The teachers mocked me and scratched their heads as to why I supported Newcastle United | OneFootball

I was having a few refreshments with mates over the weekend and discussing how Christmas has changed, which turned into a factual correction about how we are getting old and sounding like our parents did all those years ago.

Tales of ‘when I was young’ and ‘back in the day’ and so on…we were happy with a mandarin orange and an apple which looked and felt like a snooker ball, hard as a rock.

Jinky Jim popped up with a cracking article (‘I had absolutely no worries on my mind, just Newcastle United and girls, specifically Rosie’) to take us all back to reminisce about our youth, and got me in the mood to elaborate, (check me out), on my youth.

My dear parents, who are still with me, were working class, and I count myself extremely lucky to have such wonderful parents still with me in their winter years.

Every year it was the same story.

What do you want for Christmas?

Now, in Northern Ireland in the eighties, as ever, football (and sport in general) was our refuge, a safe haven to escape the bedlam around us.

Music then was 99 red balloons, Kim Wilde, and I have to hold my hands up, I went to a roller disco on more than a few occasions, and it was obviously because I had a notion about several young ladies.

I remember Blondie, AC/DC, The Jam, even AHA!

Isn’t that an eclectic mix young sir?

No wonder I was confused with the influences and music around me, but for me, I could never shake off my devotion to NUFC.

With Spain 82, I remember as a ten-year-old, we beat the hosts in Valencia with a Gerry Armstrong goal and held out with ten men in a nail-biting finish.

I remember bottles of Guinness and doors unlocked along our street, and the raucous noise when the final whistle went, football was our saviour and our escape.

Which brings me back to Christmas and the memories…

Being a determined and starving individual, I ‘rescued’ a wheelbarrow from the local dump and proceeded to collect ’empties’ from the houses which along with my two helpers received 10p for a pint bottle and 5p for a half.

We amassed a fair amount of dosh and went to the chippy and ate so much we had to lie down beside the little river out our back.

Which brings me to our beloved Toon…

My Dad tried valiantly to persuade me to be interested in getting a trade.

Every year it was Meccano sets, hard hats, adjustable spanners, or whatever, but I had no interest.

All I wanted was a new football and a Newcastle United top.

I was lucky enough to have David Craig (ex-player and legend) as my Dad’s best mate and every year he would send the black and white uniform over in return for Dad doing the pools every week, and no, true to form, they couldn’t pick their nose and never won anything.

Every Christmas morning, I would run downstairs, eyes bleary with the ‘big light’ on, and there they were on the sofa.

The black and white stripes.

Glistening in a cellophane wrapper and a ball beside it.

My sister was more interested in the selection box, Spangles, Opal Fruits, Topic and many more old brands which have vanished.

I knew what I would do, at 6am on Christmas morning, it was out the back to the garages, and I had my new top on and my ball, and off I went and I thought I was some pup.

The banging of the garage doors brought out the rest of my mates and we increased our numbers as many discarded their BMXs and other presents to get involved in a full-blown match.

I was a devotee of Kevin Keegan even then and I wanted to be him, and when he came to us I was overjoyed, I couldn’t believe it, it was as if all my Christmas wishes had come true.

In school, the vast majority supported Liverpool or Manchester United, the latter more understandable as George Best had played for them and was a local lad about eight miles up the road in the Cregagh area of east Belfast, but I stood out like a sore thumb with my Toon stripes.

When I went to Grammar school, the teachers mocked me and scratched their heads as to why I supported Newcastle United, and to be fair, mid-eighties, we were rubbish, but the die was cast and I defiantly wore my uniform with pride.

I was regaled with stories of Len Shackleton, Supermac, Wor Jackie, and of course the Fairs Cup team which ‘Walter’, my dad’s nickname for David, played in.

Years later, and my Christmas wishes and prayers paid off and King Kevin returned and reunited with Terry Mac, and my favourite player, a certain unassuming Mr Beardsley…what a player.

The rollercoaster of the nineties came and went, I expected trophies, but it wasn’t to be.

We still wait, Dad and myself, and I hope he is still with me when we finally break the hoodoo and lift a trophy.