Hammered

I'm currently something of a good luck charm to Newcastle United of their recent trips to the capital (as one NUFC website had it: "what is rapidly becoming our second favourite city.") as the team notched up a fourth consecutive victory in London.  Now, I can't claim to have been there for the QPR match last season, being unavoidably detained, but this season, the week I visit a ground the Magpies triumph there.
First there was White Hart Lane, where I fulfilled a self-promise to FC Sheriff play when they visited these shores.  A few days later, the Black-and-Whites (in their Brazil third kit) turned up and came away with a 1-0 win, courtesy of a Tim Krul masterclass in goal and a Loic Remy strike.  I wasn't there on the day itself due to the ridiculously early kick-off - 12 noon on a Sunday - as church business detained me.
Next up, Selhurst Park.  I'd watched Arsenal huff and puff and eventually blow Crystal Palace down just a few weeks before, but was treated to a very comfortable 3-0 demolition of the Eagles by the Magpies.  There were a few moments of anxiety but ultimately a very satisfying day out.
And then yesterday, at Upton Park AKA the Boelyn Ground (soon to become redundant as the occupants move to the Olympic Stadium - The Other Boeyln Ground).  West Ham United were coming off a crucial carving up of Cardiff City while Newcastle United had lost four consecutive games in all competitions, three of them at home and in the three league games, nary a goal had been registered for the Toon.  Mark Lawrenson, ex-Magpie coach and subsequent Magpie antagonist, would not have been alone in predicting a home win.  I, however, knew that with Yohan Cabaye in the squad, this day could be a very profitable one for the Geordies.  Also, what I surmise is that, being a hands-on coach, Alan Pardew likes a full week to brief and practise his first XI - last season, the thick and fast nature of Europa League scheduling played havoc with a small squad and Pardew's limitations were exposed again after the Boxing Day triumph over Stoke City when three games in six days resulted in three defeats.  A whole week to prepare against Man City meant United pushed them close (a Cheick Tiote goal being unjustly chalked off).  Pardew's team would do well here and finally lay the ghost of not beating Big Sham Allardyce since the large Samuel's unceremonious ejection from St James Park as manager.
Soon after kick-off, a fight broke out.  Not on the pitch but right in front of me, in the row ahead.  Two Hammers fans had just arrived to find one of their seats occupied.  Being season-ticket holders, they were aggrieved that this interloper would not move from the seat.  He also professed to be a season-ticket holder and was going nowhere.  He stood up not to be overawed and the three of them were eyeballing each other and accusations of 'f's and 'c's were soon flying.  Stewards, as I have witnessed before, are distinctly uneasy about ending fights in case they get clouted and were clearly reluctant here.  The barny escalated when a hat was swiped from the head and hurled to the floor, prompting a confined scuffle.  Eventually they beckoned the singleton to the end of the row to investigate his tatty piece of card.  That he and one of his antagonists were bald brings to mind the phrase of the follically challenged fighting over a comb, especially since all the man had to do was move to the empty seat right next to him.  This was the solution to the matter with a tense shuffling past, briefly interrupted because the full head of hair mate in the twosome had beached his legs against the chair in front until finally talked round by his bald friend.  At half-time the single bald guy made his way to the amenities under the stand and as he stood at the concrete thoroughfare between the seating and the services, he shouted, "I'll be making calls."  It didn't sound like he had the Samaritans in mind, rather some East End geezers who would rough up these two who had offended him.  That prompted them to leave their seats and follow their nemesis ("How you going to make those calls with your tongue cut out, you stinking piece of shit," is what I imagine was racing round their minds).  Only they returned for the second half.  Such is the passion of the Bobby Moore Stand, the most vociferous part of the ground.
The moods of all three of them would not have been much improved by what they had seen unfold.  After an initially bright opening, the Hammers corroded swiftly.  Newcastle, orchestrated by the peerless Cabaye, were cutting open the makeshift West Ham defence whenever the former went forward.  Cabaye was the stand-out performer, epitomised by his commitment and awareness, not just his talent - late in the game, with the Magpies defending a corner, he noticed no-one was guarding the near-post and trotted over there to protect from any attempt were one to made in that direction.  It was simple and commonsense but he was the only one with the nous to put himself there.  Given that Cabaye could buy himself out of his contract in the summer to force a move, selling him would be a wrench but to get £20 million or more would be an exceptional deal when he was only signed for £4.5 million.  Given Newcastle's crushing point lead over the bottom half of the table, little chance of a top four Champions League spot that would retain Cabaye and with interest ended in the cup competitions, I wouldn't mind too much if he was sold for top dollar in the closing minutes of the transfer window.
Inevitably, it was Cabaye who brought the breakthrough in the 16th minute, bringing anguish for those around me.  I was still on edge, knowing that with old boy Andy Carroll to come on, a two-goal cushion was needed.  It seemed only a matter of time as the Irons goalkeeper Adrian performed sterling stops.  In the crowd, people were muttering, "here it is, 2-0" and it duly arrived in the 33rd minute as Remy slotted in.  Earlier, Remy had been caught on the nose and bloodied his top.  Regulations state this is a health and safety risk and the shirt must be replaced.  The Newcastle kit man took Remy's shirt on the sideline after the physio had patched him up and gave him a new one.  Unfortunately, it was not 'Remy 14' but a nameless '5'.  Remy held out this erroneous shirt but the oblivious kitman had already jogged back to the bench.  So it was Newcastle's number 5 that scored the second.  After the half-time break, Remy emerged with a correct shirt.
I relaxed and Newcastle continued to home in on the Hammers' net.  The travelling fans were living it up, needling the adjacent stand with "Down with the mackems, you're going down with the mackems, down with the mac-kems, you're going down with the mackems."  (They had done this to Crystal Palace fans in late December and should they find themselves in similar comfortability against Fulham at Craven Cottage and strike up the same tune, then with only three relegation spots, the mackems will not go down).  The home crowd though turned quite ugly, transmitting itself to Adrian who howled in frustration at the collective incompetence of his team mates in a rare moment when they were closer to Krul's goal.  Cabaye bearded the Bobby Moore Stand, slowly walking to take a corner, a broad grin on his face.  It was cleared, yet before long, Newcastle were again surging forward.  One West Ham player had Yoan Gouffran at the edge of the pitch, but for an age he just stood there, not even forcing movement by making a tackle, thereby wasting time for West Ham to get back into it.  At this point ferocious boos cascaded down the stadium terraces at his indecision and even I found it intimidating. The legs of the man in claret-and-blue briefly buckled at this and Gouffran passed past him.  It is one thing to register disapproval at the end of each half at the team as a whole (something with which I disagree though) but to get on the back of a player in a vital passage of play and deluge this sole representative in ire is not going to help his decision-making or confidence.
West Ham somehow smuggled the messiest of goals in extra-time at the end of the first half - a bad time to concede for any team and at 2-1 it was game on.  Applause and boos mingled as the referee blew his whistle after 47 minutes. The desolation of some Irons fans was still strong in some, to the extent where one exclaimed '3-0' as if West Ham's goal had disappeared down a black hole.  He got irritating as he chanted '3, 3, 3' when Newcastle got close to the West Ham posts.  Irrespective that his negativity could only help Newcastle, whose side was he on?!?
Rejuvenated by that late goal, West Ham had more purpose and were making fewer mistakes.  Newcastle at times were rocking.  When Paul Dummett was brought on by Pardew, he may have been the only Englishman to score for the Magpies this season, but my internal feelings were 'uh-oh'.  He may have been given his chance to freshen up the defence but his naivety and lack of positional sense were immediately apparent.  West Ham continued to rampage.  Carlton Cole missed from the centre of the goal when it would have been easier to score.  Andy Carroll, when introduced, skied a lovely opportunity.  Finally, in the 94th minute, substitute Hatem Ben Arfa was fouled and as Cabaye stepped up, I thought, "he'll look to curl this in." Sure enough he did, with 94 minutes and nine seconds on the clock.  At last the game was safe and there was such an exodus of home fans at that netburst (though Adrian got fingertips to it, he couldn't prevent it), that there weren't any boos raised on the final whistle.  I stayed behind a little while to let the crowds disperse further and helped out two foreign lads who wanted me to take a picture with them with the ground behind them on their Union Jack-cased iPhone.  A good result and a good deed to boot from me as well.  It was once a saw of the London media that Newcastle could never win in the capital - how this has changed in the last seven months.