Suck Your Bloodclart Mum, George Caulkin

By The Way - Weekly Columns


Hello everyone. Some of you might know me from the ByTheMinNUFC Podcast, which I do with Roddy, one of the blokes who runs this website... well, in organizing the podcast, Roddy has grown adept at knowing when Miller is available, when I'll say yes to stuff, and he catches me. That is how the entire podcast runs, I do nothing but "turn up and speak". Unfortunately, he has also adapted, in his position as website running person, organizer extraordinaire (with his partner in crime Chris Clark) and Miller-wrangler, an absolute expert in getting me to agree to things that I simply cannot be arsed to do. So... here we are. Any idea what we're going to do with our time together? I wouldn't blame you if you knocked it on the head right now, but... if you must persevere, and I'm doing it anyway, i guess we could see where life takes us? "Write a long form essay or article that's Newcastle United related", he barked at me, with my aching, fuzzy, addled head. "Ok, sir, yessa massa", I pleaded. But you know what, right... I just cannot get my pulse going for it. You know why? Because it's Newcastle fucking United. Remember when we were kids, and the football club we all adore was our LIFE? Depending on what age you are, the names of our idols change, and the way we would administer our drug would be different. For me, Clive, we're talking Mirandinha, Kelly, Beardsley, Cole (*spits*), Ferdinand, Asprilla, Shearer... And we're talking listening on the radio, or watching the Ceefax pages scroll around, blink and update. There... bit of nostalgia porn, that'll hook them early, Rodders. That's how you do it. And write in first-person plural. But... you know what, right, look at those names I threw out there for a second. All attackers. Not just attackers... The first Brazilian to play in England. A "1 in 2" Irish international, comfortably the greatest English player on the ball that has ever lived - comparable to Messi, in his day, a talisman, England's bullish center forward, Colombian madman and genius.... and arguably the greatest striker to ever play the game. It begs the question - Am i apathetic today because I'm 35, an expat? Is it Sky? Has the game gone? Or is it Mike Ashley? Oh, I know what I'll do, I'll take over this club in the north east, that'll be a laugh. Here, I can slip into the crowd in my black and white stripes, two sizes too small, clinging onto my cellulite riddled torso. I'll "gan oot on tha toon" with my pals. Remember when he got stopped on the door trying to get in Blu Bambu (RIP) and had to give it "do you know who I am" to get in? I know what I'll do... I'll rehire Kevin Keegan as manager. It was LITERALLY downhill from there, wasn't it. And here we are, boys and girls. Apathy and numbness. The only flickering of excitement is the takeover. Now, not the takeover itself, but the not-knowing. If we knew, we wouldn't be on strings. But just for a short while, we're calling Clubcall to hear the rumours, to hear about our uncertain future, and it's all we have going on. Christ knows no one's interested in idolizing any of the donkeys on the pitch. We're an attacking club (supposedly), who are the kids getting excited about like we once did? Joselu? Diame?? Part of me doesn't blame them at all for preferring Hazard, Messi, Neymar. I know it's not what you want to hear but... If we don't get taken over... pry open the lid of Steve Wraith's coffin and fucking lay me inside it. If we do, though... GET CEEFAX ON!!! I'll see you in a couple of weeks for the next one I've been bullied into writing for you. Hopefully our club will be a more exciting place. Miller.