Newcastle United Preview


Ola, bien venue and welcome to This Is Not Football, especially if you have arrived via Newsnow for the very first time – the eagle-eyed among you may have spotted a couple of tasteful, unobtrusive logos dotted here and there.

If you are one of what we like to call ‘newbies’ you might appreciate bit of a ‘heads up’ about what to expect during the fun-packed week ahead. Regular readers will be more than aware of all this so we thank them for their patience.

Tonight – real time updates from the Everton versus Newcastle game on the site itself or via SMS or the TINF app.

Tuesday – Statman John and his infostatistographics break down the action into easily understandable numbers and arrows and that.

Wednesday – the latest edition of This Is Not A Podcast, featuring a very special guest.

Thursday – The Banter Shack.

And so much more!

Before we get round to all that though, it’s time to look ahead only as far as tonight’s game against Newcastle United.

Now, if Premier League games were Monty Python characters – it could happen – then Liverpool would be shopkeeper in the dead parrot sketch while Everton and Newcastle would both be the moaning Yorkshiremen.

‘We lost money from the NTL deal because Keith Wyness used the paperwork to wipe the grease off his KFC from around his mouth or something….’

‘Bloody luxury.’

Seriously, for a set of supporters who pride themselves on their militant outlook the Geordies have taken lorry loads of shite down the years but keep on coming back for more. In fact, they skive off work and school to cheer on the shite lorry as it rolls up to the stadium, and rumour has it that one fan even got a tattoo of it.

On his face.

Incredibly they are still owned by grotesque human potato, Mike Ashley, the school bullying victim lashing out at the world and his perceived tormentors with his every action. A multi-millionaire who dresses like a pub landlord, Ashley has made his money by clothing the nation’s TWOCers from head to toe: The Jeremy Kyle Show is like an infomercial for his jumble sale shops. In fairness to the big guy though, he never gets the credit he deserves for his work in UK race relations. Whatever his detractors say, there’s no denying that from the Midlands BNP rally to the controversial Muslim cleric spewing race hate in North London, the Reebok sweat-pant and the Lonsdale slip-on see no race, creed or colour.


His appointment of Regency footman Joe Kinnear as Director of Football is only the latest in a long line of ‘fuck you’ gestures that seem almost purposely intended to have no other effect other than boil the piss of the paying Geordie public. Amongst many other bold pronouncements on getting the job he said he can ring up any manager in the world – actually getting them to sell him any players though appeared to be another matter altogether.

‘Hello, this is the Guardiola residence. Sorry? What, I can’t hear you over that jukebox. What, yes, I can hear you better now, thanks. Who, Joe Ki… Hang on, we’ve been told not to talk to you if you ring again. No, seriously. And what’s that noise? Are you having a piss? You dirty bastard. Dad, DAD!’

One player that that Kinnear may or may not have had in attracting on loan was Loic Remy, the Queens Park Rangers striker who originally knocked them back when signing for the doomed Londoners but was left with few options once they got relegated. Despite his obvious talent there were no other Premier League clubs interested thanks to the fact that he faces court on a serious sexual offence. According to the Newcastle Chronicle many supporters were understandably dubious about adding another potential charmer to the long list of wrong ‘uns they have had on their playing staff, although a chap called Stephen Scott tried to add some sense of perspective with what is possibly the most ‘football’ comment imaginable:

‘The views will soon change if he scores goals.’


Remy is obviously innocent until proven guilty, but that shouldn’t prevent a McVicar inspired chorus of ‘Sex case, sex case, hang him, hang him, hang him’ during any lull in tonight’s proceedings. If the Jimmy Saville case taught us anything it’s that you should always have a go at suspected nonces before it’s too late. After all, which one of us hasn’t fantasised about going back in time and lashing hot tea in his face while he’s mugging for the cameras during the London Marathon or even fracturing Rolf Harris’s eye socket in a stairwell didgeridoo bashing.

So think on.

Hey there Newsnow guys, how are you enjoying it so far?

There’s still a palpable excitement every week about Everton, because we are still not 100% sure what to expect from them game to game. There are really exciting signs at times though, and you can’t help but feel that at several points during this season everything is really going to click and we are going to smash the back out of a few teams.

A lot of those positive vibes emanate from Romelu Lukaku and it’s fair to say that tonight’s home debut is keenly anticipated to say the least. The home crowd are still hoping to see a bit more of Gerard Deulofeu too. Newcastle for their part have one of the league’s in-form attackers, Hatem Ben Arfa, in their line-up, as well as Remy, so all in all this has the potential to be an absolute end-to-end cracker.

My God, what a dreadful way to end an article. Only just short of predicting the score.


5 thoughts on “Newcastle United Preview

  1. Let’s hope it’s a floodlit Goodison Park in full cry tonight. I’d enjoy looking at a top four spot when I’m reading the paper in the morning. Just keep an eye on that Cabaye, he wouldn’t be above a spot of skulduggery if young Barkley I’d on song.

  2. NewsNow crowd. Ace. Hopefully this will add readers who offer more insightful post-match analysis in the comments section – formations, channels, false nines, number tens, in-the-hole, possession and all that. Cracking.
    Anyway, more importantly – this has been bugging me for a while – do young lads still get ripped for having shite trainies? We’d have never got away with Lonsdales, and I’m a meff from Birkenhead.

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