This post is about my first experience of seeing live football in St.James' Park, Newcastle, the third largest club football stadium in the UK just after Man Utd's Old Trafford and Arsenal's Emirates stadium. It must be noted that Newcastle was relegated from the premier league last season but still, St.James' park gets filled to capacity each week by people who come to watch their lads play some football. The crowd is very passionate about the black n white army. This particular match was with Sheffield Utd (red n white jersey) and Newcastle being on the top of the table, would brighten its chances of getting to the premier league if they win this match. With a seat in the first few rows, me and my friend Erwin had a fantastic view of the match.
As the clock ticked towards kick off, the stadium was brimming with visibly no vacant chairs. Then, it started... the chanting.
'We are the Geordies' they sang
'The cock of the north
We all hate Man Utd
And 'Boro of course
We all drink whiskey
And Newcastle broon
The Newcastle boys are in town
la la la la la la'.
The people around me were animated and made a strange combination of spectators. To my immediate right was a middle aged hooligan-ist supporter abusing the sheffield guys with such a rich plethora of curses and using them in such ingenious permutations that it seriously disturbed the comparatively quiet family sitting before us. The children in the family, nevertheless were amused and kept scrutinising him closely trying to pickup a good curse that might make them famous in school. To my left was a woman, again of middle age who was nevertheless a staunch Newcastle Utd FC (NUFC) supporter and of course there was Erwin, from Netherlands who was also watching Newcastle play for the first time. With such interesting companions and a wonderfully lively atmosphere, the whistle was blown and the football kicked. And Sheffield scored. AND SHEFFIELD SCORED!! With the score board showing 1-0 in favour of the visitors, the crowd was screaming at the top of its voice. Half of them were harassing the Sheffield players and the other half devotedly chanting for NUFC. Then came a corner for Sheffield. 'You're a small fucking team from Yorkshire, that's what you are. We'll hang your balls in your ears', shouted the guy next to me and beamed emphatically at the children. They happily grinned in return having been acknowledged by their new brave hero. The match was getting increasingly exciting with Newcastle dominating the play and making inroads into the Sheffield defense repeatedly. The football pitch looked like a war field with both the armies trying to save their capitals (goalposts) from the atom bombs (attempts at goal) thrown by the opponent. Both the teams' defenders were standing their lines and made the enemy earn every inch. The offenders worked already discussed strategies, deceiving, cutting, falling, passing, all in the hope of getting a single hit at the enemy's capital. What I most admired was the role of the protector (goalkeeper), organising his defense, guarding his capital with vigilance when the enemy loomed close but casually trotting out of the danger zone (D-line) leaving the capital unattended at other times. Yet when the enemy charged again he showed no nervousness and wore his armour and clapped his hand to deal with the innumerable missile attacks that would be coming his way.
And all of a sudden it came, the MOMENT OF RECKONING. NUFC was offered a penalty. The Guy next to me went berserk with excitement. And the lads scored this time leveling the score. Then came half-time and then the winner from a fine foot soldier of the black n white army. It was a scissors from a pass very near to the goalpost. The fans around me started singing 'Newcastle is in the premier league, we're in the premier league and we'll win the premier league'. I joined along as I didn't want to be the only guy in the park who wasn't singing. Then came a third for Newcastle just before the final whistle, from a substitute, or so I thought, but this goal was disallowed as off-side. The fans were grinning, hugging and singing gleefully now.
The whole experience was like watching a gladiator competition in a medieval arena. I was so surprised by the type of people I saw during the match. Usually the British people I came across were polite, formal and decent but in the park, I saw the real people, the real crowd of Newcastle in flesh and blood and I saw them laying their hearts out for the lads who represent them. The heart of Newcastle after all, beats in the grass of St.James' park, not in the glass buildings of the city centre. I was really touched by the people and their passion. In their normal boring weeks, a match day was something they looked forward to, and being in the stadium, they felt joy and anguish, excitement and disappointment, but most important of all, they felt a part of something. Something that they grew up and identified themselves with, something that gave a spark and colour to their lives. The stadium was a place where they completely belonged, children and adults, attorneys and laymen were all part of the NUFC brotherhood here. And that showed. In the way they beamed, shouted, clapped and moved, it showed.
And when they sang -
'We are the Geordies! The Geordie Boot Boys!
For we are mental! For we are mad!
For we're the loyalist football supporters!
The world has ever had!' I couldn't help but smilingly acknowledge the intense passion that shook their voices.
"Cheers to that, then!!
Howay the lads, I say!! :)
