My Uncle John is an American who has lived in Northumberland for longer than he cares to remember. I took him to his first match in 2016. We had no idea just how dramatic the night would be. This article was originally published in the (now defunct) 'Popular Side' fanzine:
At a family visit my nephew John, who is a regular contributor to the Popular Side Fanzine, gave me several issues to read for the first time. “Uncle John (we have the same name and day of birth), there’s a couple of articles by me but let me know what you think of the rest.” The grooming had begun. He was so sly! But you see, I already knew what to think of the Fanzine. It would be full of rabid tribalism, lots of whinging and moaning about Mike Ashley, the internal politics of the club, the ups and downs of the season, bad calls by the referee, and a general spew of Geordie rubbish. Come on guys, wha’d’ya expect from a John Wayne American? I’m just spouting our “foreign policy” of ignorance and arrogance round the world!
But what a revelation! The PS articles are so intelligently written, so thoughtful, with balanced criticism of NUFC and knowledgeable discussions on the state of football in general from all sorts of unexpected angles. I was bowled over! The astonishing personal commitment to attend home and away games by hook or by crook; and the power of the “match experience”, like a religious experience, with all its highs and lows. But what really impressed me is the extraordinary community focus upon all things Newcastle United, whether in season or out of season. The Fanzine conveys the rich history of the club, its roots so deeply entwined with the local Geordie community (and in-comer “converts”) that club and community are obviously one. All the behind-the-scenes stuff, what the club and players give to the community (especially the Bobby Robson Cancer Foundation) and what the community gives to the club – all remain unseen on “match of the day.” The PS is so rich in Newcastle cultural history and current community life that it should be distributed to all the tourist centres. “You want to find out about Newcastle, READ THIS!”
On our mutual birthday (May 29th) my nephew and I exchanged books. I bought him the 5 star rated “Beastly Fury: The Strange Birth of British Football” by Richard Sanders. But I got the Geordie Coca Cola “REAL THING”! Billy Furious – “A Mag For All Seasons” - a riotously funny but deep and moving book, as close to being at a live match without actually being there. Therein lay my problem. I was still “on the outside looking in”, still watching TV football, reading the sports pages. “You fancy going to a match with me at SJP?” Would I?! To quote many a cowboy film, “Shore as shee-it!” But the thrill of anticipation soon turned to anxiety. Should I wear my Bruce Willis vest to the game? Bring binoculars? In the stadium would I turn into a psycho-turrets monster? Get ejected? In the weeks leading up to the game I feared pre-match ejaculation. You see, when you’re a solitary sports fanatic like me the mind and body can do funny things in front of “match of the day.”
The big day finally came! First, 90 minutes in the living museum of Strawberry pub where the collective conversation bubbled up into a standing room only, deafening boil, followed by a last drink in the stadium. It was time for “the game”, for me to ascend “the stairway to heaven” to my first view of SJP. John said, “You’ll never forget it”, and I won’t!
SJP is an imposing and classy coliseum. Night match! Flood lights! GREEN pitch! BLACK sky! There are a hundred billion galaxies known so far in this black sky above SJP, the furthest 30 billion light years away! (Before the match I went to Spec Savers!) In this abyss of space 48,000 Geordie fans turned up for the mid-week Championship match! I forget to say which one, didn’t I? My first ever LIVE football match was THAT MATCH! September28th, 2016 NUFC vs. Norwich!
Many other people will write about this folklore match far better than I can. You all know what happened. (But not inside me!) At 3-1 down late in the game John said to me three times, “If we can pull it back to 3-2, we can still win.” Win?! We were dead and buried. We should have had Clint Eastwood in goal with cigar stub and poncho. He would have stared down their strikers into a gutless jelly, not daring to “shoot” at him! Down 3-2 at the end of regulation time the fans were streaming out of the stadium. The post-match autopsy was going to be brutal. Even then, John’s blind faith that we could still win seemed pathetic, absurd as believing in resurrection. And then, deep in post-mortem time, we scored two goals to impossibly win the game 4-3!
Even the wheelchair fans must have had an out-of-body leap to the floodlights and beyond, to the hundred billion galaxies in the black sky above and back down again as John and I hugged each other jumping up and down with 48,000 Geordies exploding in delirium! Before the game John had suggested I might want to write down my first impressions of my first match for the PS. I had thought, you guys don’t need an American to tell Newcastle fans what you experience match after match, win or lose, season after season, from generation to generation. After the impossible winning goal John screamed at me through the jet engine crowd roar, “I’ve NEVER seen this before! I could take you to a hundred matches and you will NEVER see this again!” My first LIVE game!
My commiserations to all those fans - “Ye of little faith”! – who streamed out of the stadium during post-mortem time and missed the once-in-a-lifetime resurrection, just like I had turned back years ago from Woodstock because of the appalling traffic. But WOW! I couldn’t stop laughing at the sheer impossibility of what had just happened. But had it? Was it real? The Rafa-rection and Ascension into Heaven! I should know. I was actually there!
“Shore as shee-it”!