Category: Football

Mike Ashley, who owns Newcastle United, has had a ticking off from the boys in blue. While watching us getting humped (deservedly) by an excellent Arsenal team on Saturday evening, he was – as he often is – in the away end with the travelling fans. And he drank a beer.

The bastard.

Apparently police received a complaint from a member of the public. They’ve not said what the complaint actually was. I’m reckoning it was along the lines of “how come I can’t get a beer while I’m watching the football, but he can?”

Mike’s (lawyer’s) response is that he had been given the beer and been told it was non-alcoholic, which is about as weak as being pulled over for tonning down the M6 and saying you were about to **** yourself. Not to name any Alex Fergusons. Thing is, doing 100+ down a major motorway is still somewhat dodgy. Drinking a beer (incidentally, while standing up – another offence punishable by death according to some health and safety *******) shouldn’t really be on the same scale.

Thing is, I’m not sure if it’s an actual law he broke. It’s a Premier League regulation that you can’t drink beer within sight of the pitch. I’ve been to grounds where the steps up to the seated area have yellow boxes painted on them which you’re not allowed to so much as dip your toe into if you’re holding a beer. I’ve been told off for it, even when my back’s been to the pitch and it’s half time so nothing’s happening anyway. Utter lunacy. Note that this is Premier League – I don’t believe the same restriction holds for the lower divisions. It certainly doesn’t for rugby where you can knock back a bottle of JD while sat in your seat for all they care.

Then there’s the whole “standing” thing which gets my goat. Grud forbid we go to a football match and actually ******* enjoy ourselves. What kind of world would that create?

******* madness. Yet another example of the laws and bureaucracy and sheer ******* muppetry that has me looking for another country willing to accept me.

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Oh, good grief. I arrived in Kuala Lumpur last night in time to watch our 3-0 thrashing by Arsenal in glorious Technicolor. I then find out we’ve sold James Milner to Villa (properly, this time – not like that farce a year or so ago when we changed our mind at the 11th hour). He’s going to be a star, that one. Always one of our hardest-working players, never a doubt about his commitment despite contract wrangles. If nothing else he deserves every ounce of our respect for the sweat he bucketed on the pitch for us.

Next up, we’ve drawn Spurs (at home, mind) in the League Cup. Always a good encounter, but a hard tie especially with them being the current holders.

Then we have Keegan worried about Owen. Despite first team football and the whole supporting army behind him, he’s being realistic that with new contract negotiations underway another team could snatch him. Which would really put us in the shitter with only two remaining starting strikers (no, I don’t count Ameobi).

Finally, though, some comic relief. French über-**** David Ginola, once of this manor, has returned to tell us to drink his pansy piss-poor wine instead of Newcastle Brown. Daveed, are you leeseneeing? I shall say zees only wance:

****. OFF.