What Is a Club In Any Case?
Champions League football has arrived on Tyneside, and trophies will follow. But what does it profit a football club to gain the whole world, yet forfeit its soul?
“It's a small boy clambering up stadium steps for the very first time, gripping his father’s hand, gawping at that hallowed stretch of turf beneath and without being able to do anything about it, falling in love." - Sir Bobby Robson
I was a small boy once. Sat on the Gallowgate wall under the St James’ Park floodlights. Bedroom walls adorned with posters of Keegan and Cole. Black and White birthdays, away kits at Christmas. Hooked by The Entertainers of the 90’s, obsessed with Sir Bobby’s Champions League class of ‘02. A season ticket holder for a decade, away days from Brighton to Bolton. I list these as an overt display of my credentials, because when I tell you I’m now little more than a casual observer, you cannot tell me I never really cared.
This has been an acrimonious separation. I didn’t leave Newcastle United, Newcastle United left me.
Newcastle United are now the wealthiest football club in the world. A takeover by the Saudi Public Investment Fund (PIF) in October 2021 has seen a sharp upturn in fortunes on the pitch, and an abandonment of principles off it. I’ve turned away from the club because if we lower the noise, the claim and counterclaim, we have a situation where the club is now owned by a nation state, headed by an alleged murderer.
As shocking as those facts are laid bare, equally as unsettling is the way the vast majority of supporters have hailed this as an exciting new dawn. In reality this is a takeover of a proud club in a brilliant city, by people who are using the club and the supporters to their own ends. They’re exploiting us in front of our own eyes, wolves in black and white striped clothing. They have purchased the club for personal gain, and we’re expected to be willing cheerleaders in exchange for Champions League football.
Newcastle United are not the first football club to be used in this way, and yes, hypocrisy exists in all corners of elite football. But like a VAR official making a tight offside call, you have to draw the line somewhere. Mike Ashley was bad, but there's bad, and then there's assembling a 15 man hit squad to fly to Turkey and murder one of your critics.
Given the blood on their hands, and the brazen approach to their time in charge so far, in which little attempt has been made to disguise the takeover for anything other than the sports washing project it is, the new owners must be shocked at just how easy it has been to get the vast majority of Newcastle supporters on board. The initial groundswell of support has grown into a received wisdom that this is not only a great thing for the club, but for the city and the region as a whole. This outlook has taken hold to such an extent that even a cursory attempt to provide a counter narrative is shouted down with vigour.
People don't want to engage with the brutal reality, because you can’t unsee what you have seen, unhear what you have heard. If a journalist is killed inside a Saudi embassy, but no Newcastle United fans were there to see it, can the Gallowgate still make a sound? Far easier to nod and reference the abstract “difficult questions to be answered”, than to actually ask the questions. To know that the Saudi PIF and Mohammed bin Salman are one and the same, and to still support the takeover, is an acceptance of the unacceptable. It’s far more palatable to just stick to football and embrace the questions we can answer. “Is Eddie Howe the right man to take Newcastle into the Champions League?”, “Is Nick Pope a Catholic?”
A further weapon in the Saudi arsenal is that we live in divisive times. There is no room for nuance. You're in or out, leave or remain. Nail your colours to the mast, die on your hill. In this environment, any pushback against the new Arabian dawn is seen as a misguided attempt to claim a non-existent moral high ground. "How can you feel so strongly when you'll still use an Uber? You fill your car with BP oil, even the UK government sell arms to Saudi."
True, but I’ve never travelled for five hours on a bus to Stoke, just to catch an Uber. When I was 8, I didn’t ask my dad to write the final share price of BP on a piece of paper and leave it on the kitchen table because I wasn’t allowed to stay up until the stock markets closed. And yes, the government does do business with Saudi Arabia, but they also believe flying migrants to Rwanda is a legitimate immigration policy. So if we need a tool to navigate this minefield of hypocrisy, probably best not to reach for a moral compass with no North.
At a purely sporting level however, it’s difficult to argue that supporters shouldn’t just climb aboard and enjoy the ride. Far more fun to be on the rollercoaster than the one asking to see the risk assessment. In 14 years of Mike Ashley’s ownership, St James’ Park became a hollow shell, a place devoid of joy and meaning where ambition came to die. The once vivid black and white having been dulled to a vast swath of grey. The joy of the Ashley era being over was a genuine cause for celebration. The club had been stuck in a loveless marriage and then almost overnight, not only was the divorce confirmed, but we had a handsome new partner who was ready to sweep us off our feet and promise us the world. Whether you want to live in that world comes down to what you think a football club is, or more accurately, what you want it to be.
That is why there’s no objective truth, no definitive right or wrong way to feel. Newcastle United Football Club represents something unique to every one of the 50,000 supporters who file through the turnstiles every other week. For what it's worth, my own set of criteria consists of wanting to have a club I am proud to support, some unpredictability of sporting outcome, and the prospect that one day we could triumph in the face of adversity and ascend to the top of the mountain. But if we’ve already addressed the reasons why my pride in the club is at an all time low, it's also worth looking at why the sporting side of the equation doesn't meet those personal criteria either.
The inevitability of the success that’s just around the corner is possibly the saddest part. As soon as we triumph as a result of the Saudi money, Newcastle United becomes just another football club. We’re no longer the outsiders, battling against the elite in the hope of one day, some day, ending our near 70 year wait for a domestic trophy. We will have become the thing we have always been opposed to.
The new found wealth dictates that the opportunity to triumph in the face of adversity has forever been removed from the list of possibilities available to Newcastle United supporters. Like the long serving employee finally promoted into management, however much you think you’re still one of the workers, you never will be again, you simply cannot be. Because despite what Nigel Farage tells you, you can’t rail against the establishment when you are the establishment. Newcastle United will be fully paid up members of the elite, winning trophies through sheer force of finances.
And after the initial outpouring of joy, there will be sadness. It is one of the great delusions of sport that we convince ourselves we want to see our team be successful. The truth is we know it’s far more satisfying to sit and talk about the errors in team selection, the chances missed, why the manager has to go. When all those rough edges have been oiled, and all that’s left to discuss is the ongoing success of your inverted full-backs, it’s in that moment you’ll realise you’ve been sold a dream you never dreamt.
I write this in the full knowledge that there is no going back now. The Saudi juggernaut is not for turning. Superstars will be signed, trophies will be won, and when it’s all said and done, I’ll be here, patiently waiting for my club back. It may take 5 years, more likely 25, but nothing lasts forever. Just ask Chelsea.
It’s a complicated situation, but beautifully simple at the same time. Supporting a football club is passion, joy and connection. Strip everything back and it’s nothing more than a feeling. And that’s the simplicity of feelings, you either feel them, or you don’t.