Now the dust has settled. My ten bobs worth

[Ragatino]

Alreet lads and lasses, been a while since I chimed in with you overly wordy verbal diarrhoea. For those who enjoy extended trips to the Khazi. Royalty on the throne at work or at home, settle in.

There has been a lot of disquiet around the club for around a year now. The big injuries we suffered, Tonali’s suspension and the frustration over all the financial nonsense, transfer business or lack of it.

We now live in a worth of professional trolls, paid agent provocateurs and a long suffering fanbase conditioned, tempered in a reality of pure shyte! A decade and a half of footballing abuse layered on top of a ten-year decline from the heady heights of our Premier League Era glory days.

The teeth had well and truly been kicked out of the fanbases’ ambition.

CANS! What a day.

Amanda’s rousing interview outside Jesmond Dene House hotel, the hoards boogying to Sam Fender’s Saxophonist belting out local hero on the steps of SJP steaming drunk.

CAAAAAANS! Haha quality.

Howe in, Cabbage out. 11th place finish. Dignity restored. The Geordie nation wide eyed with optimism. Nothing like a Geordie with hope. None so generous to buy a pint, none so quick to feel the pain of a broken heart. We are indeed an emotional bunch.

When Wor lass from the Cathedral on the Hill turns her smile to us, bats her lashes and shows us a bit of leg we’re all a quiver with the dreams of exotic romantic city breaks. Our need to be loved and to love those who full on that famous black and white shirt is so acute that a good psychologist would have a field day. Co-dependent, oh aye? Toxic, at times? Obsessive, you bet you B&W backsides! Tattooed bodies stand as testament to the depths of commitment show, for good or evil.

Would we have it any other way? Don’t be daft Geordie!

Is it healthy? (I laugh bitterly) haha of course not. It’s a virus. A birth right, an addiction. A curse of loves young dream bestowed on those of an NE post code and the diaspora of those who’s bodies course with Geordie blood.

With the dust settled of the summer. The leave on the trees starting to turn. Darker days a drawing near. The first of the pointless international breaks in the rear-view window our new school shoes well and truly worn in.

NUFC Played 4, Won 3, Drawn 1. 10 points. Scored 6. Shipped 3. Sitting pretty in 3rd behind last seasons top 2.

Wor lass is ready for a Friday night oot on the toon!

However, we’ve been oot on the Thursday with the lads and have been feeling worse for wear as a fanbase. Very sore heeds and feeling very sorry for wa’sels!

One thing we always are, as Geordies, honest. Brutally honest.
Negatively so at times. Honest to a fault.

Despite the results we've been miles off it in the first 4 matches, won 3 and drawn 1.

Last season during the dark days of the deep injury period we'd have lost 3 and drawn 1. Yet, somehow, last season we scored more Premier League goals than any other season, quite how that happened baffles me to this day.

The way we went into the summer was as though we were in the relegation dogfight. How attitudes have changed. Anyone would have thought we’ve seen Wor lass out on the toon with a lad from South of the River!!!

Whilst I am probably on the more positive, pragmatic side of the wider fan base, I wouldn’t consider myself a happy-clapping, tinfoil hat wearing Trust the Process cultist. Am not here to harp on about ‘how far we’ve come in just 3 yrs’ blah blah blah I do think there is a need for perspective.

In 22/23 season when we finished 4th we were solid but disappointing in most games. We dug in and drew 14 games a lot of those performances were stinking. The difference being the perception.

It was Howe's first full season, everyone was bouncing, "walking in Bruno wonderland". Everyone was grateful we were rid of Bruce and Ashley.

We didn't have expectations; every point was cheered like a cup win. All the way to the cup final. We charged around the grounds, heed full of bevy and a raucous song in our hearts turned up to 11.

Last Season was great to be rub shoulders with the European Elite our ambitions were raised. We’d got our 1990s swagger back. We were free to dare to dream once again of routing the likes of Barcelona.

On this voyage to the continent it was the tractor boys of Paris, PSG, that f’d around and found out who Big Dan Burn, his flying header is and what it’s like to stamp that Geordie stamp in their passport.

Nasser Al-Khelaifi boys took one hell of a beating at SJP and left muttering French foibles with their tails between their leg. Humiliated!

The reverse fixtured needed the referee to give them a nonsense penalty some 9 minutes into 6 mins added time to rob Sir Bobby Robson’s boys of yet again another history victor on foreign soil.

180 minute of open play NUFC 5 – 0 M’Bappe. Quality!

Perhaps we were a little overconfident, expectations were high we felt like we'd arrived.

Football is a cruel mistress.

We fought to the death as a club and finished with our heads held high, hoisted from a 2nd season in Europe by a still unbelievable result in the FA Cup Final.

Raging! Typical!

Denied by the Red Filth of SwampChester, yet again!

[Ragatino]

The halcyon days of a barmy British Summer, beer gardens, 2 weeks in the sun, Oasis wafting over the pool from the speakers:
‘Need a little time to wake up, wake up
Need a little time to wake up
Need a little time to rest your mind
You know you should so I guess you might as well
What's the story, morning glory?
Weeeeeeeeell?
Need a little time to wake up, wake up
Weeeeeeeeell?
[Guitar Solo]

Season closed, much to be optimistic about.

No football, idle hands, the devils work!

Hacks and pundits alike looking to maintain relevance. Jostling for position on highlight panels for the upcoming season. Column inches to be filled. Backsides to be wiped with the vast majority of the copy printed. Boy did it drag.

It dragged alright. The clawing, gnawing, gruelling Media circus ground on and on, ground down to the bone.

Like trying to read Classic Russian literature and pretending to genuinely give a shyte.

Trying to be all cultured and classy n that… Shyte!

After 100 pages of bollox, it suddenly dawns on you that you’re still not even through the pre-face. That smug feeling of being holier than thou, all reet sophisticated n that, smarted than the average bear Booboo plummets at realising this Tolstoy fella hasn’t even kick the story off yet.

What a d*ckhead!

No wonder those Ruski fellas drink vodka like water & thought ‘Hey let’s give this communism schtick a bash!’ Shocking!

But. Sod all that. There’s the important business of a Saudi war chest to spend.

Yet more endless reports of about financial rules and restrictions, the debacle of June, Bruno’s release clause, misinformation and press snipping, trolling and provocation wound us all right up. Komrade Stammer stormed the barricades of No.10. The nation burned and we once again saw the ugly truth of our current plight as 21 century Britons. Politics much like the footballing establishment are rotten to the core.

Rats scurry out, rats scurry in. The new ones, same as the old ones in Whitehall.

Closer to home, certain Gardening Rats scurry off to the swamp to join the other sewer dwellers. The man’s a hype job. His career record unclear. Copy and pasted the French & Spanish model on to St George’s park, pat on the back for that midget man.

I mean, ‘Hub Man’ didn’t reinvent the wheel, did he?

A glorified secretary ‘I connect all the departments; I make sure we all communicate.’

Flattered to deceive is a massive understatement.

One thing is abundantly clear. Whilst with England he gave Mr Sam Allardyce the manager’s job.

"He's brilliant at galvanising," Ashworth told Sky Sports News HQ. "He will galvanise the players and the supporters. We all need picking up and leading into hopefully a successful qualifying campaign for Russia and then the tournament itself. I'm sure Sam will be ideal for that.
"We have a lot of good, young technical players. We were the youngest squad at the Euros, we think there's a lot of growth in those players who will be better for the experience they've just had. He's an acute tactician and he will get the best out of the players.
"The sign of a good manager is they add value to teams and managers and Sam over his long and distinguished career has added value to every single one of the teams he has been in charge of."
Ashworth said the FA always wanted to appoint an English manager and said Allardyce stood out because of his long-term commitment to analytics and sports science.

Good riddance I say.

But I digress…

The Euros came and went. England, Kane, Southgate did us all over once again. Led us all up the garden path with hopes and dreams. The greatest assembly of English footballing talent since Sir Matt’s boys hammered home the pig bladder at Wembley some 58 yrs ago.

To the final, somehow. Shocking performances. Moments of Bellingham brilliance. Only to get humped in the final by a team, who’s manager has a chin and knows this crazy now philosophy to the beautiful game, tactics.

What a revelation Gareth! Imagine if that chode had of fluked it, he’d have been knighted.

Sir Gareth of Chinless. Let that one sink in. I guess a bullet was dodged. We’d have to have seen his snivelling nasal face on every football sofa for time and memorial.

The departure of Amanda and Mehrdad. Sad to see them go. A great thing they have done for us. We knew it wasn’t a forever love but a fleeting fling with a class pair of international cuties. That posh north Yorkshire lass with horses, a summer crush. A love that was bound to end. God bless them both on their new adventures. In years to come we’ll see a photo in an old album and the heart and soul will stir at the memories. The speeches, the lasses coming home to SJP, real joy they shared with us the roller coaster of emotions as we soared to the heights of 4th place. They allowed us to believe, the restored our TRUE FAITH and brought back some pride and dignity to the club, the fans, the streets, the city and the global Geordie Nation.

Oh aye & the mint Photoshopped images of Cans of the train. Quality! haha

With the dumpster fires across the nation burning bright, the disappointment of yet more national team failure, a love lost in the director’s box our last refuge remained, to salvage a promising summer unravelling into one of disenchantment. Recruitment.

Wow, Paul Mitchell. A name we thought we’d not hear again. One mooted back in the very very early days of our take over journey. A strange PR strategy against the backdrop of the scurrying rats and clouds of PSR unknowns. The club didn’t handle it well at all. C-, must do better!

Sensible voices like Kieran McGuire spoke very clearly that transfer windows don’t just happen overnight, wheels are in motion months before and those locomotives are hard to get stopped; like turning the QE2.

The excitement, the anticipation of new signings, gave way to frustrated repetition.

Seeing other clubs doing business the emotional heads (us) wanted action, instant gratification. Expected, nay DEMANDING rabbits from hats, uncut gems and braggadociosly low prices we can all smugly crow about to counter the Signings of future stars Like Leni Yoro.

Thoughts drifting to who’s name we’re gonna be getting printed on the back of that class Adidas Home Strip or that mint retro homage away strip (looks even better in the away end at Wolves when Messrs Barnes et al faced the roar of the travelling faithful by the way!).

Again, the passion and joy, the optimism and fun, the potential new additions became yet another long slog through the Tolstoyesque Fleet street nightmare.

The grind of rubber face Parish comments. The liars in the press. The provocation of ITKs. The mockery from all quarters brought back all those horrid memories of previous abusive club-related relationships.

Some moments it felt like we were in a time warp. Zapped back to a period when our manager thought it was totally acceptable to try and stick the head on an opposition player & our owner proudly professed to being ‘A power drinker’ in the highest court of the land. £2.2B in wallpaper!

It’s still raw in the memory. I completely understand. The cocktail of emotional, passionate Geordies, the love of the club and the 15 yrs of emotional abuse. We all lived it. However, we do need to take a bit of advice from the 2nd coming of Jesus, Ms Taylor Swift and ‘Shake it off’.

So, there we all were, figuratively glued to our phones ever more increasingly desperate for some good news to break.

Like one given up smoking, ratty, short tempered, irritable, not accepting the reality that it’s seriously pishing us off. Denying the reality. Snipping at each other on X or here. Getting deep in the reads of this frigger Marc Guehi like he’s the love child of Franz Beckenbauer and Alessandro Nesta.

Refreshing every two mins eagerly anticipating a ‘HERE WE GO’ from Fab Ramo.

The sobering realisation that the window was slamming shut and Newcastle United are going to go through their alleged most significant Summer transfer window without a Marque signing.

Impossible! Surely not. The outrage. Everything must be utterly broken. CIVIL WAR, POWER STUGGLE.

NONSENSE!!!

When any company, business or organisation experiences such a rapid-rate growth progress is NEVER linear. 15 yrs experience of managing £10million + projects, stands as testament to that. If it can go wrong, it WILL go wrong. Of that you can be sure!

Are the club going to make mistakes and have they already made some?

Yes of course. They’ve been pretty flawless up until the injuries shattered our nostalgia & alcohol fuel rocket propelled ascent to the top for. Finishing 7th and this summer’s restructuring, less than stella performance in the transfer market is a big and necessary reality check. It hurts the love struck heart of the Geordie faithful who’s been afforded the indulgence of a rekindled long lasting love with Wor Lass from up the hill.

However, head must rule heart at least some of the time. We have to remember that this is a massive period of transition from a skeleton crewed club, the football equivalent of the Mary Celeste with Captain Penfold Pugwash rudderless to a fully staffed Nimitz class Aircraft carrier strike group with global reach and nation dominating capabilities.

Bygones be Bygones boys.

Nothing can be done about what has been and gone.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, and I’m feeeeeeeling good.

3rd in the Prem after 4 games. Almost a completely fit squad. Top class talent in all the right positions at the club. Eddie Howe & Jason Tindle getting wins out of a misfiring team.

Things are only gonna get better. Good times ahead.

Thus, concludes my season opening verbal diarrhoea.

Please turn the cassette tape over to listen to the Spanish version of fast forward 5 mins for the greatest hits of Showaddywaddy.

[Sclox]

FKn hell man. Have you been spiked?

😁

For a minute you had me in a mid nineties flashback sitting there beside you in that beer garden with the Verve blasting, 30 degrees, fresh out of the gym, new haircut, wearing my new Adidas Sambas, tucking into a burger with an ice cold pint waiting for the game to start.

[Ragatino]

FKn hell man. Have you been spiked?

��

For a minute you had me in a mid nineties flashback sitting there beside you in that beer garden with the Verve blasting, 30 degrees, fresh out of the gym, new haircut, wearing my new Adidas Sambas, tucking into a burger with an ice cold pint waiting for the game to start.

hahaha yeah man! 20s, made of Rubber and Magic - Hangovers and Comedowns just bounce off.

Glorious afternoons, belting tunes, 3rd pint... taking it ez. A few good lads having the craic.

THEN BOOOM. We've lost cabin pressure!

The lad Ya mam calls 'a bad influence' & Ya Girlfriend calls 'A knob'ed' rocks up in a new pair or RayBans he got from his Marra who 'got a pallet load off the back of a lorry, a bucket hat, a freshly pressed (by his mam - of course he still lives at yam! haha) Fred Perry or Hackett Polo the bumbag of unknown deleights slung arrogantly over his shoulder...

All pre-confirmed plans of taking it ez, meeting up with the lasses later on and ganning for a Roast out at that fancy country pub over near the lakes tomorrow - OUT THE WINDOW.

That feeling in ya belly, the adrenalin dump at the realisation that you are going to disappoint and pi$$ off a lot of people for being AWOL. hahaha

"2 tickets to Carnage Central, please!"

hahaha good times!

[Sclox]

hahaha yeah man! 20s, made of Rubber and Magic - Hangovers and Comedowns just bounce off.

Glorious afternoons, belting tunes, 3rd pint... taking it ez. A few good lads having the craic.

THEN BOOOM. We've lost cabin pressure!

The lad Ya mam calls 'a bad influence' & Ya Girlfriend calls 'A knob'ed' rocks up in a new pair or RayBans he got from his Marra who 'got a pallet load off the back of a lorry, a bucket hat, a freshly pressed (by his mam - of course he still lives at yam! haha) Fred Perry or Hackett Polo the bumbag of unknown deleights slung arrogantly over his shoulder...

All pre-confirmed plans of taking it ez, meeting up with the lasses later on and ganning for a Roast out at that fancy country pub over near the lakes tomorrow - OUT THE WINDOW.

That feeling in ya belly, the adrenalin dump at the realisation that you are going to disappoint and pi$$ off a lot of people for being AWOL. hahaha

"2 tickets to Carnage Central, please!"

hahaha good times!

Yes, skinning up with a Rizla and a packet of 20 tabs costing £3, not a mobile phone or tik tok cnt in sight. Living in the moment, 100% attention, in full technicolour engaging with those around you while slapping 20p down on the pool table and the missus loading the jukebox up for the afternoon. Yeah, meeting your mates not through social media but making arrangements days before.naming a time and fkn place to meet rather than texting it. You went to the bookies in person.

Better, simpler days.

[Ragatino]

Yes, skinning up with a Rizla and a packet of 20 tabs costing £3, not a mobile phone or tik tok cnt in sight. Living in the moment, 100% attention, in full technicolour engaging with those around you while slapping 20p down on the pool table and the missus loading the jukebox up for the afternoon. Yeah, meeting your mates not through social media but making arrangements days before.naming a time and fkn place to meet rather than texting it. You went to the bookies in person.

Better, simpler days.

We were fortunate to have experienced real life.

Going to night clubs, festivals & all manner of other events not a camera phone in sight. People enjoying themselves, making new friends and having a great time.

Good times indeed.

[Jammy89]

Holy **** Rag. . .

But well said.

[Zippity]

Ber-limey, Raga.

Some effort that, man.

[Ragatino]

Ber-limey, Raga.

Some effort that, man.

I knocked it out whilst sat in the airport lounge, waiting for my flight to beautiful Baghdad.

Some maintenance on the aircraft and far too many espressos got the mind a wandering.

Everything had been rattling around in my heed for the last few weeks. The International break vacuum magnified my irritation at the whole situation so needed to vent and get all the shyte out.

Winding myself up with all the Troll commentary and mockery from the MSM Muppets wasn't doing me any favours!

I appreciate you comments all.

[Ragatino]

Anyone remember Tall Trees in Yarm?

What was the name of the club up the top end of town called? Was the night called Tutti Fruiti or something like that?