Back in August I contributed an article to The Mag which was entitled “The Phoney War”, it was about the lull before hostilities began at the start of the Newcastle United season.
In September I contributed “All Things Bright and Beautiful”, about our promising start to the season.
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October’s article “Trick or Treat” arrived a little late last weekend. It raised doubts about how things are unfolding after a series of sloppy defeats.
My offering this month? Fire and darkness.
November starts with the dispiriting onset of darkness. As Simon and Garfunkel never sang, “Hello darkness my old friend, soon you’ll be here by 5pm.”
Darkness aside, there’s been more futility than fire from our footballing favourites. Maybe we’ll see a spark from Newcastle United in West London on Saturday.
As the Scots say, maybe so, maybe no.
Maybe we’ll see two bald men fighting over a comb. An increasingly dull, dreary and desperate attempt to win the coveted prize of being the fourth worst team in the league by the end of the season.
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There’s always hope, of course, the thing that kills you.
We hope that Fulham will be even more wobbly than us.
We hope that we can bag a fourth win of a mercurial season in the capital this weekend.
We hope that the likes of Sunderland, Coventry, Ipswich, Palace, Fulham will finish below us by the odd point or with a less embarrassing goal difference.
We hope that Santa will bring us a little stocking filler in the form of a relegation berth for Man City.
If so, we hope that we won’t be one of the other two trapdoor teams.
We hope that it’s going to be alright.
We hope Matthias Jaissle will turn it around.
We hope that the Newcastle United players will get it.
We hope there’s something for them to get.
We hope for a couple of signings in January.
We know all about hope as Newcastle supporters. We know the sorts of things we say in our brighter moments. But November darkness doesn’t encourage hope.
There’s a beguiling song by an obscure folk singer Dave Goulder, entitled “The January Man”. It’s partly about the changing seasons, month by month. This month’s line is, “The poor November man sees fire and wind and mist and rain and winter air.” We can identify with that. So can our current manager, who looked like the poor November man at the end of Monday night’s match after shaking hands with the gargoyle Moyes.
If you want a giggle in November’s darkness, search up “David Moyes Dunfermline”. It should bring up an image of a Soccer Stars/Panini type sticker of a young Davey Moyes in his playing days. Be warned: it belongs on the Halloween clearance shelf. Unsettling. NSFW.
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We might giggle but fly old Davey has demonstrated a certain brand of English football to MJ three times these last few months. As my Mam used to say, “that’ll learn him a thing or three.”
Aggregate score 7-2. Gesundheit, or something that rhymes with it.
Despite the hype of the Premier League being the world’s finest, we all know the reality: there’s an awful lot of beige football. Much of what is served up is tepid soup prepared by chefs like Moyes, using ingredients from the back of the fridge and the darkest corners of the cupboards. It sustains life but does not bring joy.
Welcome to Richard Masters’ soup kitchen. One bit of bread to dunk each, except for the slippery six. They’re on the “all you can eat” tariff, butter running down their greasy chins. No soup for them. They’re having steak, followed by a selection from the sweet trolley. Coffee. Brandy and cigars.
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Here’s the recipe for Masters’ Beige Football Soup, a tried and trusted staple of the English football diet.
The main ingredients:
– a pound of Pulis
– five fat Sam fingers
– a whiffling of Warnock’s whiskers
– a measure of Moysie’s mustard
– a handful of Hughes hoofball
– a brace of Bruceballs. Lob in a few streaky rashers and a head of cabbage.
Method: Clag it all into a pan on a low heat until tepid.
Before serving, add the following to taste:
– a dash of well-drilled defence
– a rasher of rogue refereeing
– a pinch of percentages
– a layer of long-throw
– a jar of “Wee Davey’s” jam
– a measure of Monday night marinade
– a can of barely concealed corruption
– a scoop of Stoke soil, ideally harvested on a cold, wet midweek night.
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Enough nutritional content and calories to keep you up. Best served lukewarm from a vat of vested interests into leaking, cracked bowls, just enough to accumulate points.
November: the month of fire and darkness. Maybe Matthias Jaissle can kindle fire in the hearts of our lads and us supporters. Maybe there’ll be a light in the darkness on Saturday.
Maybe.
