Nine days of wonder make memories to last a lifetime | OneFootball

What a great end to the old year for Newcastle United fans, capped only by a fantastic start to the new one.

Those first 25 minutes or so at Old Trafford, against a team and a club who have done so much over the years to blight our lives, were majestic.

Breathtaking movement, winning every challenge, running rings round the Salfords. We stuffed them better than a seasonal turkey.

Those last 25 minutes at the Emirates on Tuesday night could hardly have been a bigger contrast, style-wise, but we were equally magnificent in racking up seven straight wins.

United repelled everything the repulsive Arsenal threw at us. Their dead-ball deliveries were headed clear, booted clear, run clear and punched clear (big up to Martin Dubravka) while every shot threatening our net was blocked by the keeper or his brothers in arms.

In between those two maches, was a gritty and skilful display at the home of Arsenal’s north London lesser lights. Caught cold when Solanke scored the lone goal we conceded in those nine days of wonder, we hit back instantly thanks to Anthony Gordon’s left-footed strike into the far corner, then completed the turnaround with yet another slick finish from Ice-Cool Alex Isak. One more assist for the inspirational Jacob Murphy was the icing on the Christmas cake.

So much to enjoy, so much to admire, on and off the pitch.

Our Swedish superstar fielding barbed post-match questions with answers as deft as his footwork. It’s been said before and it’s worth saying again: “I bet he looks good on the dancefloor!”

Every time some media numpty suggested he must want to play in the Champions League (blatantly implying he would have to abandon NUFC to fulfil that ambition) our main man modestly stated that all his mates fancied a second crack at the Continent’s best.

Every time they tried to pin him into a corner, he waltzed past them by pointing out this recent run has been a team effort; of the highest order, I would like to add.

Eddie Howe’s words have been measured, reasonable and realistic. If only other managers would learn from his example, particularly those two charlatans employed in “it’s grim up north London.”

Big Ange (who, despite his attacking philosophy, is edging towards the undesirable camp occupied by Big Sam) spouted more drivel than Inspector Dibble after United outclassed his outfit last Saturday. He tried to wrongfoot the FA censors with some verbal gymnastics but has still landed in hot water because of his “fair and even” opinion. A word of advice, Big Ange: balancing on the head of a pin is a pointless exercise, especially when you carry a bit of timber.

To be magnanimous in victory is a desirable quality, so here’s my take on the game at Tottenham. We were the better team, played the better football and gratefully accepted the gifts offered by the generous hosts. Oh, we also scored more goals than the opposition. Football philosophy is all fine and dandy, Big Ange, but the English Premier League is a brutally unforgiving arena. A bit of pragmatism rarely goes amiss.

In response to the rhetorical question he posed after a match last month, yes, we were entertained. Royally so; and not for the first time when overcoming the Lilywhites. He needs to accept the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune with fortitude, rather than throwing his toys out of the pram. His “I’ve never been angrier” outburst does nobody any favours. Attacking at will butters no festive parsnips unless there’s a bit of grit in the oyster.

As for his managerial neighbour . . .

Were my eyes deceiving me last night or did I see that old cheat Lee Dixon, who now “earns” a living as an ITV rentagob, give Mikel Arteta a loving pre-match embrace? You really couldn’t make it up. Did the dastardly Dixon also bask in the glory of kicking David Ginola beyond breaking point at Highbury nearly 30 years ago? Shameless is too kind a word for that one-footed, one-eyed former full-back.

Not to be outdone, Ian Wright, chief cheerleader for the Gooners, issued an impassioned post-match appeal to the Arsenal board. “You must back Arteta in this transfer window.” Who gives a flying fig?

Apologies for my bad spelling: that should have been Ian Wrong, chief cheerleader for the Goners. At least he was honest enough to concede the current strike force of his beloved former club was as toothless as Wilfrid Brambell in Steptoe And Son. If only Wright had plaintively uttered the immortal cry: “Oh, Harold . . . ”

By the way, when did ITV Sport morph into a branch of Arsenal Inc, I wonder. At about the same time the mass media decided only six clubs in England were worthy of respect, presumably.

Three of those six have just been put in their place by the most United team I can remember. Old Trafford? Tick. Naming Rights Here stadium? Tick. The Emirates? Tick. United in name, united in deed.

In case you forgot, the owners of the dirty half-dozen recently thought their place was in a laughably described European Super League, far removed from a “wee club in the north-east”.

To quote the Moody Blues, complete with chunky piano chords: “You’d better go now, go now, go now”. Life won’t be getting any easier for you lot in the foreseeable.