Season 2007-08 Result
Newcastle United 3-2 Everton
 N.Butt 42,
 Emre 86,
 M.Owen 90.
 A.Johnson 53,
 S.Given 92 (og).
Date: 07/10/2007  Venue: St.James' Park  Competition: Premiership
Crowd: 50,152
Match Report Submitted on 09/10/2007 by Beat
Fighting Cocks?
Sometimes things just happen to make the most unexciting games stick in the memory. Thirty years ago this week, me and Kirky went to Ipswich on a bus from Kelloe Club. We were picked up at 5.30am from the Shell garage. Neither of us can remember who scored as we lost 2-1, but we remember the day out. We got home at 1am on Sunday morning. I honked up and made Kirky gag. See what I mean - the football is often forgotten.

On Sunday the usual ticket chaos was partly solved at the Gallowgate turnstiles by some sensible stewarding. It seems the gate-men had their feet firmly pressed on the ‘open’ button. You could get in by flashing a Tesco or Blockbusters card. That’s progress.

As for the match we were never really troubled, but I’d settled for the draw well into the second half. We couldn’t seem to keep the ball in the 2nd period and hardly got into their box - until the late substitutions.

Big Sam – tactical genius? Er…I’ll reserve judgement. But I liked the way we were physical against them.

Passy sent a text to inform me of 8 different nationalities. The back-four looked like a solid crew of very big lads – and the two centre-halves helped to get Given out of the clarts early on when he punched and missed. Emre’s goal was somewhat ironic as his ‘performance’ against them last season at Goodison virtually wrote of his season.

Some numpty-like booing from home fans and a ridiculous round of ole! when we were 3-1 up was a joke – thick Geordie twads I reckon, probably the same nuggets who were booing Hamman at Man City last week. What’s the point? It always has the opposite effect (except against Lee Bowyer). But despite this, and as Colin has often said, it’s always nice to beat scouse twads – and rub it in as you walk amongst them after the game.

So he will remember the day for what he thought was a quality wind-up. Pretending to talk to someone on a mobile, he outlined how good Newcastle had been and how shite Everton were – loud enough to irritate the blue-shirted scallys walking by. “Aye, nee bother, never troubled, easy” he said to the non-existent person on the other end of the phone, “Hammered them, 3-1”

“It was 3-2 dad” whispered young Eminen Milburn.

Craig will remember that he won £40 on the football card – he’s going to use the cash to learn to write.

I’ll remember it for getting well and truly punked in the queue for the beer at half-time by one of Sean’s mates (the lad who sorted out the Carrville mags flag?) Despite being behind me in the long line of blokes at the bar, he managed somehow to get served before me – departing, pint in hand, with a crafty wink, while I waited for a student to pour three pints slowly and take ages to work out the change.

George Tiger Walters will be remembered for explaining (remarkably well) the forthcoming charity Pub Golf tournament around Durham. Inspired by student freshers’ week antics, it seems that Billy Sanders has organised a tournament - and George is a short priced favourite to win. So he’s missing the home game on 8th December vs. Birmingham for 18 bars and 18 drinks.

The rules are that for every bar you visit there is a set drink for everyone to neck – but you’re only allowed a certain number of slurps. A pint of Guinness is par 5. That means if you neck it in 4 you are one-under. Pints of cider and lager are par 4s. Cherry Bs are a par 2. A shot is par 1. Get it? He’d been talking about it on Saturday in The Blacksmiths where he’d gone for some food. The waitress, taking George’s order asked “How do you like your steak doing?” “With chips pet” was his reply.
I thought Kirky’s memory highlight would be the disagreement with the driver of a joiner’s van on St James’ Boulevard. But little did I know that he would trump us all – once again.
Walking down towards the Centre for Life and desperate for a pi$$, he stopped himself from having a splash in a side street as we were quite close to the Barking Dog. (You need to remember that The Dog is a famous pink triangle venue.) Arriving in the bar he followed me towards the gents and was unfastening his jeans as he went through the door. Desperate for quick relief, his hand was inside his boxers.

Broken lights meant that the gents were almost pitch-black. Sean and I will admit it was difficult to see at first. But there was no excuse for Kirky moving to the end urinal with his knob in his hand, and pressing it hard against a innocent bystander’s ar$e. He claimed he never saw him. The bloke was speechless – gay or straight we’ll never know, but he’ll have been shocked into celibacy.