Thermidorian Reactions

After the predictable tedium of the early season international break, the Premier League returns this weekend, with Newcastle travelling to Swansea City in what already looks like a crunch relegation 6-pointer, like every game featuring a couple of the PL also rans from outside the hermetically sealed glamorous top 8. Apparently the Magpies may not be under the charge of self-proclaimed Messiah and Greatest Manager in the World Rafa Benitez for the nearest thing to a European tie the club is likely to get for the thick end of a couple of decades, as he is recuperating following a hernia operation. I wish the man a speedy recovery, but would observe that I’m surprised that it hasn’t been a procedure to alleviate a particularly serious cause of haemorrhoids that he’s recently undergone, as he’s been an absolute pain in the arse since it became clear he was being held to account regarding some of his failed signings last year, with the club (okay Ashley and Charnley) standing firm on the need to ship the dead wood out before we signed any more new planks.

My last piece about Newcastle United (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2017/07/what-carton.html ) was penned in mid-July, when Newcastle United’s Irish training camp was to include a wonderful opportunity to meet and greet Rafa and the boys in Sports Direct off O’Connell Street. While I was full of the optimism of midsummer, I did wonder whether conduct involving such distasteful self-abasement was a contractual obligation for Benitez, as it seemed to fatally undermine any sense of dignity he could previously command, meaning players may not wish to sign for someone who had so little self-respect as to act as an errand boy for Mike Ashley. Returning to these shores, Benitez then took up the role of glorified glass collector in 9 Bar, turning up for a Q&A session with the great unwashed among the support. Considering the bitter irony of Bob “Lord Haw Haw” Moncur hosting the latest one of these Strawberry Place show trials on 31^st August as the transfer deadline passed with a predictable lack of inward activity on Tyneside, one wonders just what purpose Benitez’s dutiful obedience to the finger clicking orders of his superiors actually served in a wider context. Perhaps this is the sort of issue Benitez’s personal hagiographer Martin Hardy can address in detail when he phones in the next of his banal diary of a season cash cow accounts of how Rafa diverted the threat of nuclear war in Korea, while discovering a cure for all forms of cancer and winning the World Cup with Newcastle. At least Mark Douglas’s account of 2016/2017 attempted to be even-handed and professionally detached when analysing the effect Benitez has had on the club, even if his conclusion that Benitez had effectively checkmated Ashley may seem to be wildly optimistic if not risibly naïve regarding the future direction of NUFC. The many headed Sports Direct hydra will not allow itself to be slain so easily.

Interestingly, on Thursday 7^th September, the NUFC Food Bank are hosting a fundraiser at the Tyneside Irish Centre, whereby 7 local football journalists of varying quality, reliability and reputation, will hold a public “inquest” into the impact of the transfer window and a discussion about the immediate future prospects of the club in the light of this. There are a few tickets left, price £10, but I’ll not be in attendance as the inquest I’m particularly concerned with is the one following my mother’s death last Saturday, which means I need to empty her room in the care home or face a £500 bill. This is a shame, on many levels, but particularly because I’d like to have heard what some of them have to say. As well as Mark Douglas, the opinions of George Caulkin and Simon Bird are worth paying attention to, though the swivel-eyed, paranoid froth from the likes of Craig Hope, Louise Taylor and the frankly pitiful doom-mongering of Luke Edwards and Rafa’s special pal Martin Hardy can be safely ignored. Frankly, even Lee Ryder or Ian Murtagh have more to recommend them than the querulous quartet who’ll no doubt be predicting Benitez out by October, relegation by Christmas, administration by Easter and oblivion in the Summer. Shame I can’t make it…

One thing Newcastle United, and Mike Ashley in particular, does better than anyone else, is the self-destructive, volcanic lurch from one avoidable drama to an equally preventable gargantuan crisis of existential angst. The last 10 years have seen a whole litany of indescribably ludicrous public relations gaffes and nightmares in the boardroom and dugout, as well as on the pitch and among the support. The Quatrième pouvoir Brains Trust gathered on Gallowgate will surely come to that consensus, though one wonders whether any other than Bird, Caulkin and Douglas would have the mental sophistication to accent that the current situation at Newcastle United is not a Doomsday scenario. In my eyes, it appears as if a smaller but slightly stronger squad than the one that gained promotion, are being endlessly rubbished and denigrated by the majority of our support, especially the South Tyneside Twitterati, in an attempt to display unblinking, unthinking loyalty to Benitez and the kind of dog whistle enmity towards Ashley that garners quick and easy numbers in the likes and retweets stakes. Strangely though, supporters of other teams in the top division do not have Newcastle earmarked for one of the relegation spots; partly because of the supposedly world class manager who is in charge and partly because we’ve assembled a few half decent players. These include at least 5 of our new signings: Lejeune, Merino, Atsu, Joselu and Murphy. While I’ll admit the lack of firepower and options at left back are potentially bothersome, I’m more annoyed we didn’t get rid of Haidara, Colback, Gamez and Shitrovic. If we had, other players could have been brought in.

I do find it incredibly strange that Benitez is both the most unprofessional, disloyal and deliberately provocative manager since Brian Clough took on Sam Longson at the Baseball Ground 45 years ago, as well as being simultaneously happy to accept the role of Ashley and Charnley’s patsy. His incessant griping from the point it became clear a block had been put on future incomers, until the dross was disposed of, generally along the lines of some variant on the we must try, but it is hard or not possible to always compete got on my nerves after a couple of days. It seemed excessively negative, deeply divisive and unnecessarily alarmist; one wonders exactly what effect it had on a squad preparing for a return to the Premier League. Having watched the Spurs game, I would contend this Dismal Jimmyism hadn’t really caused much damage to morale; there was a point there for the taking, while the eventual defeat was of Shelvey’s own doing, following his ridiculous stamp in front of the referee. You can’t compete with Harry Kane and Dele Ali when you’re a player short, though Kane ought to have walked for the snide scissors kick on Lejeune.

The week after Spurs, I didn’t see the Huddersfield loss, as I was watching Newcastle beat Benwell Hill in the Banks Salver final at Jesmond, but I caught the highlights later on and it seemed that a timid, negative team selection had put in the kind of stuttering, inadequate performance that we’d seen last year against Blackburn (twice), Sheff Wed (twice) and Wolves at home. It seemed as if they’d gone out there utterly lacking in self-belief and accepted we were beaten as soon as the goal went in. Surely if Benitez is the tactical maestro so many insist he is, then he could have coaxed more than this limp surrender? Or am I missing the wider implications of such hopeless performances? Are we seeing superb counter-intuitive tactics, whereby Ashley will be convinced of the need for new blood if the old stock is deoxygenated, depleted and discredited? You’d be forgiven for thinking that if you’d been at the Nottingham Forest League Cup loss on the following Wednesday, that outstripped anything I’d seen for eye-bleeding torpor since the Souness era.

Sat in an eerily silent Platinum Club on a ten quid ticket, the quality early goal by Shitrovic and the excellent efforts of Aarons, including a blindingly good equaliser, only served to stay the inevitable torrents of bellyaching from those who displayed not so much support for the club, but a sense of arrogant entitlement far removed from any version of fandom I can identify with. The moaning twat in the Thame United fleece behind me managed to be more annoying that the seizure-inducing pitch side adverts for some morally dubious gambling website or other. As a Hibbee, I know Jason Cummings is as fast as hell and a nuisance in the box; he isn’t Neymar though. He scored a brace and tortured the defence who were uniformly pitiful, then went off for NUFC legend Daryl Murphy just in time for their winner in the 97^th minute. In the remaining 23 minutes, Newcastle mustered perhaps 2 efforts on goal, preferring instead to languidly pass the ball along the back line, almost as if defeat was something of an achievement. The strenuous efforts of sub Matt Ritchie to rescue the game stood in sharp relief to the complacent ambling of the rest of the side. I’m just surprised there wasn’t more booing after extra time following such a performance, but it appeared rather like Ritchie’s efforts, there were only pockets of genuine anger and passion to be heard. While I made a vow that I’ll not set foot back in the ground while Benitez is in charge; most punters around us glumly accepted another rancid night at the office and shuffled off without complaint.

However, in the days following this loss, I detected a gear shift in public opinion. Hacked off with the lame excuse of a team who are utterly bereft of ideas once they’ve gone behind, significant numbers of NUFC fans were beginning to question whether Benitez was all he claimed to be cracked up to be; sterile football, indifferent transfer record, ostracising players, a relentlessly negative attitude and a seeming obsession with courting conflict with the elusive and mercurial Ashley were getting people down. Obviously there’s still a huge number of Stockholm Syndrome Sufferers who refuse to believe that Emperor Benitez may not have any new clothes, but their influence was waning. This caused some juvenile hotheads to claim that Benitez wouldn’t be the man they thought he was unless he walked away from NUFC. Just think about that; hoping the boss resigns to show what power he’s got over the owner. The mind boggles…

All in all, it added up to a potentially epochal contest with West Ham in the last game. Surprisingly, it almost all went to plan; the dismal Bracelet Thieves were beaten out of sight and the support remained united. Of course, the idiotic elbow by Shitrovic that has caused him to face an entirely merited 3 game ban was seen as an FA-led attack on the NUFC politic by the authoritarian populists in the Gallowgate, rather than just desserts for rash impetuosity. Amidst all this, the single most amazing thing about the game and its aftermath was the deputation to Benitez led by Charnley, which involved the reading of the Riot Act, the redrawing of boundaries and responsibilities and the emergence of a contrite, on-message manager. It seems that Rafa isn’t Spartacus; he’s a very naughty boy. Thankfully, he’s ditched the Icarus impression in favour of a more solicitous Daelus profile, while at least keep the club on a relatively even keel, even if the hull seems ready to spring a leak at any second.

The manager’s subsequently more respectful tone in his public utterances, following the visit to the Headmaster’s study, show he knows he’d overplayed his hand. If this rebellion had turned into a revolution, Ashley would have been Stalin, Robespierre and Pol Pot combined in terms of the repression visited upon the club. Thankfully Benitez’s awareness of the failings in his conduct could be seen by his eagerness to please his employers by shifting the likes of Hanley, Krul and Lazaar (two of them his signings of course) before the deadline. If only Benitez had been more pro-active and on-message earlier in August, the whole NUFC situation could have been immeasurably more optimistic, especially if he’d ditched his bizarre obsession with signing another keeper.

So, three games in and 16 to go before New Year’s Day, we are where we are. It isn’t ideal, but it’s not time for a Three Mile Island meltdown just yet. Frankly, I’m expecting an ugly season at SJP, with a whole load of attritional, dreary games whereby we crawl at a snail’s pace to around 48 points. This will no doubt be partly thanks to some overpriced, panic buys in January who may provide temporary respite. Undoubtedly, Benitez, who is no longer talking about Newcastle as a long term project, will leave next summer, having met his match in Ashley and the club will have lost an opportunity to push on, because of Ashley’s illogical caprices. Having watched my mother dying on her sick bed these last 2 years, I can confirm there is no joy to be found in remaining one step away from last rites at all times. Benitez, who now knows his limitations, is aware of this, but Ashley doesn’t care, or so it seems. This vile, moneyed patriarch has the power and the amount of devil in his soul to cast us into a footballing nuclear winter at the flick of a switch. Let’s hope the obsessive gambler doesn’t play his ultimate Trump card.