Mine too. It only took one visit to St James Park back in the 1975/76 season for my heart to be well and truly pinched. Or was it more a case of discovering my drug of choice? In my first season as a regular patron at SJP I got to see a League Cup Final at Wembley. We lost, of course, but to a naïve teenager, it seemed only a matter of time before the silverware arrived. Still waiting!
Michael captures well the roller coaster nature of following a team. Even if NUFC is not your poison of choice I am sure that any devoted fan of any sports team can recognise and enjoy the narrative of this book. Covering six decades of Black and White football, Michael weaves in the fascinating story of his own and his family’s life. Football and life do not stand still and already this book is crying out for another edition, with an update. So much has happened since it was written.
We all have favourite players, those who stick out in our memories. I was so pleased that Michael included, amongst his more obvious choices, Ayoze Perez as one of his 11. Such a delightful player of skill and touch.
There is no arguing that since the 1960s NUFC have had great managers in Joe Harvey, Kevin Keegan and Sir Bobby Robson, but I would also like to add to Michael’s list the name of Rafa Benitez who worked miracles during his time at the club, giving us all hope when hope was gone. And, who knows, where Eddie Howe will eventually rank in the pantheon of Geordie managerial greatness?
The structure of this book works really well. It’s no mean feat to cover almost 60 seasons of football, so many matches and so many players and still capture the essence of it all in 300 pages. Then to include a family’s personal story with an appropriate level of social and political comment lends this book an air of genuine warmth and connection.
My only reservation was that occasionally the flow was disrupted as we moved from one game or one player to another without warning. But that was maybe just Michael dropping his literary shoulder and leaving this slow, unimaginative reader for dead! And a final gripe, not of Michael, but of journalists and writers in general, why is ‘hello’ written as ‘hallo’? Nobody actually says ‘hallo’ do they, ever?
Toon Toon. HWTL.