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This trip was already known to be a wash regarding seeing a game. Once again months of preparation was washed away by a feeble Blackburn side offering token resistance to Arsenal in the F.A. cup quarterfinals. Myself, Jimmy, Phil, Simon and Mark had all made the valiant attempt to get up by 10am to arrive at the Kinsale (94th/3rd) to cheer on the Rovers and thus not allow Arsenal an F.A. cup semi-final place, which of course would postpone the Newcastle game. Jimmy was one with the spirit world having brought several talisman with him including a Newcastle Brown Ale coaster, a 'lucky' rock, a mini Darth Vader doll and not least, a picture of his dearly departed dog. And amazingly, the immense voodoo wrought by the mysterious synergy of these artifacts seemed to work, at least until opening kickoff whereupon Arsenal strolled to a 2-0 lead within the first 5 minutes. Nothing was left but to have a couple of pints, and Simon and I stayed to watch the magical Wycombe Wanderers victory over Leicester in injury time (Wycombe of course being my hometown for those of you not paying attention). The publicity wrought by our last trip (2 articles in 'The Sun', an article in 'USA Today' and a proposed Transworld documentary segment) helped us attract followers, and by the week of the trip we had grown to 9 strong - Myself, Jimmy, Malone, Silent Mark, Tommy Accordino, Phil Woodisse, Simon Piper, Kenny Howe and Marc Walby. We had transformed this trip into mythic proportions, especially with the transference of purpose from watching a simple soccer game to making it Tommy's bachelor weekend.
I knew it was going to be a tough trip when at 8am on Friday April 5th there was me, Jimmy and Silent Mark sititng with a pint of Grolsh at the Heathrow bar. The sad thing was there were several other people doing the same thing. We went straight to the Strawb on arrival to be greeted by Caroline telling us the phone had been ringing at the pub for us for weeks. Within a few minutes I was on the phone to a producer at BBC Radio 5 discussing a 2:30pm appointment for a 5 minute interview. Meanwhile Marc Walby joined Jimmy, Silent Mark and myself, and after drowsily hanging on to do my interview from the bar stool it was off for a nap. That night was relatively tame because nightlife in Newcastle is apparently restricted to Friday/Saturday nights - apparently the disposable cash for frivolities that exists in the major metropolises hasn't perculated up north. We did take the chance to go to the Boat, but Jimmy and Silent bagged early with myself and Marc admitting defeat not too long after.
Friday, the Big Day. After all the promises, it was time to open the present and see what was to be had. Malone and Phil had arrived in the morning so it was a matter of catching the cabs to County Durham and the Newcastle training ground. When we were arrived we were gratified that people seemed to know who we were, and Hazel from the chairman's office continued to take good care of us. We got to go out on the fringe and watch as the players came out, whispering as we decided who we recognized. Then came a face that was as recognizable as it gets, Bobby Robson, ex-England Manager, current Newcastle Manager. We got to have a nice quick chat with him, some great photos and then who came by but the great Alan Shearer, ex-England captain, prolific national and club scorer. We had the honour of getting our pictures taken with him, then the first real surprise. A man with immaculate white gloves came by with the REAL premiership trophy, up from Old Trafford (enjoy it while you can, suckers). It was quite surreal, having our pictures taken with legends and trophies by multiple photographers and a video camera. Jim from Transworld Sports had joined us in Newcastle after his journey out to chronicle our progress in New York. This time he brought an accomplice Albie to do the camera work while he got to direct.
After our photo ops it was time to go watch training. If it was surreal before, now it was downright unreal watching the players scrimmage and having them shout out each others names, just like us! Periodically Bobby would stop practice to point out mistakes, positioning etc. At about this time Tommy joined us, his flight having been delayed an hour or two. After watching practice for a couple of hours it was time to head back to St. James Park for dinner with Hazel in the Magpie room, a luxury dining room with a fantastic view of the ground. The facilities at St.James Park are magnificent, with the ability to handle any type of conference or just a regular match day. No wonder England will be entertaining Albania there in September '01. Near the end of lunch our final stragglers came in, Simon and Kenny. Kenny had the misfortune of obtaining his tickets through Priceline, so was naturally stranded at Frankfurt for several hours. Fortunately they didn't get to miss all the fun because they ended up meeting the Chairman's representative, receiving a Newcastle Bootbag and getting a tour of the stadium with the rest of us before it was time to stop by at the Strawberry. After several hours here it was time to head home for a nap before heading to the Copthorne, one of the ritzier places in Newcastle. After a couple of hours of 'entertainment' at one of the suites several of us grew bored and went out on the town (if you've seen one fat ugly newcastle stripper you've seen them all). This time we managed to get into the Baha, primarily because it was pretty late. After wandering up and down we left to go eat with a couple of Newcastle girls (Inside joke = Greedy C). Although in the mood to party there were no places open after 2pm so we went back to the room where I had to beat Kenny down for being cheeky.
Second verse, same as the first. Breakfast with Kenny at Pimp Daddy's. Pints at Strawberry while watching the Grand National. Indian Food. Meeting up at 'Sea' Nightclub. Chickenhead. Acuna out partying. Out so long that Jimmy and Simon have passed out, sobered up and come out to meet us at 2am. Endless fruitless search for open nightclub at 3am. Singing 'Cheer up CPR' at the top of our voices on Main street. Closed 'Legacy'. Cursing out Ruth in the middle of the street. Last resort Travelodge. Stunned to see over 50 people drinking and partying. Coercing bartender to stay open till 4:30am, then buying a case of Grolsch as last order. Chatting with terrible scottish women. Still drinking as Kenny leaves in his Merc. to get to Manchester for his 8am flight. Ending up in some terrible scottish women's room. Escaping with Tommy and some random guy from Brooklyn. Walking back to other hotel in daylight.
Mellow day. Relaxing and watching Arsenal beat Spurs in the first F.A. cup semifinal, then having Malone join me to watch the classic Liverpool vs Wycombe Wanderers (who would have ever thought you'd hear those two teams in the same sentance) semifinal. Regretting not sucking it up and going down to dreary Birmingham to see the game. 'Do youse not know what a Yorkshire pudding is, lad?' 'I never thought I'd see the day when somebody thought Yorkshire pudding was foreign food'. Nap, then Chase for a couple of hours of vintage mocking. Malone has now been sold on the glories of good indian food, and wonder of wonders lobbies for us to go have a curry. Once again it was tremendous, and I wisely ordered enough along with some genuine chippies to have for breakfast the next day.