A view from the Gallowgate - Derby day confusion is not fair on fans

Mar 25 2008 The Journal

PAUL Dixon has been following Newcastle United for more than 35 years, 16 of which have been as a season ticket holder in the Gallowgate End at St James’s Park. Each week in his column, he takes a wry look at all things football – from a black-and-white perspective.

WE’VE won a game! Mind you, if we’d lost to one of the worst teams ever to appear at St James’s Park it would have been ‘long walk off a short pier’ time. But we did the job, made hard work of it at times, but we can see we’re going for it.

How appropriate that it happened on Easter Saturday. One man nailed to a cross to signify pain and suffering to his followers, and another bloke nailing a cross to alleviate pain and suffering to his followers.

I’m pretty sure four more points will see us over the line. Hopefully we can knock them off as soon as possible.

I know it’s all relative, but my sympathies go to the supporters who have had their travel plans for the away game at Pompey – and home to O’Sunderland – disrupted.

This inevitably is caused by the needs to satisfy the great TV gods, BSkyB and Se-tan-ta, and their desire for their advertisers to flog grubby online betting sites and bottles of pop.

Once again, the TV mandarins, who couldn’t tell the difference between Cristiano Ronaldo and Christmas paper (they both fold when they’re around the box), show their utter contempt for travelling supporters.

The derby game in particular appears to have been arranged along the lines of a secret gig by a top rock band.

‘Pssst, I hear it’s on Saturday at three o’clock.’

‘That’s not what I heard, my mate in the club says it’s on Sunday at 12.’

‘Rubbish, my mate’s newsagent’s uncle works in the catering and they’ve been told that it’s on Sunday at 1.30.’

What a shambolic way to treat supporters. I almost yearn for the days of Pathé news: Brilliantine haired supporters standing, waving huge rattles and mainlining Capstan full strength; commentary by Bertie Wooster; games kicking off at 3pm on a Saturday, with 14 seconds of highlights shown three weeks later; teams run by corrupt, power-mad local businessmen, creaming off the turnstile money to subsidise their butchers shop.

Those where the days when WAGS meant ‘Wages Are Gone, Sunshine’, and Dimitar Berbitov was an imported Russian car. Ah, the good old days indeed.

blackadderboy@yahoo.co.uk