For the first time I learned of the thin line between heroes and villains in football | OneFootball

I haven’t written a piece about Newcastle United for a while, not since the Mike Ashley days (distracted you from Alexander Isak for a moment, didn’t I?).

Unfortunately, they usually come at low points for the club, but this one ends with an interesting snapshot in time.

I arrived in Newcastle in 1991 as a 9-year-old.

Over those early years the passion for NUFC amongst school mates and local lads in the west end was feverish. Kevin Keegan was working wonders for United. Andy Cole and Perter Beardsley were firing in the goals.

I became obsessed, absorbing everything the back few pages of the Chronicle had to offer whilst on my paper round.

Basking in the winning scorelines, the standout performances and looking out for the next big signing. We tried to replicate our heroes in the parks, the back lane, and the boys’ club, rain, hail or shine.

When Cole was sold, like every Newcastle fan, I was incensed. I didn’t understand the business side of football. I cared about my footballing heroes. The poster of Cole came off my wall. The one saving grace was I didn’t get Cole on the back of my first ever toon strip. Other players were signed of course. But for the first time I learned of the thin line between heroes and villains in football.

When sportsmen and women achieve, serve their sport well, honour their commitment to their club, respect and embrace their fans, it leaves a legacy. It can’t be quantified. Fans will always stand up and take note of what they say, gravitating towards them. Sporting messiahs. We’re always on the lookout for the next one.

I was rarely gripped more by the Chronicle, than when it highlighted who we were looking to sign as our next star striker in the mid-90s. Could it be Bergkamp? Del Piero maybe? But when Alan Shearer arrived back in town, the excitement was stratospheric. His undying love for the club, sporting achievements, and loyalty to the fans will endure. Decades on and this is still the case.

I have hyped Shearer’s legacy to my eldest son. Maybe he’ll come to appreciate him, but I understand he won’t ever have the same relationship with Newcastle United that I have. He has different heroes. His first ever toon strip has Isak written on the back of it. Having to break the news of Isak’s departure was heartbreaking. Imagine your first club hero bailing under these selfish circumstances.

As I reflect on the outcome of the summer-long story, I ask myself – what did Alexander Isak achieve?

Goals, a trophy, a suitcase full of money, yes, but what could he have achieved beyond that?

Did he embrace the fans? Did he honour his commitment to the club? Did he respect the fans? Apparently not. Decades from now, I doubt our opinion of him will likely have changed. His legacy is absolutely torched.

About that snapshot.

I knew the streets of Fenham well – especially those I lived on and delivered the newspapers to. I haven’t lived there in 25 years, but occasionally I recognise pictures online (I’m back in Australia now).

Recently I saw a photo that blew my mind. I’ll describe the scene.

It’s 1977. A large crowd gathers at the West End Boys Club in Fenham, unassumingly tucked away at the end of Sutherland Avenue and Baldwin Avenue (where I eventually lived in 91’). The crowds are there to see a visiting sportsman, one at the very peak of his sporting achievements. He wasn’t a Newcastle United player, but gained global respect, and built a legacy that extended well beyond sport. His name was Muhammad Ali.

Even as fans you have to hang around long enough to really feel how ingrained sports heroes are with the community. Occasionally they transcend even that.