangely, this is something the agency is
particularly concerned about with me. I remember on one occasion they actually sent somebody to secretly monitor me as I in turn secretly monitored the level of service at the Apple Store in Eldon Square. It’s not long until a situation like that turns farcical, as you can probably imagine. For me it was when his recording equipment interfered with the iPod touch I was trying out- as he bent down to retrieve his dislodged lapel mic he inadvertently unplugged the Beats by Dre headphones we were sharing.

•Keep your feedback concise. In these days of palm piloted social networking it can feel like you’re the centre of your own customised universe, a constantly buzzing environment wherein friends, family and loved ones are at permanent hand to reinforce and validate. But when mystery shopping you have to drop the ego and you can’t value verbosity. For that reason I have set some very strict limits on my own online communication- nobody ever ‘likes’ my status updates on Facebook and my only followers on Twitter are mobile phone spam companies represented in their profile picture by Eastern European girls biting their little finger suggestively.

•Finally, as in any competitive industry, you have to remember that it’s dog eat dog out there. And sometimes to get ahead the dog eats dog food. That isn’t trite platitude. If I’m being asked to grade, say, Petwise on Elswick Road then I’m going to sample the wares. A lot of the others don’t, which is why I’m as well regarded as I am at this game.

Petwise always do well these days actually, always impressively prepared for my visits, almost as if they hear me coming before I get there. It's been a marked improvement, with their alertness on my last few visits in stark contrast to the chaos of my first and the saga of the chrome cat collar with affixed bell that they let me try on and that between us we’re yet to work out how to unfasten.