November 25, 1989. Football League Division Two

NEWCASTLE UNITED 2, SHEFFIELD UNITED 0

Gallacher 7, Quinn 37

Att: 27,170

NEWCASTLE: Burridge, Stimson, Kristensen, Scott, Ranson, Brock, Dillon, Gallacher (Fereday), O’Brien, McGhee, Quinn.

SHEFFIELD UNITED: Tracey, Stancliffe, Hill, Morris, Rostron, Booker, Lake (Webster), Gannon, Bryson, Deane, Francis (Duffield).

***

It’s probably a knocking bet that this fixture won’t take place next season, so it’s nice to give the Blades the send off they deserve. A Friday flashback.

Despite what you think, we haven’t actually played each other all that often. The fact that some games between us felt like they lasted about three years (hello Bruce under lockdown!) explains that myth. Between 1979 and 1988 and 2010 and 2019 our paths didn’t cross once, but there are still some memorable games to go on: promotion achieved under Hughton, the first NUFC match after Covid, and a 4-0 win under Keegan when melting snow slid off the Milburn stand roof onto the paddock, such was our red hot performance.

I’m going to go this time with a game which is seemingly going to be in my memory bank forever. NUFC v SUFC in 1989.

You know when you’ve still got the innocence of football leading you? I was nearly ten years old and I thought Newcastle United were the best in the land and the Brock/Dillon midfield was as good as anything the current Manchester City team could throw up.

Talking of throwing up, I had been ill for most of the week and off school, so this nearly didn’t happen. The last thing I needed was a cold November day in my overused nostrils. The autumn scent which had an evocative medicinal boost soon gave way to hot dogs, urine and Horse shit at the ground. Walkers’ new flavour crisps?

Newcastle had just been relegated. Not just relegated, they were RELEGATED. Very much in capital letters. The season before had started off badly at twenty seconds at Everton and got seismically worse, we didn’t score in the whole of the autumn. We were out of our depth, close to financial ruin and subject to a hostile takeover.

My first ever game was in January. A 2-2 draw for the ages against champions Liverpool in front of packed ground. I then saw us lose to Aston Villa and I asked my dad where all the people had gone.

Although it wasn’t to be admitted, the Second Division was a lot more fun at the time. Derbies were back, and Leeds, Middlesbrough, and a lot of relatively northern teams were there, and we were expected to win a lot more games. For a ten year old buckling under the peer pressure of Liverpool, Manchester United, Arsenal, and Rangers, winning was the key to not getting laughed at again.

Leeds on the first day was a hoot, but we had stuttered at the start, and being seventh at the end of September wasn’t going to quench the thirst of an expectant child who had been told it was going to be our league to win.

However, McGhee’s wonder goal in injury time against Bradford changed the course of our season* (*for a little bit) and when leaders Sheffield United turned up, it felt like a big game. United themselves had only been promoted in the summer but were a big club and, under Dave Bassett, they were recreating Wimbledon. They had got off to a flyer and were not afraid to upset the more fancied teams on the way.

They turned up at St James’ in one of the most memorable strips ever. Red socks, red shorts, and a fluorescent yellow shirt. Umbro were throwing the kitchen sink at innovative design after innovative design. Also see our away kit at that time. Not only did people get them mixed up with stewards, it blew a ten year old’s mind.

What a kit. It still is.

When you are a kid, when it gets dark at half time it’s so awe inspiring, so to see a team bursting out the dusk in a fluorescent kit was incredible. I even wanted to know who “Laver ” was, italically adorning the front. Turns out it was a timber yard. A quick look on Ebay and it’s going for £250 nowadays.

The crowd was massive. Nearly thirty thousand in the second tier, another thing to blow a young lad’s mind. It was also very loud. One of the best pre-match atmospheres I can ever remember.

The noise hit scary proportions only four minutes in: a long ball was made a meal of by a United defender and Kevin Gallacher nipped in, ran clear and slotted in, right in front of the Blades fans who had most of the Leazes. It was mayhem.

Mark McGhee and Brock both twice almost added to our lead, before St James’ hit fever pitch with a second eight minutes before the break. The Blades had looked awful at the back, and this time it was keeper Simon Tracey who ballsed up, failing to deal with a corner. When the ball was headed back, Quinn nodded in from about six yards.

Quinn was sensational that season. Not just in a ten year old hyperbole way, but in reality. This was Quinn’s 17th of the season and we hadn’t even got the decorations out.

Everything he did almost certainly ended up with a goal. Him and McGhee were unplayable.

Sheffield United, including main man Brian Deane, did not threaten. Gallacher hit the bar with a sitter, while McGhee, Quinn, and Fereday all could have added more.

You know what a game like that gives you?…Hope. For that split second at the time, we were back. The archaic, maniac, magnificent football club that is Newcastle were going up. The pride was back, people were smiling again, and everything was alright in the world.

For an area where, for a lot of people, everything wasn’t right in the world, having Newcastle back put other things on the back burner for 90 minutes, as opposed to the pressure relief valve of football being the exact opposite.

Of course it’s the hope that kills you.

We lost the next week to new leaders Leeds United, before one of the most painful endings to a season for a Newcastle fan, ever. We beat West Ham 3-0 with a week to go, to set up a last day duel with the Blades and Leeds to go up.

We were at Ayresome Park. The club beamed the game back to St James’ but no one could see as they put the screen at the end where the sun dropped. We capitulated 4-1 as Boro stayed up and Leeds won the league and Sheffield United second.

Into the play offs and Sunderland. 0-0 at Joker Park followed by one of the darkest nights in United’s modern history. I will leave it there but it’s safe to say a ten year old got to know a lot more swear words over that period and especially when the red and whites got promoted despite losing the final, as Swindon were as bent as fuck. Yes, I learned that one.

So Sheffield united at home always throw up memories of fluorescent kits, the flu, childlike wonder at timber yards and Bjorn Kristensen.

Bring Saturday on, right now.

Scott Robson