Rafa Benitez takes full control of the madhouse and has made it (almost) sane
Is there something biblical going on?
There seems to be something bubbling in the holy water. The press and fans at large have always mocked little old us in our never-ending search for the ‘new’ Messiah after KK, and I don’t want to live up to the mental Geordie stereotype….but….
Rather than being driven from the Wirral in a posh taxi, if Rafa Benitez (pictured above with the Blyth Mags) had glided into Newcastle in a toga and sandals strutting across the water of the Tyne, sunbeams shooting through the Tyne Bridge lighting up his path – would you have been surprised? Nah, me neither.
Rafa is fast becoming the personification of all that is good. The list of his disciples increases by the day, season ticket sales are soaring higher than Keith Richards’ personal suitcase.
If Mike Ashley had hired the pied piper to strut Barrack Road blowing crack cocaine out his piccolo, he couldn’t hook more people back to the ground.
Santa-Clause riding pillion with the Ghost of the late, great Jackie Milburn on a two stroke motor-bike dishing out golden tickets back to SJP would still probably run a close second!
He’s just got that magic touch, that gravitas. You just trust him implicitly. Been there, done it, bought the Tee-shirt and the company that made the Tee-shirts. No doubt whatever he turned his hand to he would excel at. Open heart surgery, rocket science, alchemy – nee botha! Don’t doubt it.
Mike Ashley has been like the devil himself, the club sinking closer and closer to hell with each season that passed. The atmosphere has at times been black and unholy. We the poor natives of this once thriving parish have been soaked to the bone by his sins and hope was extinguished.
Until (*fanfare) Cardinal Benitez parachuted in from Madrid to excorcise us of our demons!
MAY THE POWER OF RAFA COMPEL THEE!
Uri Gellar bending the entire arsenal of the Sheffield Cutlery museum’s spoons whilst reciting the Blaydon Races backwards in a Pentagon of Salt couldn’t have reversed the spell.
Step forward brother Rafa. He has taken full control of the madhouse and made it (almost) sane. The job that nobody wanted, that ‘poisoned chalice’ has been grasped in both hands and the foul water within transformed into Brown Ale – and swigged doon like a man who knows what the future holds. Geet up lad, what a guy!
Somehow this man, has United our club from top to bottom. A club that were United by name, but most definitely not by nature. The fans who were close to desertion themselves are now back on the front foot and following him back to the (so-called) Holy (Hurly) land.
Lascelles, our future Captain in the making, has came out and said we will follow Rafa in wherever he goes. Damn right. Like a diamond bullet through ya’ heed, never has the clarity of the plan been seen like this for donkeys years. The only plan previously held within was lost long ago along with the plot and we’ve been flying blind like Ray Charles hang gliding down Scotswood Road. Just waiting for the bump.
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