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Mike Ashley, Katie Price, Eeyore and surgically enhanced breasts

6 years ago

I recently had the misfortune to catch that Jordan woman on the telly and it got me thinking.

If Newcastle United were to be an individual, then they would undoubtedly be Katie Price. Still strangely attractive to a lot of people, but nevertheless extremely difficult to watch without screaming.

But then I thought, a much better comparison with Miss Price would be our beloved leader Mike Ashley. Both of them are totally lacking in class but have made millions of pounds  getting the Jeremy Kyle generation to buy their products.

To his credit, at least Mike Ashley hasn’t had his breasts surgically enlarged. Well I don’t think he has, but I could be wrong.

Anyway, enough of  my ramblings, let’s talk about football.

Have you read Winnie the Pooh?

One of the characters in the book is a very morose donkey called Eeyore, who spends his life hiding away in a very gloomy place, because he believes that the sky is going to fall in on his head.

It seemed that after the Swansea game, there was a number of us who  wanted to move in with Eeyore, but despite  the following couple of games not having brought us any victories and  that we find ourselves in the bottom three, I am heartened by the fact that many of the people I speak to are not ready to chuck in the towel and head for Eeyore’s cave just yet.

Of course things could have gone better but I think that there has been enough on display in three of the four games to give us some optimism for the season ahead.

Besides, we have seen worse. A lot worse.

For me, 1980 was this club’s nadir.

In the January, I watched Ian Rush put us out  of the FA Cup. Hardly surprising I hear you say, except that he was not playing for European cup winning Liverpool, he was playing for Chester.  That’s Fourth Division Chester, beating us at home.

Later that year I witnessed Newcastle manage to stumble to win in a  League cup tie against the mighty  Bury. The weather that night was truly hideous . There were 10,000 like-minded fools, huddled together on exposed terraces, looking  like Penguins in the Antarctic as we tried to shelter from a biblical storm.

With callous disregard to their fate, the young kids amongst us were pushed to the outside of the circle, left to perish. They were probably the lucky ones. No more Shinton and Rafferty for them.

Oh and we lost the second leg and went out the cup.

What a miserable time. Second division football , a terribly outdated stadium and cup exits to Chester and Bury.  Things can be a lot worse than they are in September 2015.

Now I can imagine that comment annoying a few of you, who will state quite rightly that this isn’t bloody nineteen eighty anymore , but just how on earth can watching top flight football in 2015 be worse than the misery of  watching Newcastle  in 1980?

One word. Expectation.

When I was a kid watching Top of the Pops in 1973, my Dad would rant at the telly, shouting “Why are those men dressed as women and the women dressed as men?”

If you care to Google The Sweet or Suzi Quatro then you will see that the old man probably had a point.

But the point that I am trying to make is that people’s opinions, attitudes and expectations are based upon what they have been previously exposed to.

Because my dad had been brought up on Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra,  watching blokes wearing more eye shadow and bigger heels than his wife, didn’t best suit him. He expected his pop stars in a suit, not dressed like transvestites.

So what are our expectations for the coming season? What about McClaren? Will he turn out to be a Robson, a Dalglish or a fat Samuel? Who knows.

Despite what certain parts of the media would like to portray, I don’t believe the vast majority of us expect miracles. We are very well aware of our limitations and most of us would be ecstatic to end this season with a top half position.

Granted, there will always be the odd cast member from Shaun of the Dead  who will put down his pint in Wetherspoons when he sees a TV Crew outside,  in order to utter the words  “McClaren’s gota gan man, because he’s nee good like”, but sadly until  the Government passes a law to castrate all people who wear white shell suits, there is nothing we can do about that.

I accept that If we are still keeping the mackems company come Christmas then I may well have a very different opinion to what I have now  but  at this moment in time  I am completely certain that this season we will be fine.

Well pretty confident…


If we are lucky…

Ah sod it, McClaren out.

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