The Carabao Cup Final: Let’s get positive!

Who would have thought it? Who would have imagined that we’d have travelled so far in such a short space of time? But, we have indeed come a long way and it’s fair to say that it’s been an amazing journey to be even a small part of.

When the takeover finally happened in October ’21, we all dreamed of something fantastic for our club. Just different levels of amazing, I suppose. While some fans imagined the signings of Messi and Mbappe, others dared to dream that we might, just might, see a trophy in our lifetime. Whatever level you dreamed at, we were all just happy to wait and see.

Sunday’s game, whatever your dream, gives us all something to get excited about. Forget the lack of our first choice goalkeeper, forget the opposition and their current form and forget our current habit of creating a ton of chances that we don’t seem able to finish. Sunday’s game is the stuff of dreams and it’s massively important that we throw everything we’ve got at it, both as a fanbase and as a team.

It could be argued that this final is a bit of a shock. Certainly, in terms of Eddie’s mantra of ‘evolution not revolution’ it’s arrived ahead of schedule. But that can’t be used as a reason for us as a fanbase getting our excuses in early. For me, expectations need to be high. This team has come together quickly and surprised lots of us and lots of people in football, but they’ve also proved themselves. Sunday is not just a free hit because we didn’t really expect it; we’ve earned the right to be there and it’s very much a game that we can win.

In our last two cup finals – the FA Cups of ’98 and ’99 – we flopped. Both times, the team looked overawed by the occasion and wilted against better opposition. Both teams contained enough quality to do a great deal better and yet both failed miserably. This year has to be different. Lots of us were devastated by those late 90s failures. I remember being rendered particularly speechless by the defeat in 1999. I remember beforehand, holding a genuine belief that we would win. Not could win it, but would win it. Of course, we didn’t. We were poor, passive, passengers, behind early and never really in the game at all.

I can’t imagine this team being anything less than 100% prepared. Eddie has proved time and again over the last year or so just how far he’s prepared to go to make sure that the team is ready. When he joined the club we were amazed and excited by simple things like his his early starts and active role at training. It was the least we could ask really, but compared to the previous regime’s habits with days off and openly admitting to a lack of interest in tactics, Howe and his team were a revelation; something to grab onto. And that has continued throughout this season to the point we’re at now and a visit to Wembley.

There are positives wherever you look in the squad. A defence that is among the best in Europe. Players playing with a renewed enthusiasm and style in Miggy, Joelinton, Sean Longstaff and Fabian Schar. The return of Bruno, possibly the best midfielder any one of us have witnessed in black and white. The maverick genius of Alain Saint Maximin, who in the last game looked back to his scintillating best. And up front, the choice of either Callum Wilson or Alexander Isak. We’re no mugs and we’re certainly not going there just to make up the numbers. We have a chance, and not just a puncher’s chance either. We can cause any opposition trouble.

I’ve never been an optimistic Toon fan. I think that type of thing was knocked out of me very early on in my life as a supporter. Even when Keegan came along – as a player and a manager – I’d still expect us to lose or I’d worry more about the opposition than anything. I’m still the same, because I think it’s ingrained in lots of us. But for this weekend I refuse to have anything but the utmost faith in this team. This Sunday, I choose positives over negatives.

Recently, Eddie Howe said this: “I believe we can win any game against any team, home or away, if we’re absolutely at our best and I think we’ve proved that this season. We believe the power is in our hands and it’s up to us to perform at our best levels.” No mention of anyone else’s strength. Just Newcastle United’s. I’m with Eddie!

If you’re there on Sunday, sing your hearts out, back the team as usual. If you’re watching on the telly, enjoy it. What an occasion for our club, so soon after many of us had lost almost all hope. Fingers crossed we can bring that trophy home because it’s been a hell of a long wait!

HOWAY THE LADS!

Defining Recovery: It’s not as simple as just resting up.

The idea for this blog came from a tweet that I liked a few weeks ago. It popped up on my timeline just because someone I follow had liked it and I usually scroll straight past most of these ones. However, there was a picture of a man wrapped up, wearing a hat, out in the woods by the looks of things and it made me think of myself doing similar, day after day for these last few months.

The tweet read, ‘Healing is not as simple as ‘rest’. It’s exercising, rehab, falling down, fearing and going deep into the pain and fighting your way back.’

In a strange way, the tweet made my day. Since having my pacemaker fitted and spending months off work, I’ve gone through all manner of stuff, but have lost count of how many times I’ve felt the need to brush it off and tell anyone who’s asked that I’m ‘slowly getting there’.

Over 3 months on from my operation and I thought I’d try to explain my own personal experience of recovery. I haven’t fully recovered and I think feeling that way is actually a long way off, but I think I’ve managed to get myself into a position where I feel a great deal stronger, fitter and more confident about my heart. So, before I start to forget the things I’ve been through, I thought I’d get some of it down.

I didn’t think I’d done a lot of resting, until my family told me otherwise. I was talking about the fact that I thought I hadn’t really got many naps in during my time at home and it brought about a few smiles from those around me. Apparently, the truth is more that I was napping pretty much every day for the first three weeks of being out of hospital. And while in hospital I just felt like I lurched from nap to nap, even pretending to be asleep on a regular basis so that the bloke opposite wouldn’t talk to me!

So in fact, I’ve been so exhausted during my recovery that I can’t even remember how it’s been a lot of the time. The first few weeks are a blur. I know that they featured a lot of pyjama action, a lot of irritability on my part and, so I’m told, a lot of napping. I’m told that there were times where I’d just fall asleep mid conversation, which sounds a lot of fun. I also remember feeling very frightened by it all, worried that one wrong move would pull the pacemaker wires out of place meaning that I’d have to go back into hospital.

When my first sick note ran out – after a week – I had a telephone appointment with my doctor. This made me realise how poorly I was. We spoke for a good while and I felt like I was having to fend him off at times, as he alluded to me going back to hospital. Then, when he settled for just issuing another sick note, he instantly doubled the time that I’d asked for. This was good, in that it settled me down a bit while also making me think that I could find lots of things to do with all of that time. It became bad pretty quickly when I realised that I wasn’t strong enough to even sit and read for over long, before I was nodding off! It quickly felt like it would be a very long month.

There have been quite a few unusual times since then. While recovering, I seemed to develop a bit of a stutter and at times simply couldn’t get the words out. Furthermore, I’d find myself talking about something one minute, then unable to remember a word or where the conversation was going next. And people would tell me about things I’d said and done, but I literally couldn’t remember a single bit of it. And – as per the quote that inspired this – there’s also been a bit of falling down. It’s amazing how many times I’ve taken a tumble when just trying to tie my laces, but that left hand side of mine just wouldn’t work for a good few weeks!

The healing or recovery process has been one of the most frustrating times of my life. I joke about tying my laces, but there were plenty of times in the first couple of weeks where someone had to tie them for me. My wife had to help me get dressed, as well as undressed, including doing things like zipping up my coat and putting a hat on my head if we went for a walk! I hated it, but it’s definitely the kind of thing that keeps you grounded, in terms of how you think your recovery’s going! I found that lack of independence incredibly frustrating and it was something that I struggled to deal with as normally, if something needs done, I just do it myself. Then suddenly you’re in a place where you’re not allowed to even get a glass of water and someone’s started doing your jobs around the house. Awful!

A combination of beta blockers and lack of sleep (I think brought on by taking beta blockers) made me feel like I wasn’t recovering at all. Every day, I’d just feel like I’d taken another hit and was back to square one, which was kind of demoralising. I’d be out on a walk, feeling like I was definitely getting stronger, watching my heart beat not quite hit what it had the day before at the top of a hill and being able to walk just a little bit further and yet I still couldn’t sleep, still couldn’t remember things, still couldn’t hold a conversation without telling someone to forget it because I couldn’t remember what I was going to say!

I struggled to sleep for well over a month. It’s still hit and miss now, but when it was night after night after night, it felt like it might never go back to normal and that being awake until 3am might well be how it was now. As well as leaving me exhausted, it also had me worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold down a job. Because of this, for a good while it felt like my life was about to encounter an even bigger change and it was a fear that didn’t sit well at all with me.

By far the most difficult part of the whole healing process has been the mental side of things. I’ve always felt that I was mentally very strong, but for the last few months I’ve been filled with a kind of fear and doubt that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before. I suppose it’s kind of a given that I feared I might die, particularly in the early stages when I didn’t fully understand what was going on and then again when I stopped taking beta blockers. I felt that they were absolutely crucial to keeping me safe and so although I was pleased to come off them, as I was assured that they were adding a lot to my fatigue, I was nervous about what could happen when they were taken away.

It’s been difficult adjusting mentally to not being at work. Alongside that though, has been a bit of fear about going back there too. My final episode with palpitations and extreme dizziness happened in my classroom and I’ve not set foot in there since. The prospect of doing so again fills me with trepidation, even though thinking logically, I know it’s not the classroom’s fault. Nor is it work’s fault. But both things terrify me. I went back for an attendance meeting recently and to discuss my phased return to work and despite having worked there for 8 years I was physically shaking when I entered the building. It took me more than an hour to feel anywhere near right again and it was only when I ventured down to my old department that I settled more.

I’ve suffered with guilt the whole way through my recovery. Having covered up what was wrong for over 6 months, I feel awful about what I put my family through. My wife and kids watched me pass out in the airport before we went on holiday, as the palpitations hit and that makes me feel horrible about myself. My daughter has watched me like a hawk ever since and it’s been a balancing act dealing with the guilt as well as stopping myself becoming irritable as she’s asked again and again if I’m alright.

But the guilt hasn’t stopped with my immediate family. I know that my mam and dad have worried too, as well as my sister. Come to think of it, I’ve probably had my most in depth conversations ever with my dad across the time of my recovery as he’s opened up a bit and made it clear that he was worried about me. Believe me, us northern men aren’t always so forthcoming when it comes to our feelings, particularly when we’re of my dad’s vintage!

I’ve struggled with similar feelings where friends are concerned. Nobody knew a thing and I’m not sure what people must think of me for not at least confiding in one of them! Friends from work have had to cover my classes, set my work and even learn to adjust to life without the kind of ridiculously inane emails that I send on a daily basis. I really can’t thank them enough. Knowing that my other kids – my classes – are in their safe hands has eased that particular side of my guilt, but it’s felt like a real struggle. I know people would tell me to not feel guilty, but it’s been hard to avoid.

In all, like the tweet said, recovering has not been as simple as just resting. In truth, it’s been the most difficult time of my life and I’ve had to adjust from being someone who genuinely felt a bit invincible to being someone who has had to face up to just how vulnerable he actually is. It’s not a process I’ve liked and not one I really want to accept, which means that while I head back to work very soon, I’ll have to continue to work hard at my fitness and any mental blocks that might just be lingering.

For now though, returning to work will bring a sense of normality, but definitely not an end to my recovery or any sense of being healed. If you see me at work and ask how I am, I’ll more than likely say ‘good’ or ‘better’. What I mean to say but can’t, is that I feel sh*t scared, utterly terrified, panic stricken at the thought of doing any of this again, as well as riddled with guilt because of what I feel like I’ve put family and friends through. But, to paraphrase the tweet that inspired this, I’ll continue exercising, falling down, fearing, going deep into pain and fighting my way back.

The Second Coming of Miggy Almiron.

I’ll be the first to admit that I was beginning to think he didn’t have it in him. I’d seen the jibes by fans of much smaller, insignificant clubs referring to him as things like Forrest Gump and was starting to wonder if they might have a bit of a point. As each game passed where he didn’t assist or score, I reviewed my previous backing of a player who I welcomed with open – and metaphorical – arms when he first arrived at the club. He seemed to be without any confidence whatsoever and whenever chances arrived and whatever they looked like, it felt like Miggy would squander them.

Yet, through it all there were positives. Miggy had things going for him. That ever available smile was good currency with us fans. Personally, I loved the fact that when he ran there were times when he was like a nodding dog, as if when he nodded his head, however involuntarily, it was giving him added energy. He does a thing where he’s between a trot and a gallop – a trallop? – in order to make sure that he’s first in line for the press…as well as the second and third at times. Again, this makes me smile and helps to show the urgency he feels to help the team.

I’ve always been a fan of the slimmer, more diminutive players, given my own stick-like build. I think I speak for a lot of Toon fans when I say that with Miggy, despite any doubts, I was 100% on his side and really, really didn’t want him to fail.

I’ve got history with the underdogs who’ve worn the black and white shirt. Darren Jackson was a personal favourite. As my dad would say, “more fat on a greasy chip” but he was a player that I loved instantly. We looked similar, so getting mistaken for him a couple of times during his time at the club helped! The same applied to Michael O’Neill – bought for a pittance, stick thin and with that hint of flair and determination that had me rooting for him, despite never really producing the goods consistently. Kevin Brock was another hero. And God knows I was beyond desperate for Kevin Dillon to score for us, despite growing evidence that not only was he a mackem, but he was shite as well!

So, watching Miggy have his break out season this year, in what is now his 5th season at the club, has been nothing short of wonderful.

Everyone must have read or heard the statistic that when he’d scored 9 goals earlier this season, Miggy had got as many as he had in the previous four seasons. In a way, it’s a pretty damning stat. Although Almiron’s chief job isn’t to score goals you’d have expected him to score more than he had. Personally, I thought that the floodgates would at least be left ajar after he scored his first Toon goal in December 2019 against Crystal Palace. And I reckon most of the fans in attendance would have imagined the same. But it didn’t and he would manage only 3 more goals that season. It’s been a trickle on the goals front ever since from a player who I personally would have expected to be pushing for double figures every year.

I wrote an article about Almiron when he signed. I couldn’t wait to see him play, because the snippets of him I’d seen on YouTube coupled with the things I’d read from fans of Atlanta Utd, made me think that we were getting something very special. I normally wouldn’t have got carried away with things like YouTube clips, but this was deep into Mike Ashley’s era and signing Almiron for what may or may not have been a club record, depending on what you believed, had the same impact on me as if we’d somehow cloned peak Maradona and signed him!

Miguel Almiron: A New Hope?

In preparing to write this I read back through that first article and a few things stood out. Firstly, I said ‘with fingers firmly crossed, I’d say we’ve bought a proper player’. I mean, it took some time, but I was proved right, eh?! Like a proper pundit! And as if to add to my application for Soccer Saturday (or maybe just my very own self important YouTube channel to go with all the others) I also said ‘for any player coming into a fight such as ours there will always be a question mark’. Spooky. And it was a question mark that lasted – however faintly it was written – for a few years. Almiron clearly struggled for any sort of consistency for a while and suffered – as most did – under Bruce.

I couldn’t help but wonder if things could have turned out differently sooner for Almiron. If you remember his debut there was that moment at the Gallowgate after he’d been played through on goal and he dinked the ball past the keeper, but onto the base of the post. Would a goal on debut have boosted his confidence enough for us to see the kind of player we’re now watching a few years earlier ? We’ll never know, but certainly his debut performance hinted at the player that was eventually to come. And then I suppose we should ask whether Miggy’s progress was stunted by Rafa Benitez’s over cautious ‘short blanket’ approach. Certainly, if you take his willingness to make runs into the box this season as anything to go by, then you’d have to say yes. There wasn’t a great deal of that type of thing under Rafa. That’s not knocking Rafa, but I wonder if it was more Miggy’s work rate that was the attraction in the first place.

Miggy’s rebirth has been a joy to behold. The smile has returned to his face and he seems to have a particular affinity for playing alongside Bruno. Long may it continue! He seems to be continuously making forward runs in the hope of grabbing another goal and it’s an appetite that never fades.

For me though, the moment that showed that Almiron was a player reborn came as he scored what proved to be the winner against Tottenham at their place in October of last year. If you remember, the ball is nodded down to Miggy out on the right hand side, about 30 yards from goal. He’s actually fouled twice as he runs through a couple of different challenges and in my opinion, the Miggy of a couple of years back would have thrown himself to the floor under either of the challenges. But he doesn’t. I remember screaming for him to pull the ball back across goal because we had numbers in the box, but no, Miggy simply scooped it over Lloris to score. Clearly, confidence was key and for me the main reason for this must be Eddie and his staff.

If memory serves me right, Bruce called Almiron ‘a manager’s dream’ and he was right, although how I remember this when Bruce’s words would invariably send me to sleep, I’m not sure. Typing out that Steve Bruce was right was pretty hard too! But Miggy is a manager’s dream. Hard working, positive, a good level of football intelligence and a willingness to work for the team. It’s a shame that Bruce couldn’t inspire a great deal from the player other than hard work, but a relief that Eddie Howe has come in and seemingly tweaked one or two things in his game and worked wonders, unearthing the player that lurked within.

At the moment, Miggy is Newcastle’s top scorer this year, with 9 goals. Not bad for a winger who does more than his fair share of defensive work. A decent proportion of those goals have been absolute beauties too. His goal against Fulham won him the Premier League Goal of the Month for October. He also claimed the Player of The Month prize for the same month. But then there were his goals against Everton, Spurs and Aston Villa, as well as his diving chest finish at home versus Manchester City!

I think a lot of credit for Miggy’s rejuvenation lies with Kieran Trippier, another player who he’s linked up brilliantly with. You can see that Tripps talks Miggy through games and I feel sure that there’s been a lot of advice imparted on the training ground too. He’s encouraged to make those marauding runs and if he’s not getting through on goal he’s making life hell for defenders.

It’s great to see Almiron thriving. He’s just the kind of lad that you almost can’t fail to want the best for. The infectious smile, the willingness to work for the team and the sheer quality of some of the finishes, especially this season, all combine to make him a fan favourite. When Eddie Howe first came in I’m sure there were lots of us who could have seen Miggy leaving, especially given the financial muscle that the takeover promised. So, it’s brilliant to see that he’s survived. He clearly loves the club and I think the club, including us supporters love him right back.

As we move into the second half of the season, with a Wembley final to come, it would be brilliant to see his form continue. Having ended his mini goal drought on Saturday night against Bournemouth with his 10th of the season, I’d hope this means that we’ve got a few more to come. And wouldn’t it be nice to see him get back amongst the goals at Wembley! Perhaps the biggest stage there could be for everyone’s favourite Paraguayan to be grinning from ear to ear and screaming “Gooooaaaallll!” like a madman!

Poetry Blog: Getting There

This is a poem I wrote about the early stages of my recovery from having pacemaker fitted. It happened in November – as you might know, if you read regularly – and especially in that first month or so, it was pretty much all I thought about. Still, three months on, it dominates my days.

It’s a simple enough poem, about the kinds of things I would find myself doing in those early days. Things like avoiding using my left hand side or getting used to the sight of another scar on my chest and just staring at it for long periods of time.

I didn’t see many people during that time; the fatigue and the pain and discomfort just made me want to hide away, but I did get a lot of messages from concerned friends. And when they’d ask me how I was I’d just tell them I was ‘getting there’ because I didn’t know what else to say and didn’t think they’d really want chapter and verse about how I really felt. It was also the kind of thing I told myself when I was feeling low or poorly – I must be getting there. Hence, the poem, written during any one of a huge number of sleepless nights, downstairs while every else in the house slept soundly above.

Getting There

Check your watch, swiping left three times,
lie awake, listening as your heart pounds,
strong but more vulnerable than ever now, you feel.
Trace the lumps in your scar all along its length, 
then follow the shape of a matchbox jutting out under your skin
and stare endlessly at these ugly changes in the bathroom mirror,
making sure that when you reach for something
it's on your right, never left.
This is the routine now.
Follow it like a child learning dance steps until it becomes second nature,
losing yourself for God knows how long
in a train of thought that feels like it might never switch off
and then remind yourself of them 
and however bad you feel, tell anyone who asks
that you're getting there.

So, since it all happened I’ve never been more aware of my heartbeat. At least nowadays it feels regular, unlike before. And then there’s the scar; a new one to go next to the one I’ve had for over 40 years now from open heart surgery. This new one is only about 3 inches long and at times looks fairly neat and tidy. However, sometimes it turns purple and has lumps in it due to the wires that come out of my pacemaker. Attractive, no?

On top of that there’s the actual pacemaker, which juts out of my chest – not literally – and is fairly visible under the skin. A friend recently explained that his grandad had one – which made me feel great, as you might imagine – and that it looked like someone had put a matchbox under his skin. So, that’s where that line came from.

The last part of the poem and the ‘them’ refers to my family. They’ve had to nurse me through this time, my wife and daughter especially. They were there when I passed out the first time as a result of palpitations and then it was my wife who took me to Accident and Emergency on the afternoon that I was admitted to hospital and her and my daughter who visited during the week I spent on the ward. It was especially difficult to watch how worried my daughter was; too young for all of this. So, when I would feel down about my health I always knew that I couldn’t let them see it and I had to just find a little bit more strength in order to get through the day.

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading the poem. Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments.

It’s my birthday. But really, it’s just a Tuesday.

Yesterday was my 51st birthday. I would have postponed it if I could. Or maybe just ignored it entirely. But then family and friends won’t let me do stuff like that, however ordinary I might feel.

Having got myself – with the help of family and friends – through a very difficult last few months, I found that I wasn’t at all bothered by the approach of my birthday. But as it got closer and I became even more disinterested, others became more interested. My wife and children were particularly concerned with what I wanted and what I wanted to do. I tried to steer them away from it, but they wouldn’t change course.

The reality is I’m tired. Exhausted even. Having had my pacemaker fitted in early November, after struggling with my health for a good 6 months, while attempting to hide it from everyone around me, I needed to just stop. However, normal life carries on, even when possibly the most normal thing – work – has been taken away and you’re not there due to your health. A birthday just felt like one fuss too many, after the last few months.

So yesterday morning I woke up with very few plans. My wife seemed surprised that I was getting out of bed as early as usual, but I just wanted to get on with things. Even if all that added up to was to do the midweek shopping, a load of washing, some dishes and maybe some writing. I also wanted to go for my walk, which has been an almost daily occurrence since a few days after getting out of hospital and always gives me a bit of breathing space and time to think and maybe even assess how well I’m doing.

I was out on my walk by just after 9am, having got out of bed at 7.15, showered, dressed, had breakfast and cleaned my teeth. As it was my birthday, I walked up to the park, where I’ve spent quite a while already during my recovery. It’s just a lovely place to be and I had it almost to myself yesterday. But instead of doing a full circuit round the park, I detoured a little bit and headed out of the top entrance and right to the top of the hill that our town sits on, crossing the motorway via the bridge and hopping over the stile that leads through the fields of a local farm and gives a great view down onto another local town – Batley, as well as over the neighbouring hills towards Huddersfield. The sun was out, so I stood taking in the views for a while before taking some photos and heading back off towards home, where a shopping list, a load of washing and some birthday dishes awaited!

That pretty much became my day. My birthday. My parents rang and my sister texted, but despite wishing me a happy birthday, I could sense that their focus was more about my recovery and how I was feeling. And that was fine. This birthday was very much just another day. A Tuesday, like all of the other ones I’ve had for the last few months. There were wonderful presents and cards from my wife and kids, contact from friends and there will be dinner out with my wife today and tea out with the family at the weekend, but I still don’t feel like celebrating this particular landmark.

While last year’s 50 didn’t really bother me at all, 51 feels old all of a sudden. I know that’s mainly because of my health, but it’s all left me feeling so frustrated and in a way, angry. Not at all like celebrating a birthday.

What I would have liked to do on my birthday was go for a run in the sunshine, the stillness and the chill of the morning. Instead, I settled for a walk where I checked my heart rate at the top of every hill and felt nothing short of depressingly tired as I got into the last 15 minutes towards home. Worst of all was seeing a few runners and just feeling immensely jealous. I’d really hoped that by this point I’d have been running, even if it was slow paced and over shorter distances. Birthday, schmirthday! It feels like a terrible cliche, but given what I’ve been through, I’m genuinely just glad to still be here, whatever my age might be. Landmarks don’t feel like they matter, at the minute.

Anyway, only 364 more days and I can try again. Hopefully, by the time the next one comes around I’ll be a lot more healthy and a lot more happy and I promise that I’ll throw myself into that one!

A Few Words on Anthony Gordon.

So, after a bit of a wait and a great deal of disagreement among our fanbase, the signing of Anthony Gordon from Everton was announced on Sunday.

While we were linked with the player – both in Summer and in this January window – there were a lot of dissenting voices. It seemed that the experts among our fans knew better than Messrs Howe, Nickson and Ashworth in terms of the player’s ability, temperament, potential and even his looks and fashion sense.

For what it’s worth I’m very much in favour of this transfer. I think he’s a fantastic player and one I’d rather have in our squad than a one we have to face. So, if you take it at face value, what have we bought? Firstly, a young English Premier League player. Gordon has in fact made just under 80 appearances for Everton, 65 of which have come in the league. So, he has experience; not a vast amount, but valuable experience, all the same. For a little bit of context, Sean Longstaff has just over 120 appearances (98 in the league) and Gabriel Martinelli at Arsenal, 111 (78 in the league). Both would be classed as established Premier League players and Gordon isn’t exactly a million miles behind them.

I’ve read a lot of comments on social media referencing the fact that there is better value to be had, but does that value come with the amount of first team, Premier League experience? If we buy from abroad, then no it doesn’t. And I still don’t believe that the people who recommend these players on social media have even seen them play!

Given what we perceive to be a Newcastle tax as well as an English player tax, I think the fee isn’t bad value at all. Yes, £40m is a ridiculous amount of money, but not in the present climate. Again, we’ve payed a realistic fee, keeping to our stance of evolution not revolution.

In terms of his ability, I really don’t understand the doubt. As far as I can see, he’s a very talented footballer. He’s not afraid to take on a defender, he’s got the odd trick and he’s got a goal in him. Furthermore, in keeping with the demands of the modern game, he seems to have the kind of tactical awareness that helps him sense danger from the other team as well as a chance of nicking the ball when on the attack. He tracks back, covers his defender and can pass. Add in the magic ingredient of Eddie Howe and his team and I think we’re signing a player who will only get better and better. The lad is going to be a real crowd pleaser in my opinion, whether he’s played on the left, right or down the middle.

Gordon’s pace is an obvious asset. Put simply, he’s one of the fastest players in the history of the Premier League. I’m not sure why we’d be too opposed to that. So again, what is it that people want? It’s not as if he’s like an Adama Traore type player where there’s pace to burn but it would seem nowhere near enough end product. And again, I’d hope with the kind of coaching that he’s going to get on a daily basis, his crossing and his assists will improve greatly and Eddie will find a way to exploit the pace that Frank Lampard couldn’t.

For me personally, whenever we’ve played Everton in the past couple of years, Anthony Gordon has felt like the only real danger. When they beat us last season at Goodison – and frankly, we threw that one away – Gordon was excellent, playing centrally in behind Richarlison and looking like a constant danger. Even when we beat them at home this season he looked their likeliest threat and certainly ruffled a few Toon feathers. By the looks of some of the photos I’ve seen online however, all has been forgiven!

It was good to see Anthony wearing a pair of black trousers in the photos that emerged of him at St. James’ Park on Saturday. It didn’t bother me, but I hoped that it would appease the readers of Italian Vogue in our fanbase, who seem to have been outraged at the lad’s pair of brown patchwork strides shown in a photo from summer. It certainly seemed to be a major reason why so many disapproved in our interest in the player, so hopefully his choice of what looked like a black, slim fit trouser put minds at rest.

In all seriousness, it amazes me what becomes a concern for some people. The lad is 21 and most likely already a millionaire; he’s probably not going to dress like your average football fan. Why people are taking such offence is beyond me. As long as, when he’s wearing that black and white shirt, he’s giving everything, I don’t care if he wants to dress up like Mr. Tumble occasionally.

There’s also been criticism of the way he looks, with our own fans posting memes of people like Claire Balding and Ellen DeGeneres photoshopped into a Toon shirt. While I’m sure some of this has just been lighthearted, I feel certain that some are doing it because they’re so opposed to the signing. The weird behaviour of the modern football fan, eh?

Finally, it appears like lots of people didn’t want Gordon to sign because of his temperament. They just didn’t fancy this snarling, angry young man representing our club. I say, let’s have more of it. Play with that anger and fire every time you pull on the shirt, lad! Many have pointed to our signing of Craig Bellamy, in order to validate the Gordon deal. He was horrible at times, wasn’t he? But what a player! Bellamy was one of my favourite players to ever wear the shirt. And he wasn’t the only player we’ve had in recent history with a bit of a temper or who could be perceived to be some sort of trouble. Hatem Ben Arfa had a real attitude problem, Laurent Robert too, Bowyer started a fight with his own team mate and Asprilla was absolutely bonkers! All of them gave everything for the shirt and all of them entertained. All of them, also, had the backing of the crowd.

We revel in what we term ‘shithousing’ and then complain when we sign a player that we might well label a shithouse! It beggars belief. Anyway, none of it matters – he’s our shithouse now and I say welcome to The Toon, young man! Let’s get behind him and leave the rest to the player himself and of course, Eddie Howe! I for one, think he’s going to be a genuine success.

Top 5 Benefits of having a pacemaker.

(I’ve added a couple of bonus positives to my Top 5 too. I always manage to think of more than I need!).

Since having my pacemaker fitted in early November, there have been quite a lot of dark times. Some if them have lasted for days, others hours and lots of them mere minutes when I’ve felt really sorry for myself before snapping out of the fog of it all. Ultimately, I can always fall back on the fact that I feel quite lucky to still be here, however dramatic that might sound.

Today though, I’ve decided that this pacemaker lark can’t all be doom and gloom. Obviously there’s a good side – it’s making my heart work properly – but there must be a lighter side too; a side that makes me laugh a bit. Because the lighter side of life is the one I’ve always liked to be on.

So, I sat down and gave some thought to what might be the positives of the fact that I’ve had a little machine surgically embedded into my chest! Because everything has to have a positive, otherwise what’s the point of bothering, right?

So, as a result of having my pacemaker…

  1. I can now tell people I’m part robot. That way, I sound cool, futuristic and I am easily the closest thing I know to Steve Majors, the $6m Dollar Man. When I get back to work I can tell amazing stories about what I’m/it’s capable of. I can make up ridiculous tales to tell classes because experience tells me that they’ll believe practically anything you tell them as long as you can keep a straight face. Come to think of it, I can easily get away with this type of thing with some of my younger colleagues too, as they tend to be quite gullible. I don’t mean that as an insult, they just are and I know this because of the sheer amount of bullshit I’ve told them over the years!

2. I got to grow a beard. I’d never had any interest in growing one before, but during my hospital stay, I couldn’t really shave on account of being attached to a heart monitor. I could have taken it off, but then I ran the risk of having nurses knocking on the bathroom door. I found this out to my horror one time when they were frantically hammering on the door because my alarm was going off and the panic was so evident that even I thought I might be dying, even though I was stood on the other side of the door just having a wash! So, I didn’t bother shaving. Then, once my pacemaker was fitted my left hand side was rendered useless, again ruling shaving out. Before I knew it, I had a beard and to my surprise I really liked it. Thanks, pacemaker!

3. I may be able to get work as Santa later on this year. My cool beard is a great deal more white than I’d like. But, if I can work on my “Ho, ho hos” and other such stereotypically Santaesque dialogue, I might have a rather rewarding sideline come December.

4. I’ve watched a lot of daytime TV, especially in the first four weeks or so of my recovery when my days consisted of getting tired out by washing and eating breakfast and napping. I mean, there had to be something in between. And so, I’ve become a connoisseur of shows on Discovery and Sky History, as well as every show that revolves around buying a house somewhere sunnier than England. I still can’t bring myself to watch ‘Come Dine with Me’ though.

5. I can move to the wilderness with my new found skills. For the first few weeks of my recovery I made a regular 10am appointment with the Raney family and their show, ‘Alaska Homestead Rescue’. From doing so, I’ve realised that all you need to survive in the wilderness appears to be a good roof, a gun to shoot bears with, a greenhouse (who knew?) and probably some sturdy fencing. With a good 7 years on my pacemaker battery, I’m toying with the idea of buying some land in Alaska and moving off grid!

6. I’ve discovered a love of pyjamas. For years, I had refused to wear them. But, having lived almost exclusively in them for weeks, I can tell you those PJs can be a hard habit to break. Even when proper clothes became an option again, I’d regularly head upstairs in the middle of the afternoon to pop my pyjamas on again. And while I feel like, months later, I’ve broken my addiction, I’m still strangely fond of wearing those comfy beauties!

7. I’ve been given a bit of time to re-evaluate – work, fitness, lifestyle, food and drink. Serious stuff now. Although there’s no damage to my heart and I’ve been told that there isn’t a risk of heart attack, I’ve decided to change a few things. Although I wasn’t a big drinker, I’m cutting right back. I’ve been forced to anyway, so I may as well just carry on. I’m trying valiantly to watch what I eat as well and last week I created a new milestone in my life when I cooked a stir fry (the first I’ve ever cooked) that had three (count ’em) different types of vegetable in it. Three! I felt like a proper adult as well! Also, with my fitness now completely gone, I get to stage some kind of Rocky style comeback. I won’t be punching anyone, but I will faced with some kind of training regime, which I actually like. If I can just get over my fear of going running again… Having time off work has also enabled me to sample retirement. And it’s fantastic, if you take away the pain, anxiety, nausea, confusion and exhaustion! But, I’m hoping that actual retirement won’t feature any of this! So now, I have an age in my head that I’d like to semi-retire by and for the first time in many years I’ve done some research into my pension. I love my job, but it clearly hasn’t helped my health, so there has to be some kind of plan, however tentative. It’s no good vowing to change and then doing all of the same things all over again, however much you loved them.

So there we have it. Apologies for ending such a silly, lighthearted piece with such a serious few sentences, but it’s all true. And even the serious stuff has come about because of my pacemaker, so it had to be mentioned as a benefit, however unfunny it was!

I hope you enjoyed reading.

Always Look on the Bright Side: more stuff that made me smile.

It’s been a while since I wrote one of these posts. Over three months, I think. I suppose given the state of my health there have probably been less things that have made me smile, but having given things a bit of thought, I’ve been a lot less miserable than I imagined I’d be. And I like to write these posts to remind myself – and hopefully others – that there’s usually something to crack a smile about! So here’s a selection of things that have brought a smile to my face in the last month or so.

Walks in the park. If you happen to read my blog with any regularity or you follow me on any kind of social media, you’ll know about the park. Or parks, as we have a few good ones in my corner of Yorkshire and I don’t have to walk far to get to any of them, which is a relief, given the sorry state of my body for the last few months! I’ve been concentrating on one – Dartmouth Park – which was landscaped/built in the Victorian era and is just lovely. This week especially, while we’ve had bright blue skies, frost and crisp Winter temperatures, it’s just been brilliant to walk round. Such is my regularity there that I’m even on nodding/”Good Morning” terms with some of the older folk who go there too! Walking there this week has almost allowed me to forget the fatigue I feel and the irritation of having a little machine sat in my chest, working my heart for me!

The sun was just rising over the park when I walked through this morning. The light was amazing and the sun felt lovely and warm, despite the chill in the air.

Sammy Squirrel. We have a squirrel that visits our garden regularly. When our children were younger we christened him Sammy and to this day, we still refer to him as such. I realise, by the way, that it’s possibly more than one squirrel…I’m not an idiot. In fact, sometimes there are a few running about in our garden. They’re all Sammy. There’s no cause for discussion here. Earlier this week I filled up the bird feeders on our trees. The ground had frozen and although some would advise you not to feed the birds, I just felt sorry for them. About an hour after filling them, I was doing the dishes and some movement at the back of our garden caught my eye. Sammy. And thus, for the remainder of the week I’ve smiled daily at Sammy as he finds ingenious ways of positioning himself in order to raid my nuts (and yes, I did just intentionally make that very childish joke). As the week has progressed he’s got bolder and bolder, appearing at the side of the house, right by the kitchen window, perching on our shed, doing parkour all around the place and even sitting on our patio table to either eat or squirrel away his somewhat ill gotten gains. And yes, that’s another deliberate joke. As I type he has just removed the top from our largest feeder and is now gathering nuts before disappearing over the fence to hide them in the trees behind the house. This process has been going on for a good five minutes. I think he may be preparing for a party. It’s ever so slightly annoying, but I can’t deny that it’s made me smile. Good on you, Sammy!

Sammy, as bold as brass on our patio, chatting to a garden gnome about breaking my bird feeder, no doubt

I fitted a new light in our cupboard. Now this may not seem much of a thing to smile about, but if you had my light and didn’t smile as it comes on when you opened your cupboard door, I’d have to say that we couldn’t be friends anymore. It didn’t take any fitting; it literally sticks to the ceiling of the cupboard with a combination of sticky stuff (technical term there) and a magnet, which is good because my left arm doesn’t work as well anymore and I couldn’t have fitted anything difficult! However, it is very much a wonder. Now, when we open the door of our walk-in cupboard, where we keep our fridge and our big coats, it is lit up instantly like the Vegas strip! Sometimes, it really doesn’t take much to make me smile!

The prospect of snow. As much as I miss work, if it snows anytime soon, I will certainly not miss trying to drive through the snow to get there. I won’t miss doing an outdoor duty and having to scan the area like Action Man for fiendish snowballs being launched in my direction. I won’t miss the hideous feeling of slush soaking through my shoes. And I won’t miss trying to drive home in the snow as it freezes, adding potentially hours onto my journey. What I will do is sit in my front room and smile at the fact that I’m warm and dry, if still a bit poorly, in my house!

Ted Lasso. We recently got Apple TV free (I think) for 6 months. We’re three episodes into Ted Lasso and it’s superb. Biscuits with The Boss never fails to raise a grin! I think I actually want Ted to be my friend.

So, there we have it. Contrary to popular belief, I do smile. I hope you enjoyed reading about it!

Poetry Blog: ‘Every day, a walk’

I wrote this poem because I’ve become a little bit obsessed with walking. If you don’t know, I had a pacemaker fitted in November and as a result, I’m trying to work my way back to fitness and some kind of normality.

At the time of writing the poem, I was walking every day, like the title suggests. I couldn’t run, because the pacemaker was too uncomfortable and I just wasn’t well enough, so I settled for walking. However, Christmas got in the way of that, so now that my recovery is quieter again and my kids have gone back to school, I walk…every day. I’m building up to running again.

I got so obsessed with walking in the lead up to Christmas that I would get quite grumpy – or more accurately, more grumpy than usual – if I wasn’t able to get out. And I would be out whatever the weather too, because I came to depend on the routine of it all and it was proving a more than adequate substitute for long runs. Furthermore, it gave me time to think about what was going on in my life.

Anyway, it was only a matter of time until I wrote a poem about it. When something takes up such a big space in my life, I tend to write about it. As you’ll see with my next poem, ‘Taking Out The Bins’. Just kidding…

Every day, a walk.

Every day, a walk.
Some days you feel like you're fighting back,
others, like death warmed up.
Almost all, you're glad to be alive.
Whether breathless
or jelly legged,
alone with your thoughts
or in company and chattering away
about anything and everything,
swaddled like a newborn against the biting cold
in your big coat
that she zips up for you, because you cannot,
dazed by the noise or the light,
or the breeze,
bruised but not battered,
tweaked but not torn,
smiling, but not quite as happy as you'd like to be
and always, always tired.
Every day, a walk.

My first walk after surgery came two days after getting home from hospital. Down one street and back up another. I was utterly shattered when I got home.

At that time, I couldn’t dress myself properly, such was the restriction on my movement from the scarring and bruising around the site of my pacemaker. So not only did my wife have to zip up my coat, she had to put my hat on and do my laces too! Then she reversed the process when we got back home. Her reward was to watch me fall asleep on the settee!

I’ve gradually got stronger since then. Some walks feel great, while others are an absolute grind! Today’s, for instance, felt horrendous and I was out of breath and staggering a little having not gone far at all. There are good days and bad days though and hopefully tomorrow’s a bit better!

The final thing on this particular poem is just to mention that it came out of thinking the title out loud. I said it as I walked through the door from a walk one morning and liked it, so I quickly scribbled some ideas down and out of that came a poem! Funny, how inspiration can strike!

As ever, I hope you enjoyed the poem and always appreciate any comments, so feel free to leave one.

Fighting fit: The mind boggles!

As I write, it’s been 62 days since having my pacemaker fitted. A rough estimate puts that at 1492 hours or 89,543 minutes. That’s a lot of time to think. A lot of time to worry, to feel low or even just to find yourself giving up. However, there have been positives in that time too and I hope that from today, I’m going to start feeling the positives outweigh the negatives.

My last ‘fighting fit’ update was a few weeks ago. In the time since then there have been good and bad days. Christmas and New Year came and went and if anything, they slowed my progress down. Not only was my diet a bit worse, but the festivities take up so much of our time that I didn’t manage to fit in anywhere near enough exercise. Turns out no one wants to wander slowly around the streets keeping an eye on a wobbly, wheezing middle aged man dressed in a long coat and a bobble hat when there’s Christmas films to be watched or left over turkey knocking around.

However, I enjoyed both Christmas and New Year. We managed to see some family and despite the fact that my kids are a bit older now – 13 and 16 – it was still nice to see them open their presents. And I always enjoy seeing what my wife makes of the gifts that I’ve bought her. It’s nice to give gifts and it was nice this year that I bought my wife something she really wouldn’t have expected, but really liked. It was a print based around The Fairytale of New York, her favourite Christmas song. If you’re a music fan and enjoy artwork you might want to check out where it’s from – www.stuffbymark.co.uk – his art really is ace!

Once all of the celebrations were out of the way and the kids were back at school, there was a lot to think about. Given the return of a quiet house, the bonus of having the ability to think returned too! My main conclusion has been that I need to do more exercise and to do it regularly if I’m going to get my normal life back.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve had a few more visits to my favourite park and gone back to look at the two animal sculptures. This time I made sure to read the inscriptions and one of them gave me a lovely glowing feeling. It was on the Harry the Hare sculpture and it was about the fact that a local business had commissioned it. One line in particular got me. It just read, “For the people of Morley.” What a great gift! I hope others appreciate it and take time out to go and have a look. It’s literally a work of art! Whether it’ll succumb to vandalism, who knows? But I sincerely hope not. Anyway, here he is below.

Harry The Hare
Not the most imaginative name, but isn’t he great?

And here’s the owl that I visited again the next time I was in the park.

The mental side of my recovery is something I’ve found really tough going. I’m not used to being poorly and not used to being unable to do the things I want to, physically. I’ve found it all very frustrating. I enjoy my work, but haven’t been in since all of this started. Furthermore, I’m faced with another month off sick now too. It’s led me to see pretty low days and I joined an online support group to see if it would help me.

Talking about my problems isn’t really me, but I’ve managed to ask a few questions and listen to what other people have been through and it’s really helped. Apart from anything else, it’s comforting to know that there are lots of people going through the same as me and lots of them who know a lot more than me and are happy to pass on advice.

The support group has also encouraged me to read a bit about pacemakers and what’s happened to me and that’s been a real positive. It was explained in hospital and on the visit to the cardiologist, but I suppose understandably, I didn’t really take it all in. Anyway, reading about my pacemaker and its genius has really made my mind boggle. It’s about the size of a matchbox but it has the technology to store a ton of data about what’s going on in there, while also pretty much making my heart work properly. I guess we shouldn’t be that surprised by the capability of modern medical technology…but I still am.

Another form of support came as a Christmas gift. My daughter bought me the book below – with her own money for the first time ever – and told me it was so that I could read it and not feel like I was going through it alone. Even typing that feels emotional, so you can imagine how I felt on Christmas day!

It’s quite a remarkable book by a poet called David Toms, who was born with a rare heart condition and faced up to his problems in many ways. In the book he talks a lot about the power of walking and, as this is something I do a lot, I could really relate to his story. He also eventually had to get a pacemaker, so what he had to say about that felt really useful too. Reading the book also helped me to see that I could get through what’s going on with me. David Toms has faced up to a great deal more than I have and despite whatever setbacks or challenges, he’s found the strength to just keep going. So, keep going is exactly what I’ll do.

I’m beginning to realise how long it’s going to take me to feel better both physically and mentally. Two months on and I’m still tired out very easily, especially compared to the way I was before and the level of fitness I had. The area around my pacemaker and my scar is still sore and my movement still restricted and I’m left breathless much more often than I’d like. And mentally, testing myself out terrifies me, but I’m just so incredibly frustrated by how weak I feel. Even when I get back to the normality of work, I know that I’ll still be nowhere near fitness and nowhere near feeling confident. It seems it’s going to be a long road.

And with that, I promise to update you whenever something interesting happens. Fingers crossed that it’s not any kind of setback though!