Portsmouth 2, Newcastle United 1

Apr 16 2007 By Paul Gilder, The Journal

At around 3.30pm on Saturday, Premiership proceedings were interrupted when a football in obvious need of air was unceremoniously dispatched from the Portsmouth pitch.

It barely bounced during its pathetic passage, bobbling in a pitiful fashion before rolling off the playing surface and out of sight. It was not the flattest thing on show at Fratton Park.

Newcastle's performance, Glenn Roeder's face and the moods of supporters who had made round trips approaching 700 miles - all could rival a ball that symbolised a season for which deflating would be a fitting description.

The South Coast club's coaching staff can solve their problem with a pump. For Roeder, it is too late to breathe fresh life into a season lurching from one disaster to the next. He will not admit as much but a manager who wore a haunted expression as he evaluated his side's efforts - or what passed for them - must crave the season's end. With nothing to play for, with his players appearing to have given up, there is little left but regret and recrimination.

Pre-Portsmouth, there was at least hope - albeit slim - that Intertoto Cup qualification could again be accomplished.

Post-Portsmouth, all hope has vanished and the sole remaining intrigue surrounds Michael Owen's comeback, imminent or otherwise. When he considers the hunger missing in certain colleagues, Owen must wonder whether his bid to feature in this soporific season is worthwhile.

Roeder panned his players during a heated interval. It was deserved. Newcastle's second-half efforts were better than their first. That is not saying much. United had been listless, clueless, hopeless and directionless. Their improvement must be considered in relative terms.

The list of the notable born in Portsmouth includes Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Nothing he wrote was as great a mystery as the narrowness of the half-time deficit. An advertising hoarding close to Steve Harper's goal promoted a well-known car hire firm. Alamo, read the bold letters. It was apt.

The goalkeeper had been peppered with shots from a team who put unambitious opponents to shame. Obafemi Martins enjoyed a wonderful first 49 seconds. His first-half contribution thereafter was, not for the first time, negligible. Portsmouth were keen on the striker last summer, but on what he witnessed at the weekend, Harry Redknapp will not be too perturbed to have missed out. A manager for whom Europe remains a realistic ambition has an African attack of his own. In tormenting Newcastle's distressed defenders, Nwankwo Kanu and Benjamin Mwaruwari showed Martins what playing in the Premiership is all about. Faced with offensive endeavour foreign to them, the visitors could not handle it.

Mwaruwari opened the scoring, evading Steven Taylor's strange attempts to halt him with ease, before thumping the ball past the helpless Harper. Seven minutes had passed. Newcastle were in trouble.

The dangerous Kanu should have put the game beyond United. One shot rattled the crossbar, another was dragged just wide, while his ambitious attempts to walk the ball into the net were thwarted. Harper produced a fine reaction save from Mwaruwari. At that point, the scoreline could have been 4-0. To call it one-sided would not do the home side justice.

Portsmouth were everything their opponents ought to be. Adventurous in attack, diligent in defence, masterful in midfield. It might have been Grand National afternoon, but United were not at the races.

Still there were chances but Martins was missing, his efforts too close to David James or not close enough to the target at which he aimed. Unlike the home strikers, when he is not scoring Martins offers little.

He was not alone in his underperformance. Charles N'Zogbia squandered a rare chance to impress and was withdrawn at half-time. Craig Moore failed to finish a match yet again. James Milner and Damien Duff created nothing worthy of note. Taylor should have done better with the goal. Oguchi Onyewu's efforts did not suggest his permanent signing would be a good idea. Stephen Carr was Stephen Carr.

Nicky Butt stood alone among the outfield players with his drive, while Andy Carroll at least put his heart into it when he came off the bench. It should not take a teenager to demonstrate the minimum requirement for those wearing black-and-white shirts. Effort. Commitment. Determination. Such qualities were too rare.

An improvement there might have been, but Matthew Taylor's scorching second goal surprised no-one and although Dejan Stefanovic's crude challenge on Milner and Emre's subsequent penalty gave the scoreline a more respectable look, no-one at the match will consider the performance in such terms.

This was a performance in which shortcomings were underlined, a fixture in which last summer's failure to sign Sol Campbell was highlighted as the mistake it was, an afternoon that demonstrated that Newcastle's decline in recent times has been vast in its scale.

Portsmouth are ostensibly a team of journeymen, but at least they are a team. In terms collective and individual, the superiorities were plain. Remove Butt and Harper from the equation and there was not a single Portsmouth player who would not walk into this Newcastle side. Such indictment damns.

Roeder admitted his out-of-sorts side will need to win all four remaining games to stand a chance of Intertoto Cup qualification. It will not happen. Since last month's Uefa Cup capitulation Newcastle have won just once. A positive result never looked on the cards at the weekend. Portsmouth is a naval town, but it is United who are all at sea and sinking fast.