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.

Barton's Eleven

With the first team squad still in America, Newcastle United’s reserves travelled to Amsterdam. Among them Joey Barton and Nile Ranger, both of whom were denied Visas to join the first team due to previous criminal convictions.

From the diary of Nile Ranger

Wednesday 20th July
We arrived separately. To ensure a smooth pass through customs, J.B had provided us with fake moustaches and a pair of Austin Powers glasses each. He had also had his passport guy knock us all off a counterfeit. J.B swears by the guy but as I’m regarded with suspicion by security I can’t help but wonder if our individual Merlin Premier League sticker with crude biro scribbled where the glasses and moustache are supposed to be was necessarily the best way to go photo identification wise. But I was wrong to doubt Joey. He’s always been a great dressing room influence, ready to put an arm around the younger lads, give us the benefit of his experience and knowhow, always happy to stay back after training and work with us on our lock picking. And one of the biggest lessons he ever taught me was that a plan is only ever as good as its flexibility. His words were proven typically astute as one sweaty handed guard inadvertently smudged the moustache on my passport photo before putting me through to the next check point.
“Why are you holding your hand over your mouth like that?” the guard at the next point asked.
“Like what?” I said.

Rule 2: Never concede any ground under interrogation. I’m in.

Thursday 21st July
Team meeting. J.B welcomed the new member of the group, a French fella. There’s was an immediately palpable undercurrent of mistrust in the room, and J.B seemed to sense it. Nobody doubts that foreign players have a lot to teach us, they have schools and academies over there which encourage them to focus on their technique at any early age and not just lump the recently liberated credit card in to the pin machine, mash the buttons and hope to get lucky. At the same time, doubts are always going to exist about their heart for the battle and their propensity for gabbing to authorities, and a few of the lads suggested as much when invited to share their views. Angered, J.B said that he didn’t want to hear any more nonsensical complaints based on dubious national stereotypes and laboured football puns. Besides which, he said, Y.C is on board to help with the escape plan and we all know how easily the Frenchies go to ground .

Friday 22nd July
The plan. J.B argued that we should look on America being off limits as an opportunity to expand our operation; in Amsterdam we’re unknowns, he pointed out, which can only work to our advantage. Look at Ocean’s 12, he said. “In so much as there was a plot, that was vaguely it.”
This set me thinking. Like Julia Roberts near the end, would we be expected to play ourselves? We do it all the time in training, obviously, but I felt it could get a bit complicated during a job. One lofted pass and, before you know it, you’ve triggered the laser alarm system. I made a quick note to clarify a few things with J.B later.

Saturday 23rd July
Because of what I asked J.B yesterday the lads have taken to calling me ‘Trigger’. It’s all good fun.

Sunday 24th July
Planning the jobs is always lively, and we got in a good session of it before an ice bath and a quiet afternoon back at the hotel. A pal had tipped me off about a scam he’s got with Amazon Kindle, starting to download the book before quickly cancelling the order, and I suggested it to J.B. He listened attentively but seemed rather downcast before I’d finished. “Why come all the way to Amsterdam to do something we could do anywhere?” he asked. “Besides which,” he continued, “surely they’ll realise what you’ve done and cancel your download before the book has finished.”
“That’s never been a problem for me,” I tell him.
“No, well, I wouldn’t have thought so,” he counters, cryptically.

Monday 25th July
The day had arrived, and frankly I still wasn’t quite sure what the plan was. As far as I could gauge it, Sammi was the safe man, Perchy was in charge of balancing delicately on various edges as the rest of us looked on in tense silence, the new French bloke was the smouldering charmer bound for a first act cheeky tryst and a third act meaningful moment with the bank manager’s disillusioned wife, Xisco was the mute one who eventually delivers an incongruous piece of dialogue at an inappropriate moment leading us to look at one another before looking back at him, Donno was accents and I had to ‘wait over there’.

Tuesday 26th July
An atmosphere of rancour was prevalent, with J.B in particular in bad spirits. Nobody likes to approach him when he’s in one of his moods but it was decided that the air needed clearing before the events of the night before could be properly dissected.
As he often is, J.B was right to point out that he had insisted on all phones being on silent as we crawled out through the intricately dug underground tunnels. It was also fair to say that if my phone not being on silent wasn’t damaging enough, the ringtone being set to the theme tune from The Great Escape really was asking for trouble. But that’s the use of being here with a pro like J.B: you’re always learning. I can only hope that the next seven to ten years will be in some ways as valuable an experience for him as I’m sure they are going to be for me.

A Word in Defence of Summer Football

There were hums of excitement and murmurs of surprise from the crowd at Fulham’s first game of the season. The news of a team-sheet containing a healthy amount of first teamers- indeed, eight of the eleven starters had played in the final in 2010- had been announced earlier, and those inside the stadium making their way to their seats tuned to one another and remarked, with breathless wonder, that it’s actually cooler inside than outside.

It didn’t end there. There was a real summer gala feel to the evening- which is to say that it was an enjoyable event in agreeable conditions and not that children looked bored and their parents fussed about forgetting to bring the sun lotion, though there was probably a bit of that too. Most importantly, though, the long road to the final began, with Fulham no doubt hoping for a significantly smoother journey than the majority of those journeys began in stifling sunshine; new boss Martin Jol no doubt taking heart in the fact that though this level of football throws up its fair share of testing games, few are as likely to be as testing as ones involving small children arguing from the back about the exact rules of Eye Spy.

Yes, summer football has often been the source of derision, but reading the newspaper reports of Fulham’s early start who didn’t feel the slightest tinge of envy? Always a thrilling moment the first game of the season, and what a curiously charged thrill in seeing your seating neighbour- ordinarily an amalgam of ticks and ambiguity, a strange fellow who exists solely in the context of your sitting by him at the football during long and cold winter months- in glorious sunshine? A moment of rare titillation marked all the more titillating for his wearing shorts and a sleeveless vest, one wagers.

It’s easy to act like we have better things to be getting on with football but, reciting things you heard John McEnroe say on Radio 5 in a bid to sound more knowledgeable about tennis than you are during Wimbledon fortnight aside, are we really such animals of varied interest? Watching cricket, going to the cinema and socialising with friends all sounds like something you would put under personal interests on a C.V- not stuff that you’re all that concerned about actually doing- and it’s worth noting, because it's never noted otherwise, that generous offers by most club for families in games like these actually means football represents a much cheaper recreational activity in summer than most others. Barbeques? Yes if you are in deepest Compton circa early nineties having a huge cookout with girls in swimwear and The D.O.C’s No One Can Do It Better blaring out a ghetto blaster. No if you’re going to be eating a crumbling slab of charcoal in your friend’s kitchen watching the rain fall forlornly and listening, through portable speakers, to his Now That’s What I Call Dance albums on shuffle.

And yet still those that opted to cover the match done so with a tone of sympathy for those souls from Fulham who had apparently negotiated one of the trickiest two handers the game can throw at you: managing both a Solero and a competitive European fixture in the same sitting. This, remember, as well, that this is a country apparently largely in favour of a winter break (a recent documentary on Radio 5 proposed that the lack of one was a contribution to last year’s World Cup disaster). Honestly, a nation that resents football in winter and mocks it in summer: we’re in danger of running out of seasons.

More Silverware in the North East

The fixture list released yesterday and, with it, some exciting new for fans of Newcastle United. We will be there to see the Best Behaved Fans trophy (traditionally presented at the first home game of the following season) paraded. Good news for the winners, Sunderland, too: they could not have handpicked a finer opposition for a game in which to showcase the very best behaviour of the best behaved supporters in the land.

Consider last year’s derby and somebody from the home end running on the pitch and grappling with Steve Harper. An apology was given to Harper, who didn’t take any further action (possibly aware of what it may have meant for the Best Behaved Fans Trophy- like the Sage and the Tall Ships, this type of thing is a boon for the entire region), but none was offered to those in the away end, who were expected to accept the heightened hostility the incident both spoke to and perpetuated as just one of those things. Similar, in fact, to when Niall Quinn and Roy Keane both excused the violence of the Sunderland fans in 2008 on account of it being such a long time since poor little Sunderland had won a home derby: an attitude perfectly fitting with a club who have a turned a blind eye to a pitch invasion every single time Sunderland have scored against Newcastle at the Stadium of Light. Now, Sunderland would argue that that doesn’t equal all that many pitch invasions in total. And they would be right. But how many clubs are aware that a luxury of a team unable to score against yours is the type of thing you have to ring down to reception in advance to secure, or even ask for at the time of booking to avoid disappointment? A club as courteous as theirs really should be advertising these services more clearly.

Visually, the Harper incident was very similar to the Lennon at Hearts one, which you have probably seen on the news this week alongside the story that new hate legislation is being introduced to prevent incidents like it ever happening again in Scotland. Obviously you have to consider the Lennon incident in a wider and more complicated context of bigotry, and for that reason the two incidents are not directly comparable, but for one to be a contributory factor to a change of law, and for the other to be ignored completely when rewarding the fans of the club responsible (or the club of the fans responsible) for their good behaviour is, at best, a mite irresponsible.

Now Quinn is asking the fans what they think the club should do with the twenty grand they’ve won. Suggestion: use the twenty grand to fund a small purchase in a corner shop. It doesn’t matter what you’re buying, you’re really only in it for the change you get back. Now take that change, and distribute it to supporters entering the Stadium of Light on the 20th August, encouraging them to hurl it as gaily as possible in to the away end at any moment they feel appropriate- concession of goal, scoring of a goal, stoppage in play due to injury- any time they want to put the eyesight of a human being at risk, basically, because, as Quinn would tell you, it was a bit of pisser when we played in Europe and they didn’t.

Also, last thing, remind them to keep a bit of it back for any Newcastle substitutes appearing at the touchline. We’ve all been there and boy is your face red: you’ve used all your change hurling it indiscriminately at the away end and clean forgot to keep any back to aim at substitutes warming up in the second half. It happens but it shouldn't, and if you want to retain this award, behaviour like that isn’t going to fly.

What Newcastle United need to do in 2011/2012

The Daily Mirror recently asked fans of clubs in the Premier League to suggest the key areas to adress in preparation of the upcoming season for use on their website. This is one of the entries they decided not to use.

THE THREE KEY AREAS FOR MY CLUB TO IMPROVE IN ARE
1. All season long I’ve been grumbling about disruption from the back, citing its lack of imagination and penetrative effect. Alas, the lady two rows behind me with the family sixed bag of Starbursts refuses to take the hint, still yet to offer me even one of the green tangy ones that nobody really likes.

2. Official DVD releases. Who decides on these? For example, they were happy to bring out one showing our home game against Arsenal, despite the first half being about as much fun to watch as The Human Centipede. They should have replaced the first half with that game with a half from somewhere else, say the second one at West Ham where we actually played quite well. Such unseemly splicing may attract criticism from the DVD purists, but it would at least go down well with the Human Centipede crowd.

3. Ticket Office. I would hire some people to work there.

HOW I’D IMPROVE OUR DEFENCE
By blunting everybody else’s attack. Tell Dudley Campbell a as he gets ready in the tunnel before going out to not worry about what everybody else says about him, because we think he’s great. Ask Stephen Fletcher as he bears down on goal ‘what’s the point when we’re all going to be dead some day?’ Go round to Robin Van Persie’s the night before the match and just sit there for ages, ignoring his hints about the time of the last bus and the raised voice of his partner emanating from the kitchen when they’re in there loading up the coffee maker. Pull Andy Carroll’s hair. Pull Wayne Rooney’s hair.

HOW I’D IMPROVE OUR MIDFIELD
Most will have their own thoughts on who best to bring in to shore things up in the middle. The name I keep coming back to is Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Admittedly, high kicking is liable to be punished by the fussier referees these days, and she would have to hand over any stakes to the fourth official before entering the field of play- or at least cover them up with a small plaster. In effect, I suppose, we wouldn’t be so much signing Buffy the Vampire Slayer as signing an ageing Sarah Michelle Geller. Still, it’s not like she’s in a position to turn the work down, and she has to be a better bet than Danny Guthrie.

HOW I’D IMPROVE OUR ATTACK
If the best form of defence is attack, than Newcastle United must currently have the worst defence in the country. He can do a job in the Championship but Leon Best does simply not have what it takes to makes the grade as a top class Premier League defender. Peter Lovenkrands has aged like wine- which is to say he only seems like a good idea if you’ve first got through lots of beer- and would be genuinely improved by a void, an absence of matter, which would at least be less likely to be caught offside to the detriment of promising attacks.

WHO WE NEED TO SACK AND/OR SELL IN THE SUMMER
The man who names the teams at the start of the match has to go; his work has been going progressively downhill since the nineties. He used to rouse himself to say names like Shearer and Ginola, and now it’s like his heart just isn’t in it. This year he started okay, I suppose, saying Andy Carroll’s name for a while, and then suddenly he stopped even doing that. He needs to start naming some genuinely international standard quality players; they can’t all have super injunctions.

WHO WE NEED TO BUY/HIRE OVER THE SUMMER

The people that make The Orange ads to remind people at St. James’ Park to keep their phones switched off. The problem with people texting at football isn’t their texting as such, it’s the innate curiosity that dictates that you must sneakily look over the texter’s shoulder to see what’s being written, distracting yourself from the match. And just as teams are most vulnerable to concession just after netting themselves, so you are most likely to miss a goal while in the process of reading about one that has just been scored. Of course then your only option becomes to continue staring at the mobile until the details of the next goal are typed. This is how people in 2011 watch a game on teletext.

HOW I’D IMPROVE THE MANAGER/COACHING STAFF
Bring in Michael Scott, recently departed of Scranton, in a consultancy role. Scott was the boss in the American version of The Office, which means that not only does he have crucial managerial experience, but he could help us be significantly better than the Ricky Gervais Newcastle United vehicle of the same name. Scott’s catchphrase is a chirping ‘that’s what she said!’ in response to the mildest of innuendo based provocation. And he’s likely to be as happy working with the lads sticking long ones in to the box as he is with those keeping it tight at the back.

Charity Sees The Need, Not The Koscielny

"Arsenal fans’ suffering, their wait, goes on”- Alan Parry

The following is a series of reports involving some of society’s most deprived and impoverished people- Arsenal fans. Those of a nervous disposition should be aware that, though not designed for this purpose, these real accounts of human suffering, misery and pain are liable to upset. Please only read on after considering the above. All donations welcomed.




This is Andy. When Andy was twenty two, Arsenal had just won the FA Cup and Andy was just about to graduate with a third in Digital Media and Animation from Nottingham Trent University. It felt like the beginning of something exciting for him. It has not worked out that way. “It started when the lead singer of our band, Toby, got a job handling deeds in a small Mortgage Brokers in Northampton and knocked the music on the head. Then I couldn’t find any work in animation so had to take a job in a call centre for a few months. It was actually a while before I got my footing. I lost both my parents too. It’s not much fun as a twenty six year old having to ask the lady with the microphone at the customer service stand in Tesco to put out an announcement about a missing child, but I had no choice with my dad having the car keys on him.”

Andy maintains that, were it not for Arsenal’s inability to win a trophy since 2005 he would now be working in the animation room at Pixar. “It seems that everybody on my course who supported Chelsea or Man Utd went the Hollywood route. And a Portsmouth fan I sat next to in seminars before they started to clash with band practise is now storyboarding the new Winnie the Pooh film. It’s hard to not make the trophy connection.” There’s a tragic irony in Andy’s one word answer when asked to describe his memories of the cup final win: “Sketchy.”



This is Amy and James. They watched the Cup Final from the poolside bar at their five star honeymoon resort Marley’s Spa. “I remember spending the night sipping exotic cocktails, sampling wonderful local cuisine and being treat like royalty as attentive staff catered skilfully and unobtrusively to our every whim. Afterwards, the pair of us retired to our superbly appointed suite and made wild, yet uniquely tender and intimate, love,” says Amy. “Afterwards, James looked me in the eye and said than wherever we went physically, our souls would forever be as one together on this beautiful island.”

Six trophy-less years since and the couple have noticed a marked decline in their relationship. ”It’s like we’re more friends than anything else now,” says James, from his shed. “The sex gradually petered out. But it wasn’t just that: we would be driving and she would want to stop and ask for directions when I insisted on using a map; her mother would come around to visit. Numerous disputes over remote controls. Christmas is always particularly problematic. It’s like, of all the married people ever, we have been cursed.” He still retains fond memories of that win in 2005 and the night of bliss that followed it. He is convinced Amy does too, but doesn’t want to ask her when she’s in one of those funny moods she gets in.




This is John. Since that FA Cup win in 2005, John has found his perspective thinning noticeably, and now faces up to having lost it all together. “Obviously, it’s a big thing, to lose your perspective,” he said. “But it’s the process that bothers me most, you know? Like if somebody had came and just taken my perspective that afternoon, I would be over it by now. But it’s been gradually eroded. Every day I would wake up and find little bits of perspective on my pillow. The bathroom mirror became something to dread. I couldn’t look at myself without considering the increasing lack of perspective, and in turn I couldn’t consider my rapidly diminishing perspective without considering the wider implications of ageing and inevitable death. I tried to talk to the missus about it, but they don’t understand do they? She’s a Luton Town fan and they won the Football League Trophy the other year. This is an Arsenal thing.”