How I ended up a Newcastle United fan and not a Sunderland fan… | OneFootball

A few years ago I wasn’t a well man. I found myself in hospital, nil by mouth, being fed through a tube in the stomach.

One day, a mate comes in to see me, decides to replicate Dennis and Neville visiting Oz in a Dussledorf Krankenhaus.

From under his coat, he pulls out a can of lager and says, “There you go pal, thought you would like that.”

Suffice to say, I was not in the mood for his practical joke and told him where he could shove his can.

His response to my outburst was, “Don’t be so bloody miserable, this cr.p will end, you will get better and we will walk into St James Park again next year. Besides, what have you got to moan about, you could have been a Mackem.”

Now equating the pains of being treated for Cancer to that of someone who supports Sunderland was a bit extreme, even for him, but his gallows humour did make me laugh.

For many of you, there simply was never a chance you would have become a Mackem rather than a Newcastle United fan. Your older brother, your Dad, your mates, made sure of that.

However, I’m guessing there are a few of you who could have swung the other way?

Can I just say thank you to Rosie in 3C for ensuring which way I swung.

Chester-le-street is 10 miles from St James’ Park and was 12 miles from Roker Park. The school was mixed, with a very rough estimate being 60% Mags.

However, looking back, I now realise that the kids sort of practiced their own segregation policy.

The lad I sat next to in Maths was a Mag, the lad in French was a Mag, the lad in Physics was a Mag.

Actually, I cant say the last one for certain, because I spent my five years of Physics in a coma, while being ‘taught’ about Atomic structure.

I mean, seriously, what the hell was Physics about. It was way way too much for my 14 year old adolescent brain.

The segregation policy would become most apparent, during PE. When the sadistic teacher (Mr Mackem Bell) on occasion allowed us to play football, instead of sending us out in the rain to do a cross country run around Chester park.

We would immediately split into Newcastle v Sunderland.

We only had about 30 minutes to play but would waste 10 of those deciding who was to be which player.

Obviously the biggest lad would be Supermac, then we would work our way down the pecking order. By the time they got to me, I would get Frank Clark.

No one ever wanted to be Frankie.

If you are old enough to remember the film Kes and in particular the football match scene, that scenario was played out on thousands of school playgrounds across the North east in the 70s.

Anyway, back to why I’m a Newcastle United fan.

Although my mother was from Northumberland, my dad was a Scot with no interest in football. I didn’t have any strong family influences on my potential allegiance.

It came down to fate.

Two of my dad’s workmates said they would take 9 year old Jinky to a game.

First up was Sid , who takes me to Roker Park.

Yes readers, my first ever game was at Sunderland. You can’t change history .

We stood on the open Roker end, it poured on our heads for the entire time and the game ended 0-0.

It was a truly miserable experience.

Next week it was Geoff, who takes me to St James’ Park.

He has two tickets in the West Stand (Geoff was posh).

We win 4-1 and I spend 90 minutes stuffing myself with Tizer and Tudor cheese and onion.

What a blissful day.

If this is what being a Newcastle United fan is all about, where do I sign up?

Now it is fair to say that the last 50 years of supporting this club has not been all Tizer and Tudor cheese and onion. We have had to endure many a year of Cresta and Pickled onion.

However, those days are over .

So when Anthony Gordon slots in the 92nd minute winner against Chelsea this weekend, remember to thank your brother, your father, your neighbour, whoever it was.

Thank you for making me a Mag.