Referee: Paul Alcock

Goals:

5 mins. Solano takes a Shearer pass on the right of the box facing the Leazes goal and hesitates before banging a cross over to be met by the unlikely head of Glass. Walker grasps the ball but the linesman signals for a goal before Ketsbaia bundles in the loose ball off the keeper to make sure. 1-0.
44 mins. Ginola cross from the right is touched on by the outstretched boot of Hughes, and arrives at Geordie Chris Armstrong, a couple of yards out. He knocks in the equaliser, with Charvet standing helplessly on his shoulder. 1-1.
59 mins. The Peruvian again, this time dropping a corner from "the corner" perfectly for Dabizas to bang home the headed winner. His gambolling celebration appeared to me oddly reminiscent of the car advert, where that daft tart sings along to the Lightning Seeds while her motor rolls over a bunny. Or something. 2-1.

Waffle:

From my parka-insulated position in the centre paddock, It was always dark and windy, we normally scored first, conceded an equaliser and then got a winner, all to great crowd backing. However, there always seemed to be a "special" something in the air when teams came up from that there London, and I'm not just talking about petrol bombs here...

Many things have changed; great looming stands now replace crappy little bits of terracing, and the Pirate is no more, but Sunday seemed to bring back some of the togetherness between player and fan, lost over years of spiralling wages, exotic but huffy foreign imports and malevolent capitalism (Freddie.) Time was that I genuinely believed shouting "encouragement" at a young Chris Waddle and "humorous songs" at the likes of Frankie Worthington made a difference, and I still claim credit for the 3-2 Bonfire night victory over Fulham in the 80's, by virtue of a quick throw-in return via my left ear which set up the winner.....

While the forces of progress and greed dictate the level of involvement that us supporters, sorry consumers, are now allowed, there is still the odd blood stirring occasion that slips through the corporate net. At times, this match seemed to be engulfed completely by the raw emotion spilling out of black and white shirts both on and off the park. Even the likes of Solano were swept up in this wave of pride and latent endeavour, becoming embroiled in the sort of hand to hand combat he usually studiously avoids. The fact that both Helder and Fumaca were making their first starts for the club and Charvet and Glass were easing themselves back into active service cast extra responsibilities on their colleagues to stand firm and resist the temptation to drop them in the clarts.That they did was partly due to good support from the crowd, both pro-United and anti-Spurs (well, Ginola really) and outstandingly gritty performances from players you would hope to lead by example, Robert Lee exemplifying the positive and ultimately matchwinning attitude of the home team. That the only home transgression was a dubiously awarded yellow card to the Peruvian is testament to the gritty but fair way we went about Georgie Graham's preening ponces.

Pre-match comments made by Ginola stoked up the home fans, and an early dive by the Frenchman cast the die for the afternoon, as howls of derision followed his every stumble. Apparently the police were subsequently called in after complaints from fans about the behaviour of both Daveed and Sherwood. This seems nonsensical at first glance, given that a) we won, b) we knew they were bad losers, and c) this isn't a Vicarage whist drive, it's a blood and snots Premiership fight. Perhaps those who took exception to alleged naughty words and gesturing were getting an early taste of what they'll be paying through the nose for next year in their corporate chambers of horrors. I can just hear them now, "you never said there would be ruffians playing on the pitch, Mr Wheatley; with common people standing up near me, clapping and singing in time...it's just not the done thing..."

It has been said that on paper we're magnificent, but in reality are nowt more than an overpriced collection of individuals. Not in this game. Synergy they call it in fancy human resource seminars, and Bobby R. seems to be able to conjure it from somewhere within himself. Local pride, luck, respect, experience, voodoo, who cares ? I don't expect to see the calibre of football we witnessed when the likes of Ginola were interested enough to turn it on for the toon, but what I demand is evidence that those currently entrusted with the task of fulfilling our hopes and dreams fancy it. Producing something watchable is preferable, but when i'm reduced to hoping the mackems can win at bloody Vicarage Road, then fight and passion beats fancy dan posturing every time.

While the injury list still contains millions of pounds of talent, those who turned out today certainly deserved their win bonus. Granted, an early goal for the home side put everyone of a Northern persuasion in good heart, but of two unremarkable teams, the one that claimed the points deserved them through sheer force of will. Shearer will play better (hopefully), but in the last quarter when the dangerous Dominguez menaced down the left, the England captain was scrapping away in our own box, alongside his team mates.

So, having found some degree of consistency, in approach if not personnel, where do we go from here ? A glance at the playing staff listed on the teamsheet tells its own story, some 40 shirts being earmarked. Clearly there has to be a reduction in numbers for cost cutting reasons, as well as generating transfer income, allowing youth players like Kerr to get a chance, and vitally, getting rid of some of the tripe we're saddled with. Pistone and Dabizas have battled back into the reckoning - good for them. Rumours continue to abound that Marcelino bottled it in Italy as matchtime approached and sought refuge in the physio's arms. Get him sold, and anyone else who doesn't fit in to the template for the New Bobby Army.

Bring on the Italians "by the score" as they say in the old song, and a return to those wonderful Fairs.. erm......UEFA Cup nights. Then an FA Cup trip to White Hart beckons.

Rattle your flasks, smack your lass with a Xmas tree, the boys are back in toon.............