Why I’m a Newcastle fan

I’m a Newcastle fan for the same reason I’m a fan of breathing oxygen; I don’t know any different. I’ve just always done it.

Actually, my first love wasn’t Newcastle. It was Alan Shearer. I was an Alan Shearer fan before I was a football fan. Which meant I was a Blackburn Rovers fan before I was a Newcastle fan. 

It was all because, at the time, he was the best footballer in the country. He won all the awards and prizes. Much like my team’s nickname, The Magpies, I clearly just loved shiny things.

Now I know he’s officially the world’s surliest man, with occasional tax issues, I still think he’s a legend. Messi and Ronaldo have nothing on a balding Geordie.  

Yes, you might call me a glory supporter. But I was a glory supporter before all the dodgy money gave glory supporting a bad name. As a journalist, and human, of course I’m conflicted about foreign finance. But I’m not conflicted in my belief that Alexander Isak is the best striker in the league, period.

My lack of proximity to all things Newcastle does little to diminish my love of the team. I live approximately 300 miles from St James Park, Newcastle. My decision to go to university in Durham was suffused with the possibility of increased match attendance. Alas, other commitments got in the way.

On an average day, I live far, far closer to St James Park, London than The Castle, Tyneside. If anyone was ever in any doubt about that fact, my accent would leave you under no illusion otherwise. Those tones will be passed down to my new child, but so will the vein of Geordiness in my southern marble.

When my son was born we won nine games straight. Scored 26 goals. Only conceded 3. Was it because I bought him a mini Newcastle kit months before he was even born? Damn right it was. Then we won our first title since 1969. Coincidence? I think not.

The only downside of having a brand new baby dressed in a Newcastle top was not being able to take him to the cup-winning celebrations. While my friends headed to Covent Garden to mark the occasion, I was watching the post-game analysis on my phone during a four-month old’s bathtime.

At this stage, my son is frankly ambivalent to NUFC’s performance. But my mood fluctuates wildly with Newcastle’s fortunes. When Kieran Trippier injures his knee, I swear I feel a niggle. When Nick Pope makes a flying save, I puff my own chest. I look upon Eddie Howe in the same way that a physicist might look upon Albert Einstein, or a computer scientist upon Tim Berners Lee - somewhere between a genius and a deity.

I still associate some of the happiest times in my life with Newcastle results. And some of the saddest. Beating Sheffield United 8-0 while having beers with my dad. Losing to Manchester United in the Carabao Cup final while having beers at my friend’s new house.

There’s so much to love about how we play. The freedom. The flair. The sheer bloody size of Dan Burn. There’s also so much to hate. The inconsistency. The defensive frailty. The unparalleled ability to sell a failing prospect only to see them flourish elsewhere.

I’m sure there will be many more ups, and many more downs. And that’s the fun of it. Who wants to win all the time anyway? It’s just boring.

With that in mind, Champions League football is back, baby. We’re not just going up against Europe’s finest. We are Europe’s finest. And I can’t wait to see us do it all again next season.