This blogger has made the following observation before, dear fiends - twice, in fact, here and here, but it bears repeating. Karma is, as we all know, a right bloody bitch, dear blog readers. And gloating is so common and unbecoming. Most of the time. With all that in mind, therefore, let us talk association football - not and never socher - which is a sport played between two teams of eleven players - or, if Dirty Leeds are one of them, two teams of nine. Or eight - using a spherical ball. Because, using a square one would be bloody ridiculous. It is widely considered to be the most popular participation and spectator sport on the planet. Except in the USA where they don't even use its proper name and think it's something that girls play. The object is to score a goal by getting the ball into the opposing team's net and then stopping them from doing the same to your side. It's a game of two halves, Brian and, at the end of ninety minutes the team which scores the most goals will emerge victorious and be Over The Moon whilst the other lot will be Sick As A Parrot. Or, to put it another way, it's a game of two halves and as much injury time as needed for whomsoever the ref has got a tenner on at Ladbroke's to score the winner. Unless it's a draw, of course.
This blogger mentions all of this because, when this blogger's own favourite football team were founded, they had a different name, a different ground and extremely different shirts (and socks) to what we would subsequently become used to. They looked like this. And, The Married Women's Property Act received its royal assent, enabling women to buy, own and sell property. There are some who still think that was a bad idea. This blogger is not one of them.
When this blogger's favourite football team first gained entry into the equivalent of what is, now, the English Football League Championship (it was called 'The Second Division' in them days), they had changed their shirts (and socks) and looked like this. And, William Ewart Gladstone was the Prime Minister of Great Britain and her vast empire.
When this blogger's favourite football team first won promotion to the top flight of English football, they looked like this. And, at the Battle of Omdurman, British and Egyptian troops under the command of General Horatio Kitchener (he needed you) defeated Sudanese tribesmen led by Khalifa Abdullah al-Taashi.
When this blogger's favourite football team - for a period of about seven years - were the undisputed Finest Side In All The Land, Bar None (winning three league championships and an FA Cup), they looked like this. And, American-born Samuel Franklin Cody made the first powered fixed-wing aircraft flight in Britain, taking off from the School of Ballooning, Farnborough, in British Army Aeroplane Number One.
Then the war came along. And the Kaiser was defeated. When this blogger's favourite football team won the FA Cup for the second time (the first at Wembley Stadium which had only opened the year before) they looked like this. And, George Mallory and Andrew Irvine attempted to climb Mount Everest. Which it cost both of them their lives.
When this blogger's favourite football team won the First Division championship for the fourth (and, to date, last) time, they looked like this. And, the London and North Eastern Railway's Flying Scotsman steam-hauled express began to run non-stop the three hundred and ninety miles of the East Coast Main Line from King's Cross to Edinburgh.
When this blogger's favourite football team won the FA Cup for the third time, they looked like this. And, billionaire chocolateer Forrest Mars produced the first Mars Bar™ at his Slough factory.
Having then got themselves relegated for the first time, this blogger's favourite football team spent fifteen years down among the also-rans of the second tier. (Admittedly, this period did include all of World War II during which time football wasn't, exactly, the first thing on most people's minds.)
The next occasion that this blogger's favourite football team won promotion back to the First Division - despite having found it necessary to sell Albert Stubbins, Tommy Pearson, Charlie Wayman, Roy Bentley and Len Shackelton in just a few months - they looked like this. And, the London Co-operative Society opened Britain's first supermarket, in Manor Park, London.
The fourth and the fifth occasions that this blogger's favourite football team won the FA Cup took place in a twelve month period during which Britain changed monarchs and Sooty first appeared on BBC Television.
The sixth (and, to date, final) time that this blogger's favourite football team won the FA Cup, Winston Churchill resigned as Prime Minister due to ill-health at the age of eighty and was replaced by Anthony Eden (who wasn't all that much younger, to be fair).
But, thirteen years of, broadly successful, top flight football came to an end with yet another disastrous relegation. Caused, perhaps, by this blogger's favourite football team deciding to change their socks and look like this. And, The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) performed under that name at The Cavern Club in Matthew Street, Liverpool for the first time following their return from their first residency in Hamburg.
The next time this blogger's favourite football team won promotion back to the First Division (having changed their socks yet again), they looked like this. William Hartnell was The Doctor and the British Railways Board's chairman, Richard Beeching, published The Development Of The Major Trunk Routes proposing which lines should receive investment. And which, by implication, should most definitely not.
The last time this blogger's favourite football team won a major trophy (the Inter-City Fairs Cup), they looked like this. Patrick Troughton was The Doctor and The Be-Atles (a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them) performed together in public for the final time, on the rooftop of Apple Records HQ in London.
Although, technically, one could regard the blogger's favourite football team winning The Anglo-Italian Cup when looking likethis as worthy of an ever-so-brief mention.
Or, indeed, winning The Texaco Cup. Twice. The latter whilst looking like this.
On the next occasion that this bloger's favourite football team reached the final of a domestic cup competition (and got a right howking off Liverpool - perhaps due to changing their socks yet again) they loked like this. Jon Pertwee was The Doctor and Great Britain was subject to two general erections in an eight months period. Neither of which was won by the Tories.
The first time that this blogger's favourite football team reached the final of The League Cup (and, lost again), they looked like this. Ton Baker was The Doctor and the UK won The Eurovision Song Contest for the third time with 'Save Your Kisses for Me' by Brotherhood of Man.
Another, largely self-inflicted and thoroughly depressing relegation campaign followed soon afterwards. The next time this blogger's favourite football team won promotion, they looked like this. Peter Davison was The Doctor and comedian and national treasure Tommy Cooper collapsed and died on-stage from a heart attack during the television show Live from Her Majesty's.
The good times didn't last long, however and five years later this blogger's favourite football team found themselves back in the Second Division (and, in serious financial trouble due in no small part to them having signed far too many ridiculously overpaid, lazy waste-of-space gutless cowards). But, a quasi-revolution was about to be sparked thanks to the acquisition of a talismanic leader. Therefore, the next time this blogger's favourite football team won promotion, they looked like this. And Doctor Who was a TV programme that the BBC used to make.
An exciting decade followed with five top four finishes in the Premier League (including twice as runner-up), a couple of thrilling European adventures and two appearances in the FA Cup final (albeit, on both occasions the team turned up but then forgot to actually play). The next two occasions that this blogger's favourite football team appeared in - back-to-back - Wembley finals, they looked like this. Paul McGann had recently been The Doctor but, once again, the franchise was resembling a Norwegian Blue parrot. And, The Good Friday Agreement was signed.
The last time that this blogger's favourite football team played in the Champions League they looked like this. Two members of the current Match of The Day analysis panel were playing for them. And, Doctor Who was now a series of books being published by the BBC (including four written or co-written by this blogger. Two of which are all right).
Then, Sir Bobby Robson got sacked and everything went to Hell in a handcart. Although, to be fair to his replacement, Graeme Sourpuss, he did deliver the much-prized UEFA Intertoto Cup, when this blogger's favourite football team looked like this. Christopher Eccleston was The Doctor and campaigners from Fathers-4-Justice invaded the set of The National Lottery. With hilarious consequences.
A period of calamitious and crass mismanagement at boardroom level resulted in yet another relegation. When David Tennant was The Doctor (so, it wasn't all bad news). Nevertheless, Th' Toon bounced back at the first time of asking, whilst looking like this. Matt Smith was The Doctor. And, a general erection resulted in the first well-hung parliament since the 1930s.
Developing, thence, a reputation for being up-and-down more often than the knickers of some of the lasses doon Th' Bigg Market, this blogger's favourite football team slithered to another disgracefully incompetent and cowardly relegation. But, thanks to the hiring of - for the first time in a while - a manager who vaguely knew what the Hell he was doing, they won another promotion at the first attempt whilst looking like this. Peter Capaldi was The Doctor and an online petition to stop US President Rump's UK state visit gathered more than 1.8 million signatures. But, being someone who can't take a hint, he came anyway.
Then, Ashley got his fat arse bought out of our club by some people who appeared to actually have a decent idea of how to actual run a piss up in a brewery (much to the pitious whinging of some Middle Class hippy Communist Gruniad Morning Star types, which made it even funnier). Eddie Howe was appointed manager and gave players, whom his predecessor as manager (nasty to see him, to see him nasty) couldn't get much out of, some belief in their own abilities. And now, this blogger's favourite football team look like this. And, his beloved (and now, mercifully, sold) Magpies are back in the Champions League for the first time in two decades. Which is nice.
Wor Geet Canny Eddie's black-and-white-army did it the hard way, admittedly, sharing a goaless draw with relegation-haunted Leicester City at a nervous, edgy St James' Park. The Magpies hit the woodwork three times and had almost ninety per cent of possession in the game but struggled to break down Leicester's back ten. And then, deep, deep into five minutes of injury time, The Foxes almost snatched a winner with their first shot on goal all night. Thankfully, Nick The Pope made his latest outstanding contribution to a season full of outstanding contributions, saving point-blank from Timothy Castagne's acrobatic effort. Then the whistle blew and the gaff went totally off-it with a mixture of relief and celebration!
It was quite a sight.
It was the 2002-03 season, under the guidance of Sir Bobby Robson, that The Magpies last played in Europe's elite club competition. Howe's men will be back in the big time following a tremendous first full season in charge in which the ex-Bournemouth boss has upset the established order with a place in the top four, as well as taking Th' Toon to the Carabao Cup final. It has been a remarkable turnaround since Howe took charge eighteen months ago, one month after the three hundred million knicker takeover of Newcastle and with the club at the time five points from safety at the foot of the Premier League.
Tell me ma, me ma, dear blog readers, I won't be home fer tea ...
