Brevity, that’s the thing. We’re a post-literate society, after all. Everyone has an opinion and everyone is busy and impatient. The smart thing to do, therefore, would be to condense my response to Newcastle’s latest win into the following:
“hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”
On the other hand, I did not pass through fire and death and a viewing of Sean Baker’s ghastly
Tangerine just to do what suits other people. These are the times of our Geordie lives.
Winning the League Cup has liberated something in Newcastle United and its supporters. Previously, had NUFC been shooing the living daylights out of some hopeless saps, scored one, carelessly forgotten to score a second, then even more carelessly conceded an equaliser, doubt would have crept in. Now, the thought process goes:
- Newcastle United won the 2024/25 League Cup. Woohoo!
- At least they opened scoring before being mugged like nincompoops.
- Isak hasn’t scored yet, and he can win the game in a flash.
- Manchester United (Deceased).
For me, schadenfreude towards the chaps from Old Trafford peaked when Sir David Moyes performed his nuclear inside job on them. Watching them in the express hopes of seeing them suffer defeat at the hands of a team I don’t support strikes me as a waste of my time, not least because the novelty is long worn off. I’d missed Newcastle’s 2-0 win over them last December, meaning I hadn’t seen their poorness with my own eyes since their 1-0 trouncing at SJP last season.
Patience brought its reward. How beautiful that the Fallen Empire’s hirelings delivered fleeting moments to suggest they could justify their salaries if they really wanted to but simply see no point in pride. That’s what happens when your club is run by the spiritual heir to the men who kicked Jackie Blanchflower out of his home within 12 months of the Munich Air Disaster ending his playing career.
As Brian Kidd once noted, money buys you players, but it doesn’t buy you hearts. For example, Garnacho took his goal beautifully, but I’m unconvinced that justified his apparent decision to retire from football on the spot – especially without informing his coach.
Then again, perhaps we can pardon the Argentine if Amorim’s existence slipped his mind. The visitors resembled schoolchildren whose P.E. teacher was sick and whose temporary replacement had been unavoidably detained, leaving the slack-jawed kids to try and play football for the first time in their lives using an ancient textbook of which every page had been torn in half.
Meanwhile, NUFC looked happy, confident, energetic and hungry. It felt as though they snapped up every 50/50 ball, every second ball. Space seemed abundant, particularly on the flanks. Tonali converted the opener with gorgeous ease from Isak’s fine piece of improvisation. Simultaneously, Lindelof was tracking a ghost’s run then snapping back into reality - an instant too late to do any good but in perfect time to perceive his undoing.
United the Lesser responded to their plight by impersonating a dead sheep, but Newcastle lacked incisiveness in front of goal and were prone to the odd cheap giveaway. That left me uneasily recalling that at 0-0, Zirkzee had forced a save from Pope, taking an early shot when he was leaning back. A shot preceded by a touch might have brought about a better outcome and there was always the risk that if Newcastle didn’t give themselves a cushion a sequel might turn out differently. As proved to be the case – I’m sure Newcastle has conceded that goal about 43 times in the last 18 months. The only thing that changes is which midfielder avoidably gives away possession and the extent to which Bruno and Livramento look as though they’re trying to run in concrete boots as the ball carrier sprints towards goal (here: lots). Joelinton coughed the ball up this time and Tonali compounded the mess by unaccountably moving in the opposite direction to where the next pass was most likely to be played.
Even the sight of Joelinton trying to play a 30-yard diagonal pass with the outside of his right foot didn’t spoil my chilled-out, Newcastle-won-the-24/25-League-Cup mood at half time. Which proved wise. On the second goal, several visiting players gave the impression they’d been reading a rulebook from 1924 that contained a printing error, so they’d surmised that for the lack of 13 defenders between Livramento and the goal, they’d caught Tino offside. Reacting to the ball reaching Murphy and Murphy pulling it back across several acres of goalmouth therefore wasn’t necessary.
Once or twice, the spaces between Newcastle’s defence and midfield grew too large for my liking and in possession the ball carrier was left isolated – potentially dire errors if you’re playing opponents of consequence, annoying to see even granting the feeble opposing threat here. Amorim had Mainoo on the bench, but he concluded that he shouldn’t panic by introducing someone who can play football when he could roll out Mason Mount instead. To be fair, Mount surpassed my expectations by being merely irrelevant.
In the first half, I’d noted that several visitors had slipped on their arses with no one near them. I wondered out loud to the lad I was watching the game with whether Newcastle’s players would suffer the same fate when the teams changed ends. In fact, here was the bitter fruit of denying 12 already obscenely rich and powerful clubs their modest wish to start a Super League and bulldoze more than a century of European footballing history – sporting titans left in such financial straits they can’t even afford to sign players with functioning balance.
Mazraoui’s repetition of earlier mishaps was emblematic of his team’s performance. It left Harvey Barnes charging at three defenders, who deemed themselves hopelessly outnumbered and acted accordingly. The ball bobbled just a little as Barnes was about to hit it – still Barnes capably thumped it in. The lad has his limitations, but within those limitations he can be lethal and in an odd sort of way he neatly complements Jacob Murphy’s skillset, for all that Murphy’s creative efforts can veer between the mad, the terrible and the hugely effective all within 30 seconds.
At 3-1, the contest was over. There was still time for Bruno to score and Isak to be annoyed that the captain hadn’t passed to him. Which is good - Crystal Palace on Wednesday will be stubborn opponents of the kind that have tripped Newcastle up too many times this season already. A fired-up Isak might just make the difference. Ugarte remained on, doubtless with a grim feeling of déjà vu, having been beaten 4-1 on Tyneside as a PSG player last season. He’s welcome to return next year – on condition he isn’t rude to Joelinton as he apparently was when Big Jo left the field, resulting in a bit of Brazil v Uruguay aggro. To round matters off came a moment of sly satire from Peter Drury – he praised the away fans’ loyalty as the camera focused on a handful of blokes bouncing around against a backdrop of deserted grey seats.
A first league double over the former Newton Heath since 1930/31 is another frustrating piece of history overturned. However, it’s indicative that while Newcastle United enjoys sporadic victories over Manchester United (Deceased), the latter always has the last laugh. So part of me is just bracing for NUFC to miss out on the top five and United the Lesser to slither its way to Europa League victory and a Champions League spot. But mostly, I’m still replaying Dan Burn’s header and the feeling it sparked that hasn’t yet abated. This performance and result supplemented the high.