Who To Trust?

It seems sadly typical of Newcastle United that a trust of supporters who had set their sights on one day buying the club have found themselves beset by the same sort of lack of organisation and miscommunication that has characterised the club they one day aim to run. The Newcastle United Supporters Trust have been noticeable by their absence in the fall out from Chris Hughton’s sacking last week, leading many to question its current role as a viable supporters’ group, let alone its longer term ambitious to assume ownership of Newcastle United.

One problem with the Supporters’ Trust is its origins and its aims as it stands, neither of which were ever sold convincingly to Newcastle fans. The group actually began as a supporters’ group, but its formation, in the immediate wake of Kevin Keegan’s departure from St. James’ Park, made it, for all intents and purposes, a protest group. A protest group cannot comfortably fulfil the remit of a supporter’s group, which, by necessity, must have close links to the club. Steve Kell, who runs the Arsenal Supporters’ group, argues that “politicising these things is asking for trouble. The club don’t want to see an agenda.” A group that had been formed in sole and direct opposition to a move by the club was never going to establish a working relationship with that club, particularly one as communication phobic as Newcastle.
But for whatever reason, those pushing the idea of the Supporters’ Club seemed keen to elevate their role even before properly explaining to others what it was.

There early days were marked by a series of crass statements. When asked what they would like to say to perspective new owners they responded “we can be nice, or we can be your worst enemy”. Given that another of their early statements criticised the teenagers that had been interviewed on Sky Sports News in the wake of Keegan’s exit- in a statement that struck another confused note; are these teenagers not Newcastle fans deserving of representation too?- they seemed awfully keen themselves to speak on behalf of others without first seeking a consensus.

Then very little. The flurry of protests died down, and though there was a series of events, very little appeared to be being decided. Protests were not organised, opinions not sought. Members, who paid ten pounds to register, were sent next to nothing in the way of communication. There was a bewildering incident when their website printed dubious financial information about Ashley’s investment in the club. When asked to clarify their figures by a member via email there was no response, and the page was quickly removed.

Their objectives became even further muddled when the idea to buy the club was mooted-in reality, it should have stayed mooted, a long term objective rather than an immediate must. Instead the newly elected chairman dedicated all his time to what always looked a pipe dream. Further, this idea clouded its role as a supporters’ club, many accusing the now trust of being fretful of alienating perspective investment business partners by showing discontent with any element of Ashley’s ownership. Again, to look at Arsenal, the trust and supporters’ club are kept separate.

Looking from afar is one thing, more worrying for the NUST must be the amount of internal problems they are being forced to deal with. Bill Corcoron, a highly respected member of the board who was there for the club’s inception left recently, citing the trust’s lack of communication with its members:

“At a recent training event, ran by James Mathie of Supporters Direct, he advocated regular members meetings, publication of Board agenda and minutes and a humble, listening attitude from the Board to our members. I completely agree, but others seem determined to avoid members questions describing some members as "rabble rousers".
Which speaks to a trust ill at ease with a proportion of the people they purport to represent. Corcoron also makes mention of people “leaving the trust in droves”.

And if that didn’t tell the trust they were losing support, surely the most damning verdict came from a poster on the toontastic message board, who, in response to the question ‘what could be worse than having Mike Ashley running our football club?’ answered, ‘having NUST running it’.

Joey Barton's Trial Will Not Be Televisied

Despite the fact that nowadays any goal scored in the Premiership can probably be downloaded, viewed and set as a screensaver before the Goalkeeper has fished the ball out of the net, managers of the league’s lower ranked clubs still have a tendency to get wounded about what they perceive as their placing lower down the highlight footage pecking order- a placing where, never mind your own chances of staying awake to watch it, you’re going to first want to make sure your Sky Plus box has plenty of strong coffee along with it for the journey.

These coaches always deliver their complaints wryly and on the back of a victory, which means that Gary Linekar can smile caustically and wave it off, but it’s clearly not an accusation that the BBC would welcome, particularly at a time when their right to operate as a funded independent media outlet is being scrutinised by several people with their own dubious agenda. How odd then that on Sunday night, when covering Newcastle United’s victory over Liverpool, Match of the Day 2 would be so open about their new policy on isolating incidents from particular matches, declaring no intention to show them, yet still going right ahead and condemning the player involved with smug assuredness in their own pretend outrage.

“Vulgar,” Colin Murray labelled Joey Barton scratching his crotch in the direction of the player who had just completed a forty yard sprint to confront him for no reason whatsoever (I’ve just remembered, you weren’t allowed to see it- the player was Torres, using the opportunity to double the amount of yards he's sprinted since Roy Hodgson joined Liverpool). He delivered his critique with such withered pomposity that I had initially thought he was joking. He does that a lot, I’ve noticed, Colin Murray, trys to tell jokes. And though you can mostly tell when other people are telling jokes because they’re making you laugh, there’s never any such luck with Colin Murray. But then Lee Dixon joined in and it became clear that the pair of them were being serious. Watching them in po-faced synchronisation felt like the sense of humour bypass equivalent of the famed Arsenal offside trap.

Something of a novelty on MotD2, being serious, given that the general mood of tends to be one of strained joviality, one that relishes the ‘lighter side’ of the game in much the same manner as loud people at work relish being thought of as characters. It certainly marked a jarring turn of pace to see them turn so puritanical on us without so much as the chilled silence that tends to precede such dark changes in the room’s mood (silence never being MotD2’s strongpoint- its every resolution seems to be accompanied by its own jaunty soundtrack). And it was an uplifting moment indeed, not to mention a relief, when the show rediscovered its mojo and moved on to 2good 2bad, a signature feature which usually features an elderly gentleman at Craven Cottage taking his teeth out to eat a pie and much faked laughter from back in the studio.

This week, Sunderland fans are singing ‘One Mike Ashley’, and how everybody laughed. Nobody is going to get defensive about that. But I would argue that MotD2 choosing to celebrate the chant- leaving aside its Wildean wit a second, and leaving aside the national media’s tendency to ruffle Sunderland’s hair and laugh along with them whenever their fans taunt Newcastle for reasons that, were they pointed out, would only upset their fans- places them in a rather precarious position. Who is doing more damage to English football, the talented and tee-totalling English footballer who speaks eruditely and honestly, or the dishonest club owner doing his best to strip a club dry and take it for all it has? And if it’s the latter why choose to jokingly indulge the celebration of him alongside taking umbrage at the former’s own, at worst, jokey indulgences? It couldn’t be because that player is Joey Barton could it?

As Kriss Knights, who writes for The Mag and has published two books on Newcastle United, puts it: "People who don’t like him see Barton as the very epitome of what is wrong with modern footballers, which is crap because Barton has shown more public contempt for the spoiled and over-rated within his profession than any other player in the league. If he is the epitome of anything – it’s as a reflection of how the world has treated Newcastle United."

The FA are not punishing Barton (stunning on Saturday night, by the way, the point was made afterwards that it was a shame Gerrard wasn’t on the pitch as he would have been thoroughly shown up by the type of focused, disciplined, selfless and dynamic performance his ego hasn’t allowed from him in years), though they “will be writing to him to remind him of his responsibilities”. As NUFC.COM notes, “Doubtless that will come as a great disappointment to the BBC, in particular the odious Colin Murray.”

Newcastle United 1- 2 Blackburn Rovers

Typical Newcastle United, it’s been said by many following last night’s damp squib at home to Blackburn Rovers, a game which they deservedly lost 2-1. Ruddy typical, if you’re a kindly old man weary to this club’s trajectory; bastard bloody fucking typical, if you’re the young gentleman spitting your ire in to my ear on the metro journey home. But typical all the same.

Consider though, that the typical elements spoken of related to the team building the fans’ hopes up and then dashing them. And, yes, there was a hint of seen all this before as Blackburn scored their second goal from their only attack in the second half and our players looked at one another wearing the irritated expressions of somebody just in from work being informed it’s their turn to walk the dog. But to arrive at this slice of typicality, the fans’ hopes had to be raised in the first place, which they were via a stunning home win against Sunderland and an even more stunning win at The Emirates- neither of which, in performance or result, have exactly typified this club in recent years. The Arsenal result in fact was so impressive that it was marked by a strange feeling of regret that on my first ever visit to that stadium I have immediately rendered every subsequent visit as a let down, it being highly unlikely that we will ever go there again in my life time and pass them to death as we did in large spells on Sunday; it was the sheer antithesis of ‘typical’.

And it’s not as if that Arsenal game was a convoluted dream sequence. A bad result against Blackburn doesn’t scrub that result, nor does it suddenly make us a bad team. But it seems that in this frustrating, and at times outright bewildering, season of two steps forward, one step back our fans our taking the negatives to heart and being too quick to believe it’s the good results that are the confidence tricks.

And, yes, it’s hard to blame them for that when we play as poorly as we did last night. Too many players- Williamson, Simpson, Shola (not fit), Nolan- had terrible games, others like Tiote, Enrique and Collocini played nowhere near the level they’re capable of. Conceding the first goal to Blackburn- Tiote guilty of over confidence, or, if you have aspirations of teaching P.E to timid children, fannying about with the thing inside the box like a nugget- is a nightmare, to do it early in the game a death knell. Earlier in the day, I had insisted at Five a Side that I got to ‘be’ Tiote. My performance was the usual shambolic mixture of over earnest tackling, negligible ball control and dense stupidity. He improved in the second half, but in the first it seemed that rather than Cheick waiting for me to play at his level, he was attempting to meet me halfway.

It was freezing cold and, frankly, the biggest shock of the night was us scoring, Carroll ghosting in and heading it impressively back in to the corner from whence it came. As always, the overriding emotion of watching that man’s football team playing football is to dedicate thanks to a higher being (em, Mike Ashley, in this case) that that man is no longer managing our football club.

Newcastle 5- 1 Sunderland

There is a strange quirk of old friends: no matter how long they’ve been apart from one another, as soon as they’re back in company together they immediately regress to old speaking and behavioural patterns. It’s why when University friends meet up decades after graduation they immediately start shouting loudly about girls they both slept with in Freshers' week and punishing each other for drinking with their left hand, and lots of other zany things they would be embarrassed about doing in front of their new, adult friends- adult friends who, in some instances, don’t even know they were once part of the rugby society.

Despite their protestations to the contrary, I like to consider Sunderland a friend. Not a good one, as such, not one whose company you look to keep (when people ruminate on Newcastle's relegation a few years back I like to propose the theory that it was done simply because keeping up pretences with Sunderland, who had always before done- in the form of several relegations of their own- what they could to be gone out of our lives every other season, was becomming simply too tiring), but a companion of sorts, somebody to keep us company as everybody else jets around the place, sometimes not even paying attention at all to Newcastle United (unless we’re sacking our manager that week). As the ear splitting reception their team received as they switched sides before kick off will testify, we have missed them, as well, in a way. I only hope their substitutes and coaching staff realise this and have the good manners to return us the elastic bands that were playfully flicked in their direction as promptly as possible. And, as we’re friends, it was only natural they regressed to their normal behaviour when they’re with us and, as we’re Newcastle fans, it was highly amusing to remember that their normal behaviour when they’re with us is to be absolutely bloody awful.

Seriously. Sunderland came in to this game on the back of seven unbeaten games in a run that included Arsenal, Man Utd and Liverpool (the fixture list mixing it up and giving them a bit of an easy one there); they have, we were told by their fans, some good players, as one would hope they would do for the money they’ve spent. But they’re Sunderland, and we’re Newcastle United, and their belief in their team and the acknowledged weaknesses in our own was overpowered by these two simple truths. For all their bluster, they know and so do we. And that haunted look on Titus Bramble’s face as he got red carded, the one that seemed to flicker with just the briefest flick of recognition, that was because...well, that was because he always looks like that. But he probably knows it too.

Also, we have a better team. It’s easy to imagine that we wouldn’t, but I would take our centre backs over theirs, I would take Joey Barton over Jordan Henderson, Jonas and Malbranque are much of a muchness, Tiote will have Cattermole to play with, Carrol is better than Gyan and Kevin Nolan has now scored more goals this season from midfield than the amount of Sunderland fans that were left in the stadium to see his third one in this game. (Incidentally, any Sunderland complaints that they weren’t up for it on account of Henderson being the only Sunderland supporter in the team are surely tempered by the fact that this meant on ninety minutes that he was the only Sunderland supporter in the ground- their team weren’t the only spineless bottlers.) What’s that leave us? Bent? Yeah, we’ll have him- he could always get a run out in the cup games if he could learn to play in a team properly and not strop about the place looking like he’s forgotten his twitter password.

Their joy in the wake of our relegation? Premature. Their hubris about how much better they were than our collection of Championship plodders and has-beens? Misplaced. It was rubbed in their face in this game in the most sickening and unpalatable way imaginable- honestly, it must have been simply ghastly for them- and it’s tacky to gloat any further really. Some clubs make banners and hang them over the Tyne Bridge to demonstrate their joy in their rival’s failings, others prefer to do their talking on the pitch.

Still, nice to see they’re keeping well. If they ask, we’re busy right through until January. We can’t play them every week, more's the pity.

Weekend Review (23rd-24th October)

The Rooney chit chat accompanied us deep in to the weekend and one could usually establish any one commentator’s general view by studying their noun usage. At various points, Manchester United’s manager was a revered ‘Sir Alex Ferguson’, a familiar ‘Alex’, or a chummy ‘Fergie’. Rooney was usually a formal ‘Rooney’ though a few ventured towards a ‘Wayne’ delivered with just the right hint of detached concern, like they were discussing a child of their friend who has just dropped out of college. The coverage of the story has been excessive but by far the more irritating trend of the weekend was various phone in hosts adopting world weary tones and begging for a change of topic as they wanted to talk about something else, as if the option to instigate conversation about something else were one not open to them.

The pithiest comment came from the advertising boards placed around Stoke’s Britannia Stadium: “compromise is not an option,” they said (advertising Sky’s 3D service, and wisely stopping short of confirming that not wearing those glasses that make you look really silly is also not an option). You certainly don’t have to tell the Glazer family that, the particulars of Rooney’s new contract apparently stipulating the actual names of players he wants signed over the next few years. Though some solace for them probably came in the shape of the long distance phone call to Rooney’s home where most of this was sorted out, which they were probably sensible enough to leverage against the costs of his goal bonuses and cigarette expenses.

All the negative talk of Rooney seemed to centre on him being a bit of a baby. Which is not only to simplify the situation but also overlook how joyful it can be to see footballers act like big kids. Two great examples at the weekend: Van Der Vaart giving the ball landing at his feet inches from goal a giant wellying in a manner which would have, had their game against Everton been played without nets, led to an argument between striker and a goalkeeper angered at seeing it hit such an unnecessary distance about with whom the responsibility lay for its collection. You know like when the strikers in a rush to restart the game and rushes to pick up the ball before the goalkeeper does- the opposite of that. And Stoke’s Tuncay pretending not to notice Man United were planning a short corner in favour of hovering around the near post looking busy: a move he lifted directly out of my formative years’ playbook. Sorenson’s angered clip suggested he was taking the role of my unsettlingly aggressive P.E teacher- though at least he was gloved and most won’t still be appearing in marked anxiety dreams years down the line.

And there was a lot of talk about offside, because Ronaldo used one little known aspect of the rule to his advantage for Real Madrid, leading Andy Gray to decry ‘these so called laws’, in the process taking the usage of the phrase ‘so called’ to a point from which it’s hard to see it ever properly returning. At no point during that phase of Gray’s analysis should the term have ever been deemed active. Unless, of course, Andy would rather have us refer to the grounding principles that underpin every game of association football to the same code by something that rolls easier off the tongue. Last Monday night he demonstrated the key tenants of a bad challenge on Richard Keys’ shins, this week he was going in unreasonably hard on the English language. Keys, sensibly perhaps, thought better of tackling him on his point.

Newcastle United 6 (wooh...) Aston Villa 0

Football gives you this type of game four, maybe five, times a life time. When the performance exceeds your expectations is one thing, when everything falls for you another. You get both these things and you’re on to a winner. But rarely does football gift you such a delicious choice of opposition. There is only one club this game could have been any sweeter for having being played against and Sunderland at least had their reasons for revelling in our relegation.

Fifteen months ago we were traumatised at Villa Park as our downfall was confirmed; the loathing for every player and the people in charge just about matched by our loathing of the home fans who had taken it upon themselves to be the personification of the national sneers directed at our supporters. The most famed picture of that day is a witless banner aimed at our fans asking who our next messiah was going to be. Ooh, I don’t know lads, is Martin O Neil free? “We’ll meet again” got an airing too and they were right- though given how much they were looking forward to it, it seemed a bit odd to wander off without even saying goodbye with half an hour of this game left to play.

There was tremendous spite in the air at St. James’ Park yesterday. I have complained for years about how critical and picky our fans can be with our players arguing that if it were instead transferred to the opposition it could form the basis of a home crowd truly capable of being a genuine positive influence. Yesterday this happened and, not merely responsive, the players seemed complicit in it; never dirty, but mean and steely eyed, clearly as determined as we were to make a point.

And then you consider that, along with the team spirit and attitude being spot on, some of our players are really good. Jose Enrique, for example. Enrique is a player who doesn’t always do the easy thing in the dopey manner of the timid defender adept at conceding needless set pieces in awkward areas, or the elaborate thing is the manner of a lily livered ditherer too precious to put his foot through the ball, but always, always does the right thing. His decision making is as sharp as Paul the octopus’ and his timing so immaculate that were he writing this report he would surely have refrained from such a hackneyed and dated Paul the Octopus reference. I’m a bit in love with him.

Williamson looks the part- full of busy and strong in the tackle- and is forming a neat little partnership with Collocini, Perch was much improved from his poor game on Monday night and Smith, Barton and Nolan were superb. Even Xisco put a shift in when he came on. And there was Andy Carroll- he looks the real deal doesn’t he? Inventive and bright throughout, always working always looking for the ball, he took all three goals excellently. Emile Heskey’s mournful performance (wherein he came on and then fell over and then it was full time) seemed to be showcasing something about an international passing of the baton, one which could have utilised Richard Dunne as a conduit if only he’d managed to get within baton passing distance of our number nine at any point during the game.

As for Villa? Oh dear. Trouble ahead for them, they could even, if they’re not careful, do a Newcastle. Certainly if they hire Gareth Southgate or Bob Bradley as coach then problems loom. The motivation for the Southgate speculation- his time there as a player- is reasonable enough, the talk of Bradley- his shared nationality with their owner- less assured. If being American is the requisite, Lerner should have seen me if the after the fifth goal yesterday, running up and down the stairs collecting high fives like a good ‘un. I’d be grateful for the opportunity to give managing them a shot; you’re darn tootin’ we’ll bastard well meet again.

Weekend Review (First Day)

“They shouldn’t have too much trouble if they’re only playing Young Boys,” said Andy Gray over a visual trail for Spurs’ mid week Champions’ League qualifier, wisely eschewing the other obvious joke about the tie as already made by everybody on the internet, and in the process marking our theme for the day: youth, and the fading of it.

A new Sky Premiership season and Andy’s feeling his age. There were already hints being dropped with his bitter World Cup ruminations- holding midfielder players and the Jabulani bearing his wrath- and when he refused to get with Ian Darke’s down with the kids lingo about Joe Hart’s ‘showreel’, referring instead to a stuffily old fashioned ‘scrapbook’, it was apparent we weren’t going to be discussing Radio 1’s weekend in Ayia Napa or the new Iphone anytime soon with our co-commentator.

Accordingly the reminiscing began- Darke and Gray taking a wistful look back to their first Monday night together, not spent at the picture house or the local disco hall, but at Maine Road watching Andy Sinton snatch QPR’s goal in a 1-1 draw. People weren’t scared to be romantic in those days. After spending the summer being reminded by Sky on how important those Monday night fixtures were for the mood and well being of the nation it felt only right and proper to spend much of the weekend bathed in nostalgia. It certainly took me back- was it only February this year I watched Wigan beat Liverpool at the DW stadium on a Monday night? March actually.

Speaking of Wigan: away from self-aggrandisement, Sky’s story of the weekend was Blackpool, comprehensive winners at the DW stadium; or rather their story was Kian Kelly, young Blackpool fan pictured after the game celebrating on his dad’s shoulders. It was a nice image, but Sky wanted more so said child and father were packed up and delivered to Blackpool’s training ground where the child, with his older brother looking on, was presented with a ticket for Saturday’s match at Arsenal. Heart warming stuff for everybody but Kian’s older brother, who looked a bit miffed at not getting a ticket himself and though one done one’s best to enjoy the joy of young Kian, one could not help but imagine the tense scene about to take place during the car journey home. Sky may consider all of this feel good fluff now, but how long such bonhomie survives in the face of several anxious calls to their publicity department regarding the possibility of securing an additional child’s ticket for Saturday’s fixture remains to be seen.

This isn’t all they’ve been talking about in Blackpool. Over on the BBC, Robbie Savage continues his very hardest to be ‘straight talking’- mistaking, in the manner famed by various Big Brother contestants over the years, obnoxiousness for ‘just being honest’- and, after one argument with an aggrieved Blackpool fan, advised the caller he could go to the pub and tell all his friends he’d slagged off Robbie Savage. Suddenly his presence on the show seemed a little less inexplicable. I had thought that (the very good) Mark Champman’s confessing to a secret liking for Craig Bellamy after hearing an interview with him on BBC had been designed as a cryptic clue as to what was being done with Savage’s public image here- a sort of remoulding of a bombastic, much loathed figure in to a loveable roughish type in the manner of a Chris Evans or a Reggie Kray. Instead, he is on board to help one of the nation’s flagging industries- if the idea is that anybody who feels inclined to criticise ‘Sav’ after hearing him on 606 should invite their friends to the local club that evening to tell them about it, then the previously moribund pub trade will soon be booming again and notices of its demise premature- unlike similar notices about 606’s.