I’m writing this after Newcastle United’s victory in the Carabao Cup Final and am horrified to realise that it is 70 minutes since they last won a domestic trophy!
I really, really didn’t think they would do it, and said so up until the day before the Wembley event. Then I saw a video clip of John Gibson (ancient Chronicle journalist) issuing a passionate rallying call to the players and reminding them that they would become legends if they could pull it off. It made me think that if I was a player and saw that, I would leave my heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears on the Wembley turf. They did, and it paid off.
For the first time in ten attempts to win at the national stadium, I decided not to grace it with my presence. What an excellent decision. Clearly, my previous attendance was the problem.
At 2-0 I was desperate for 3, to avenge the defeat by Liverpool in the 1974 FA Cup final that broke my 15 year old heart. At 2-1, as the Geordie nation shredded its fingernails I was just grateful that we’d scored at a Wembley final for the first time since 1976.
‘Try getting that lot into work tomorrow. It’ll be a Geordie bank holiday’ said the commentator. Many a true word spoken in jest.
Alarmingly my TV screen froze 30 seconds before the final whistle and when it recovered the celebrations had started; so technically I still haven’t seen the Toon win anything.
The tears came. I have always maintained that I could never cry at failure, but that winning would probably be a different matter.
I loved that they went up the Wembley steps to collect medals and trophy; a tradition that I thought had stopped.
The first League Cup was staged the year after my birth. It’s taken my whole life for us to win it and I got my first pension payment last week. Onward and upward.
