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That was, the season that was…
Right then, thought I’d do a bit of writing to sum up my thoughts on what has been an amazing and thoroughly enjoyable season. Coming off the back of 38 league games where we only lost 3 at home, against: the new England manager’s side, the FA Cup winners & Champions League finalists, and the Premier League winners. You can’t argue with that. A lot of the good that we’ve achieved has been down to the solid foundations that we’ve laid at SJP – on the opening weekend, we drew at home to title chasing Arsenal and still the expectations were that we’d be at opposite ends of the table.
Remember we’d just spent a summer selling all of our best players and still had to replace our number 9… All we’d done was, “buy on the cheap”. A load of untried or injured players. We sold the heartbeat of our midfield to supposed greener pastures, in West Ham and QPR, and apparently the best left back in the country was off to challenge for Champions League football with Liverpool. Yes, things were certainly looking grim up north. And just for good measure, Hatem Ben Arfa got injured in pre-season. Mint.
And who did we get to replace them? Yohan Cabaye, who’s he?! Never heard of him, never even bought him on Football Manager, so he can’t be that good. And Demba Ba – only signed him ‘cos he was on a free and he’s got dodgy knees any way… Remember, we started off the season with the unfancied Ryan Taylor at left back and were staring down the barrel of a relegation threatened gun.
The derby came and Joey Barton played his last game for us after tweeting his way out of the club, shame. Talented lad, but by God, if any of his mates have any sense, they’ll take that bloody Blackberry off him and tell him to go read a book or listen to some music… I suggest he reads, “Beyond Good and Evil” or listens to “Strangeways, Here We Come”.
Remember that unfancied and out of position left back? Aye, he didn’t do too badly on the 20th August, did he? The day that Ryan Taylor’s life changed forever. Even long after his retirement, in decades to come, there’ll still be a line of people waiting to buy him a pint in town. Just ask Liam O’Brien or Scott Sellars.
Just after the derby game, I got to go the training ground… Remember that? That was a canny day.
The next big challenge came in October; more title pretenders arrived at SJP fancying their chances against us. Spurs – they led, twice. But Shola arrived and saved the day, late in proceedings… Remember that line, for later.
Halloween is a time we look on fondly these days, 2010 brought us the 5-1. But 2011 brought us, what, in my opinion, was the best team performance of the season. Stoke away. Bloody horrible Stoke. AND it was a Monday night, it wasn’t raining, but you know Messi wouldn’t have fancied it. Going into the game, you’d have thought we might have sneaked a draw, but that was probably all you’d have expected. But this was the start of something special. This was the result that really got the Newcastle bandwagon rolling, we went to Stoke and out-battled, out-fought, and most importantly out-classed them, in every way possible. Every player, to a man, was immense. Seeing Danny Simpson and Ryan Taylor using Delap’s towels was a joy to behold, as Iwantcurlyhair2 put it, “I dry my balls on other men’s towels”. The nation was starting to take notice of little Newcastle.
But still, we hadn’t played anyone; every week came the same dross from the southern media that this week would be the week, this would be when the Newcastle bubble would burst. And each week we proved them wrong.
Everton came to SJP and that unfancied left back scored another screamer… Not bad for a stop-gap.
The first ‘real’ game of the season came on November 19th. Man City away. Surely our lads would be nice and fresh, seeing as City had played 14 or so matches, whereas our lads had played nobody. Both sides were the only unbeaten teams left in the league and it was billed, (mostly by me, in my head), as an early season title decider. (Silly deluded Geordie that I am).
We went there, gave a good account of ourselves, but ultimately lost. But we scored and we were still 3rd in the league. Up next was the other Manchester club, now the bubble was set to burst – two back-to-back defeats would see those overachievers sent back to where they belonged. Surely?!
Shame nobody told Demba and his boys that was the case. Despite going behind to the jammiest of jammy goals, we fought back and got onto level terms. The now fit again, Hatem Ben Arfa being scythed down in the area for a stonewaller of a pen(!), which Demba Ba put away with ease. Even going down to 10 men made no real difference, the likes of Tim Krul, Stevie Taylor and Danny Simpson all throwing themselves in where it hurts to preserve our point.
By now, Demba had scored 9 since Ramadan… He just couldn’t get enough.
The unbeaten home record went a couple of weeks later, as Sideshow Bob, clearly using one of his plots to catch Bart Simpson, took out Demba, whilst he was clean through on goal. The ref allowed him to stay on the pitch – clearly some long lost relation – probably Cecil. Hide the rakes.
We lost on my birthday, away to Liverpool, but HE didn’t score. Thank god. Warra waste o’money.
January arrived and title chasing Man Utd were in town again – surely THIS was the week where those pesky magpies would start falling down the table? Nah, we only went and beat the champions 3 nowt. I say beat. We comprehensively whopped them. Demba was on fire and YoCabs was sliding towards the strawberry corner, having spanked in a belter of a free kick. Who’s he again? Buying on the cheap, eh?! There was still time for Phil Jones to get in on the fun, providing his own ‘lolz’ as he faced in a glorious third, from a Tim Krul assist. From his own penalty area. Tekkers indeed.
Next up, FA Cup, at home, to Blackburn, them what knocked us out of the Carling Cup. This game will simply be remembered as the day Hatem came alive! Still in and out of the side, we were told that he wasn’t a winger and couldn’t play there. 70 minutes later, we had all just witnessed what we thought would be goal of the season. He was merely warming up.
Being transfer window and thus, silly season, we were linked with every player under the sun, that £35m still burning a hole in the pocket of every ITK on Twitter. Seems nobody thought to mention Papiss Demba Cissé. Funny that.
But who was this guy, the mackems paid for his flight and then told us that he was no good any way and had only played in a sub-standard league, you know, the Bundesliga. That league that’s provided the Champions League finalists along with Chelsea. Aye, crap that.
Well he only went and scored on his debut and then pretty much forgot how to stop scoring. I’m pretty sure he could have passed a ball back to Krul and it would have somehow ended up as a Toon goal. The guy was quality from the first go. Left foot, right foot, headers. Didn’t seem to matter. And all of it wearing the number 9 shirt. Doesn’t get much better than that. Who needs a lad from Bensham, when you’ve got a lad from Dakar. It’s not that different anyway, maybe a little bit warmer. But who’s counting.
We took a couple of spankings away from home. Shipping five goals to Fulham and Spurs, in London. Never much liked London any way.
March 4th, the hoards from down the road descended on civilised humanity once more, as the home derby arrived. Remember what I said earlier about Shola arriving late to save the day… Aye.
Towards the end of the season we turned in memorable performances at home to Liverpool and away to West Brom & Swansea. Now, if only someone had thought of a song to let our recently departed left back know where we were in the table. That would have been delightful.
Hatem. Back to Hatem. By now he was firing on all cylinders and was the Hatem Ben Arfa we’d all hoped he’d be. What followed against Bolton, is the greatest goal I have ever seen in the flesh. Beating Shearer’s volley against Everton. Just like the 6 million dollar man, gentlemen, we had rebuilt him. We had the technology. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster. Hatem Ben Arfa was that man… By Christ, he was as well.
The last and one of the brightest highlights of the season was Chelsea away, the penultimate away game of the season against the FA Cup and Champions League finalists. Cissé scored a canny opener. Then scored an even better winner. In the words of Scotty from Star Trek, “yer cannae break the laws of physics”, well actually Scotty, you can. Cissé can. I was in a pub and got showered with beer. I didn’t mind.
So we finished fifth in the table and above the likes of Chelsea and Liverpool. Who do we think we are… How dare we spoil the big boys party. Everybody played their parts beautifully, from start to finish. Pardew has bagged manager of the season from the LMA and Barclays and Papiss got goal of the season from Sky Sports and Match of the Day. Little Newcastle from all the way up there in the north. Like, right up there, beyond Birmingham and Manchester and even Leeds! Grim up north indeed.
Player of the season – Colo gets my vote, just. A real leader and Mr Dependable when we’ve needed him most. A few, including myself, thought we’d miss the leadership that Nolan provided. But the love of my life filled the gap and a bit more. A leader on and off the pitch – exemplified by him staying an extra hour at the recent away kit launch, to make sure that everyone got their stuff signed and all of the photos were taken. I’m proud to have him as the captain of my team.
Young player of the season – Tim Krul – in the words of him, when he was a bairn in Palermo, “unbelievable”. We knew he was a canny keeper after that debut in Italy. But few could have predicted, just how good a keeper we’d find ourselves with. The fact that both he and his skipper signed new contracts on the eve of the derby is a testament to how important and how big a player he is. And that it was headline news.
Signing of the season – YoCabs gets my vote – Demba and Papiss both weighed in lots of goals, but ‘Yo’ does both the spectacular and the mundane. He can thread a thru-ball like he did against Stoke and then spend the next game running well over 6km with no reward. He’s the top tackler in our side and regularly covers the most ground of any player on the pitch. Opposition included. His vision and range of passing is a breath of fresh air. I sincerely hope he’s here for a long, long time.
Going up the food chain, the gaffa. Mr Pardew. What can I say about him that hasn’t been said in the last week. He came into what was a pretty awful situation, rumoured to be mates with the owner and replacing a man that was well liked by the fans. Alan has simply worked wonders in the last 18 months. Go back to December of 2010 when he was appointed, and look at what he’s achieved since then – not just on the pitch, but off it, too. I myself, didn’t want him. He wasn’t even in my top 5 when it came to picking Hughton’s successor, but I’m more than happy to admit I was very, very wrong. On the pitch, he’s changed the team from a long ball side, to a slick, passing, fluid side that can break at the drop of a hat. Off the pitch, he’s well liked and respected by all of us. Probably the most impressive and popular Newcastle boss since Sir Bobby. And that’s saying something.
Pardew will be, and already has been the first person to say that the credit should lie with his coaching team, too. John Carver, Steve Stone and Andy Woodman come across as a thoroughly likeable bunch. The kind of lads you’d have a cracking beer on the town with. But they clearly have their heads screwed on when it comes to game time. Carver and Stone are local lads, and know the area well. But reading the tweets of Andy Woodman, you can tell he falls in love with the region that little bit more every week. Pardew has assembled himself a top class entourage. That’s without even mentioning the impact of Alan Carr’s dad.
Graham Carr – probably one of the most important transfers we didn’t even know we’d made. Pulling rabbits like Chiek Tiote and Yohan Cabaye out of his hat. He’s right up there with Pardew et al, when it comes to influence off the pitch. Isn’t it nice to see how organised we are these days. No more drama or fallings out, or tweets from troublemaking midfielders. We’re at peace with ourselves.
As for Mike Ashley and Derek Llambias, well, save for the stadium naming debacle, we haven’t really heard much from them. But you can see that we’re a much safer ship, think more QE2, rather than Titanic. When you see the mess of the likes of Rangers, Portsmouth etc. You wouldn’t swap Ashley now, would you. It appears to me that they’ve learnt from their mistakes of the past and are determined to make good on their investment. Mike Ashley didn’t get to be a billionaire by making stupid business decisions. And I believe he’s starting to get it right. In the long term, with a lot of fans, the jury remains out on that one, though.
Where do I finish these inane ramblings then, a side that was fancied as relegation fodder and a sinking ship in August; is now taking that ship and sailing it to Europe. And in the words of a past manager of ours, we love it. Summing it all up, I could not be more proud of the staff and players of my club – once again we’ve made people here, there & everywhere eat their words and admit they were wrong. Just like we have done for the last 3 seasons. Relegation brought each and every one of us together, to show the nation that we are United. People like to put us down because they don’t understand this special club – outsiders fear what they can’t grasp – but we are Newcastle United and we are back…
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Who’s that team in fourth…?
So, I think the dust has settled long enough from my last sojourn into the world of internet scribes, for me to continue on my journey towards stardom and everlasting life, join me as uncover more of the worlds mysteries, from the man that brought you Hatem Ben Arfa eats Frosties, and Tim Krul eats Bananas. I now feel the pressure of being funny, interesting and informative. What you are about to read will undoubtedly dispel all of those rumours. It was fun while it lasted.
The last time we were here, I was just a very excited fan attempting to write about what had just happened to me in the previous 24 hours at a Newcastle United ground… I sit here, with a similar type of mentality, but for very different reasons. 24 hours ago I was at another Newcastle United ground and came away with a huge sense of pride, having seen my team come up against their strongest test this season, and pass the majority of the tests put before them, how long before people recognise that we are in the top 4 on merit – no more of this, “it’s a false position” lark.
Before I get carried away, fear ye not, I’ve already looked into travel and accommodation for next seasons Champions League, the only thing I’m left wondering, is how many Shola will score at Camp Nou this time.
Which brings me nicely onto my next point, Shola. Once again the Saltwell Schillaci proved his undoubted prowess in front of goal, in the face of adversity. As the many armchair managers in attendance on Sunday afternoon were undoubtedly saying we should have put Marveaux on for Obertan, or maybe Rob Elliot for Ryan Taylor at left back… Shola did what he’s made a career doing, silencing the doubters, that is, of course, until he shanks one into the East Stand next week against Wigan.
Once again I was hugely impressed with Pardew, whom, I may add, has not been in touch since my last blog entry, clearly my offer of a name change wasn’t enough to convince Alan that I was worthy of a contract – maybe if I get my name changed to Santiago Munez, it might help? I could pull a lass with a dodgy Geordie accent that looks like she used to be on Brookside too… Sweet!
Anywhere, I’ve clearly lost track of what I was talking about here, women, no Pardew, the two kind of go hand-in-hand… Apparently. Oo-er missus. Thinking about it, that’s probably why I haven’t heard back from Alan, he’s no doubt wining and dining that woman from the team photo day… Before no doubt, passing her on to Colo, as the song suggests.
TACTICS, right, I’m going to power through these distractions, like Jonas running down the left wing… Head down with no real idea on where I’m going to end up! We went into the break, 1 down, within two minutes we were back on level terms; clearly the silver fox must have done or said something to rally the troops at the break. Impressive, but what followed was more evidence that Pardew has got them all singing from the right hymn sheet. The team played as exactly that, a team, Obertan and Jonas backed up their fullbacks perfectly and the two greatest players in the history of world football, in Luca Modric and the Welsh answer to Pele/Messi/Maradona/Shergar/Elvis, Gareth Bale, were both kept very quiet.
Meanwhile, the irrepressible pairing of Tiote and the stunning Yohan Cabaye continues to impress with every game – yesterday was no different. Clearly under orders from the Toon grounds man, Tiote kept the pirouettes from our ex-captain to a distinct minimum, as Capello’s new favourite son, was left to cut a frustrated figure throughout the game. Much to the enjoyment of his once adoring public.
At the back, not counting the penalty, the Love of my Life and Forrest Gump are forming a cracking partnership, still statistically the best defence in the country, but I’m not expecting that to get a great deal of media coverage… After all, it’s Newcastle, and as we all know, it’s grim up north…
Onto Spiderman, probably the second most criticised player in the great city of Newcastle upon Tyne, Mr Gutierrez was pretty much unplayable, picking up from where he left off against Wolves. Ripping the pretender to the England right back throne, to shreds at every opportunity. His cross for Demba Ba’s goal was just the tip of his iceberg on Sunday. I think the key to Jonas is him shifting to black boots, clearly wearing the white boots was proving too distracting for the lad. White ball, white boots – you can see why. He probably keeps the white ones for nights out on the razz; I’ve heard whispers that he’s got the moves like Jagger. Word.
I must also mention Demba Ba at this point – I mentioned after the team photo day, that he seemed a bit dim; clearly Ramadan had its effect on him both physically and mentally. Not only with the goals, but also the bait, he just can’t get enough, he just can’t get enough.
This week sees the release of the new Football Manager game, a time I like to think of as me “improving my CV” – by this time next month; I’ll have the Toon in the final of the World Club Cup… I’ll also be big time and won’t have any time for internet shenanigans like this. Huzzah I hear you cry.
On a personal front, I suffered a footballing crisis myself, having spanked a penalty over the bar a week ago, I found myself questioning my future in the game. With a huge point to prove to myself, I got on the score sheet after less than 10 minutes of our game on Saturday and played a part in a hugely entertaining 3-3 draw. Within the space of 90 minutes, I had completely regained my love for the game. Funny old game, isn’t it.
Which reminds me, I’m planning on going to the reserves game on Tuesday night, I hear Gazza was at the match on Sunday, I might see if he’s still around and fancies pinching the RANGER ROVER and going on a joyride, like what he did with the Boro team coach a few years ago, obviously 5 Bellies would have to come too.
While people continue to write our Newcastle United off, we continue to do what we’ve always done best – prove the doubters wrong and silence the critics. From the fans, to the players to the team management – I can’t remember a time that we’ve felt so settled, probably since Uncle Bobby, obviously there’s some implosion round the corner, but for God’s sake, ladies and gentlemen, let’s enjoy it whilst it’s here. Yes Obertan could run at his full back more. Yes Jonas could cross better. Yes Shola could be a little bit less consistently inconsistent. Yes and we’re also fourth in the league. This is NUFC, this is what makes us love our club so much – the unpredictability of the beast. It’s what makes us wake up on a Monday morning and tweet that we can’t wait until Saturday for the Wigan game. Nothing worse than monotony.
In spite of everything, Newcastle United will never be defeated…
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My morning at Newcastle United…
So the story goes something like this…
A friend of mine won a competition to be in the squad photo at the training ground today, I got to go along as a guest/hanger-on/whore/whatever. We arrived at the gates of the training ground where two young lads were stood with a toon shirt, I declined to sign, instead waving at the guard who raised the bar, clearly assuming I was somebody important.
We made our way into the reception and had to wait for the other competition winners to arrive… Whilst we were waiting, a smiley Steven Taylor arrived and shook hands with everyone and said hello, closely followed by a French-styled Yohan Cabaye, who said in an ‘allo allo’ style of English, “morning” and swiftly moved along.
First musing - Steven Taylor - Geordie lad, turns up to training in jeans and a polo shirt with trainers, similar to what I’d probably turn up in… Meanwhile, Yohan turns up in a wool cardigan complete with scarf/neckerchief combo. Very ooh-la-la.
Then in comes Alan Smith, gives everyone a broad Yorkshire “morning”, no messing there. Bit like his style of play. Rob Elliot follows, as does Gabriel Obertan and James Perch. Perchy looks surprisingly happy, probably because people are happy to see him… The bairn next to me probably didn’t know who he was and was chuffed to see any of the players.
We were then ushered into the players canteen, or restaurant, where Steve Harper is watching the Rugby on the tv, flanked by Dan Gosling, who’s chowing down on what seems to be eggs on toast. In comes Alan Smith in full kit – who exclaims to the room, “feels weird to be in football kit again”.
Sylvain Marveaux and Gabriel Obertan follow him – they have a bit of cereal, or La Cereal I assume the French call it.
SHOLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA walks in, similar looking neckerchief getup that Yohan was sporting, The Bensham Baggio looks over to us and gives us a good old fashioned “yeralright”. God bless that man.
Demba Ba I assume walks into the door and it flies open, he’s followed by the ever-so-lovely-but-not-quite-as-lovely-as-Yohan, Hatem Ben Arfa. The French speaking boys all sit together, they do a kinda weird, double hand slap to each other, instead of the old fashioned handshake. Those continentals. Did I mention Demba Ba seems a bit dim? Speaks good English, though he only uses this to order his breakfast. He turns back to the table with Gabriel, Sylvain and Hatem and they begin speaking in French. I assume at this point they probably talked about garlic, or onions, or black and white hooped tshirts, or maybe berets? Who knows. I was bloody fascinated though…
Hatem is eating Frosties by the way – that’s how he rolls. Apparently.
In walks the silver fox himself, Alan Pardew, who’s all smiles and goes around every single person in the canteen and shakes hands. Nice guy. Very good PR from the manager, Keegan would have been proud – looking after the little guys. He’s followed by Peter Beardsley and a few of the other coaches who clearly aren’t into berets and go and join the English lads. Shola is by now scoffing poached eggs on toast. And still smiling.
Tim Krul, who looks 12 facially, but is actually A GIANT, comes in and eats a banana, nothing more, nothing less, just a simple banana – maybe it’s the potassium in them that makes his voice so deep? I wish I knew this when I was 12 – maybe it would have helped me sound older?
Anyway, the equally young looking, or maybe younger looking, Shane Ferguson walks in and has a bit of breakfast… By this point, I’m too giddy to even notice what people are eating. He’s followed by Tamas Kadar who just looks chuffed that he’s allowed into the building.
Next musing – even though the French Clique sit on their own – as the players come into the canteen, they all go around and shake hands with each other – maybe because they knew they had an audience, maybe just because it’s something they do when they first see each other in the morning. Anyway, it looks impressive that there’s that mutual respect there.
SAMMMMYYYYYYYY is the last into the canteen and grabs himself a glass and one of the boxes of milk that is really meant to be for the tea/coffee machine and proceeds to take it back to his table and drink it. Bless him. His legs are scarily skinny in real life – if you’ve seen them on the tv, yes they really are THAT thin. He goes and shakes hands with his brother – Ameobi brotherly love – if I wasn’t so stupidly excited by this point, I’d have shed a tear. Such a beautiful sight to behold. I love the Ameobi family.
Then we’re told the picture is imminent and that we should make our way outside. Everyone else walks the polite way around the outside of the tables, not me, I walk straight past the French Clique table… Making sure I don’t knock Hatem, god knows, one nudge and he’ll be out for another month. I manage to avoid causing him any damage and we go outside.
Walking through the car park is like a visit to one of those expensive car show rooms, crazy to think of lads, younger than me, driving cars it would take most people years to be able to afford. And then I see it. The RANGER Rover. What a tool.
Anyway, I manage to calm down long enough to realise that we’re right next to where the player exit from the dressing rooms is and we move down to the training pitch. We’re onto the grass and despite it just being a training pitch, the grass is unreal. I mean seriously, it makes my carpet in my lounge look bobbly. I dream of playing on a pitch like that.
More and more players begin to stream out in full kit, starting from the first teamers, all the way down to the reserves and few of the youth team lads. They all get into some kind of order and the laughing whilst they’re stood waiting is there for all to hear. Great camaraderie between the lads – although it seems to be aimed a lot at poor Jonas, who is practicing his smile, much to the amusement of most of the lads.
Next musing, again, maybe because there was an audience, maybe not, the lads seem to be a very tight unit and even the supposed outcasts like Perch, Kadar and Ranger seem to be heavily involved in the ‘banter’ – good to see.
The pics are finished after 3 board changes in front – SD then Northern Rock, then Puma. Pardew comes across to the few of us waiting and has pictures taken with everyone and anyone who wants one – including one man who is there with his wife. Pards puts his arm round the wife and then laughs, “I’m not putting my arm around you” to the bloke. Oh Alan, you sly devil…
Pardew has a pic with a kid who is clearly nervous as hell – he’s in full Toon kit, (obviously) and Pardew tells him he could be his new number 9 one day. Investing in youth? He does a few posed shots and pretends like he’s a new signing and makes a real fuss of the lad. My opinion of Alan Pardew is hugely different after today.
Pardew gets a pic with me and puts his arm around me… Maybe hoping I have a wife? I don’t know, but he’s a genuinely nice guy, football and management aside. Very impressed with him.
We move away from the training pitch and are told that we might get a few pics with players before they start training. First out is Ryan Taylor, who I can only assume is off to find some walls to peer over/round. Ryan loves a good wall.
I await my chance for a pic with the newly crowned mackem slayer, only for a scene from a 50s romance movie suddenly emerges in the distance… Almost in slow motion, the number 4 training kit emerges and he playfully jogs down the steps. Yes ladies, Yohan Cabaye was walking towards me. In shorts. Hatem Ben Arfa was there too. My life seemed to actually be in slow motion at this point and I remember kind of waving my camera in their general direction. Hatem does a bit of a double take and kinda looks at Yohan and goes along with it…
The two of them let me in the middle and they BOTH put their arms round me… At this point I’m almost beginning to question my sexuality. I get the picture and say “Merci” to them, I could tell they were impressed. Secretly.
Tim Krul comes across to us next, he’s finished his banana of course, he stands next to me and puts a giant hand on me and I feel like an actual midget… I imagine this is the feeling Dennis Wise gets when he stands next to anyone that is older than the age of 8. Nice lad, very deep voice.
Davide Santon walks past and is clearly thinking about how he can get out of going to Birmingham on Saturday… See, he was planning that knee injury all along. He likes Birmingham as much as we all do.
Just as the morning is about over, out walks the heir to Shola’s crown, when SAMMMMMYYYYY is told he needs to have his profile picture taken, he walks over to us and a dad collars him for a picture with his bairn, I’m clearly next in line, but some kid walks in front of me… I think about taking the kid out, Smith/Tiote style, but common sense prevails. God help him if Sammy walks away after his pic…
Luckily Sammy looks at me and I walk over, as we’re waiting for the pic to be taken, I tell him I’ll tweet the pic later today – he laughs. Dammit, does this day get any better, I MADE AN AMEOBI LAUGH!!! The sound of that is like one of the most precious noises you’ll ever hear. Immense.
Clearly, this is a much better way of describing my day… Had I have tweeted all of this, I’d have had nobody left following me – maybe just that Geordie69 bloke asking me if I could get him a shirt or pair of players boots.
Best. Day. Ever.
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