I don’t know whether the positives from an excellent opening against Wolves on Saturday were outweighed by the negatives of allowing the opposition to pinch a draw. Literally I don’t know, I wasn’t there. I normally am there, as some may already be aware (a big hello to my reader in Cramlington) and in fact this was the first time this year I’ve missed a home match, including the pre-season Fiorentina wash-out.
Last Saturday was well off limits though. My mate Garrett was getting married and as an Irish, rugby-playing Liverpool fan who lives in Yorkshire, Garrett did not much care whether Newcastle were at home that day. As he is one of my best friends, it meant that I was dutifully unconcerned by this factor also. I did get irritable during the meal and speeches though, as my man at SJP sent through text messages with score updates. I was even stupid enough to get snotty with some Boro fans as we cruised to 2-0, proving that karma never runs out of range.
Here’s the thing though, when it transpired we’d testicled it up and drew 2-2, I was extremely very annoyed but then the silver lining of missing a match kicked in. At least the game I had missed had been a crushing disappointment and not a minor classic. Of course, I would have preferred a win but if there was to be one massive disappointment this year, let it be the game I felt most detachment from, albeit at the expense of the discombobulation of all of you who were there.
I must admit though, and with all due respect, I didn’t have high expectations from a fixture against Wolverhampton anyway. The missing of home games is a strange one to process for the regular attender and in the scheme of things, you could do a lot worse than having to give Wolves a swerve.
Take my mate Simon Cahill, forced to attend a christening in York on the day of the epic Arsenal fightback last season, possibly not even a proper christening, but one of those you feel obliged to go to, or attend under duress as a plus one. I sympathised with him extensively. Alright I didn’t but I could see things from his point of view (which is close enough to sympathy).
Conversely, my mate Rob is facing the ultimate clash of having to miss the derby this weekend. Unlike Simon’s misfortune though, Rob is a massively foolish twerp of a man and deserves the misery that shall be thrown his way (by me) should it be 5-1 again. You see, Rob arranged to take his lass skiing this weekend, despite there being 51 other such occasions in your average calendar year on which we are not playing the mackems at home. The date of the mackems home game should be indelibly printed on the brain from publication and any events planned within range of it swiftly vetoed, re-arranged or put off until the exact kick-off time is known. Arranging to fly to France on the Sunday morning is the rookiest of errors and to do so leaves one open to ridicule. Someone should make an example of him on the internet, old Rob Reed of Kingston Park.
At this point I’m in fear of karma striking again, given that my lovely lady is 8 1/2 months pregnant and under strict instruction not to go off this weekend. I shall take this opportunity then to spread some goodwill in hoping that everyone who plans to attend gets there safe on Sunday, has a great afternoon and we smash the mackems comfortably once again. So I can take the piss out of Rob.