Howmanheyman

It's an old moan, like, but who gave BT sport permission to change our club's name to just 'Newcastle'?

Expecting the usual Liverpool-centric views from BT.

Think we'll get twatted. The genius tactical mind game expert manager not factoring in the words 'Lord Mayors show', 'after' and 'law of averages' into his pre-game patter. Rodgers feverishly trying to work out our line up as I write this. ADP, or even OTF, needing to up his game with the soccer am style title of the thread.

Twenty years since 'Rumble in The Colliery' next year too.

Just had a quick look at RTG's man city v NUFC thread. Absolutely breathtaking the amount of bitterness they have considering they've three wins on the bounce against us. Genuinely thick as fuck.

Was at graft so could only see the highlights last night but it looked like we deserved it. Away ties in this competition aren't always such a bad thing but when you get to the quarters you want to be at home. Fucking stinks we've got the only all premier League tie and away yet again. Sissoko's goal was a peach and Aarons looks bright as button. Great result.

I work with a couple of workshy bell-ends with zero patter. Should I send an e-mail to HR as well?

It's the inference that his sacking lead to relegation. He could have also said that Noocarsuw would never have been relegated had they kept Keegan.

I caught five mins of the Saturday football show on Sky with Stelling, (I know, PL), where Merson repeated yet again that 'Noocarsuw would never have got relegated if they had've kept Big Sam'.

The secret diary of Lee Ryder aged 44 and a half. 25/1014 Should've wrote this yesterday but was busy travelling to to the big smoke for the game with Spurs. The recession is obviously hitting Thomson House as instead of putting us up in Lenny Henry's favourite hotel, they put us in a private run little pokey place just round the corner from Leicester Square. I say 'us' as I have to share with Neil fucking Cameron from The Journal as well! Cams ok, like but when ah says lets hit Soho and deek the fanny he says he's busy preparing for the match then needs to wash his hair, the big puff! Nee idea why he'd want to stay in this dive though, fuck knaas who was here before us but we found loadsa weird photos under the bed of plates of food and some strange looking ginger bloke tekking a photo of himself in a long mirror. Anyways, ah gans out myself and you know the famous saying, 'Wherever you gan, you'll always meet a Geordie'? Well fuck me! Ah bumps into John Anderson and Mick Lowes! Nottingham Mick and Dubliner Anderson, the scourge of flying left wingers, of course rule the roost on the local airwaves and are down for the commentary of the match tomorrow. "Alreet, John?" ah shouts. He says hello back but doesn't say owt else and starts talking to Lowes. "John, you remember me, Lee Ryder? Ah work for The Chronicle, Ah once asked you a question at a talk-in at the New York & Murton Social club in North Shields, not remember? Ah says how did it feel when you snapped the legs of that Charlton kid an you says, 'Walshy?, good mate of mine, I was gutted', You not remember now, man?" Anyways he says to me that he definitely remembered me but they must be suffering from the same disease as Cams as they reckon they have to get back and get their heads down for an early start. Didn't expect that of Ando, like, as he was tanning the fucking Guinness when ah first spotted him. Anyways, ah gets a chinkees and head back as it looks like ahm ganna by meself if ah stay out. Ryder and out.

That extra hour shift is a twat, more psychological in reality but a twat nonetheless. You have my sympathy.

Jammy bastard. I'll have a celebratory pint on your behalf! (I insist, it's been a tough day).

The secret diary of Lee Ryder aged 44 and a half. 24/10/2014 Well ah had a piece from Tayls the other day, then yesterday ah done a bit on Supermac so was struggling a bit with what to do today? I thought of going all Caulkin and Bird and mebbees tracking down some of Ashley's business ventures but ah've five-a-side tonight and didn't want to risk missing the kick off at six bells so I got out Alan Oliver's little 'desperate black book' he left me when he fucked off to The People and sharp came to the letter 'B'. Craig Bellamy told me to never fucking ring his house again or he'd gouge the eyes out of my stupid fucking baldy head but luckily Lee Bowyer had a spare five minutes so I had a quick chat with him instead. Anyways, that only took 'iz all of ten minutes to write up so FC ncjmedia could mop their brows with relief as midfield maestro Ryder will be ok to pull the strings which is bad fucking news for 'Big Al's Balls' who we take on later tonight. Also great for my readers who get to hear the views of another NUFC legend, Bowyer, brought to them by yours truly. As ah had a spare half hour ah thought ah'd preview the Spurs game on a video blog. Ah'm fully aware we are now in a multi media age and the days of the old 'Pink' are long gone so ah get my views videoed and put online, I check out the hits and am a bit gobsmacked that the 'True Geordie' gets more hits than me! Fair enough, ah knaa that most of them will just be laughing at the foul mouthed, daft baldy bastard who talks shite because for real in-depth analysis they'll listen to me later who of course is fuck all like the fucking so-called 'True Geordie'. (Never saw the cunt at Filbert Street when it kicked off, like. Still probably watching the Power Rangers on children's ITV at the time the baldy prick). Anyway, early start at the Eldon Square active league tonight so this is Lee Ryder signing off. Sweet!

For justice, they should've seen Don Corleone.

Good call. I'll squeeze him in somewhere, I'm sure.

The secret diary of Lee Ryder aged 44 and a half. 23/10/2014 Things getting heavy again, Ahm starting to think I might be an engendered, err, endangeroused, a nearly extinct reporter! First off was me in the office chewing the fat with the new Office Junior, John Gibson's nephew, Alan. I was just saying that yeah, Supermac was a great striker for United but interviewing him takes ages as he fucking drones on and fucking on veering off the subject when all of a sudden.....CRASH!!! A quarter full bottle of Bells whiskey whizzes past just missing my napper and crashes against the wall! It was thrown by the elder Gibson! "Don't ever fucking call Mac again, y'baldy bastard, I''l tell yer this, we've had more patter off him and more nights out together than you'll ever have with that fucking useless sun-tanned, gormless grinning, fist waving, fucking coco the clown, Steven fucking Taylor!" I'm foaming at the old drunken tosspot but manage to calm down as he's getting on and is my Gaffer. I don't think he realises how close he was to getting a mouthful of Ryder knuckle! Anyway, I look at young Gibbo and think that'll be me chucking bottles of Peroni about in a few years time and young Gibson will get what Uncle Gibbo didn't. Anyhows, all this was just a very small taster to the main event, the dangerous times of a regional investigative sports journalist on the United beat. I leave Thomson house into a foggy Tyneside night after staying late to finish off Supermouth's ramblings when ah take a quick look at my phone, all of a sudden ah hears a blaring BBBEEEEEEPPPPPP!!!!!!! and jump out the way of a car that nearly hits me full on! Ah get up dazed only to see a blokey look out his window shaking his fist and shouting, "Look where you gannin you fucking stupid baldy bastard!!" before whizzing off! Wow! Serious stuff, man. I'm obviously starting to get too near to the truth for somebodies liking. Obviously someones rattled and the heavies have even managed to somehow track me down to my workplace to put the frighteners on. Not sure if it could be related to 'Hairgel-gate' or not, maybe Wendy Taylor's lad has read the body language between me and her and is warning me off. Hard to say, but after being shaken, ah gets up and dusts myself down with a real determination not to get intimidated, Ah never ran at Leeds and ah wont run now. If Lee Ryder was a country ah'd be twinned with Jason Bourne which is canny approp....apoppr.......makes sense right now. Laters.

Used to enjoy singing this to the friendly neighbourhood thugs who treat football fans like shit back in the day. Wouldn't sing it now, obviously.

Some right fucking arselickers amongst the fans never mind the likes of Charnley.

The secret diary of Lee Ryder aged 44 and a half. 22/10/2014 Get a text from Stevie Taylor, he wants to meet in his apartment down by the quayside so I get to check out his swanky pad and get an easy as fuck write up for the Ronny Gill as Tayls sings like a black & white canary. NUFC are stopping the players from speaking to me officially as I'm obviously too near the edge for Ashley and Charnley, I'm a loose cannon they think they can control but I hit the jackpot when I discover that Steven Taylor got his agent to put a clause in his contract where he can talk to ANY media people he likes as long as the topic is himself which is where former terrace foot soldier Ryder comes in. I sink one in the Waterline before heading to Taylor's Premier Pad. I knock on the door and eventually I hear footsteps and the door slowly opens and fuck me, I'm blinded by the most brilliant white light I've ever seen. It's like the light on the spaceship from 'Close encounters of the 3rd kind' when all the missing people come out when the hatch opens! I'm squinting my eyes like a Chinkee on speed! Finally my eyes get used to the light a bit better and I realise the insane brightness is just from Stevie Taylor's brilliant, Colgate white teeth! He has this outlandish suit on with a waistcoat and a flowery tie and a tan that would put Lenny Henry to shame. I can't help but think that Tayls is carrying on that great tradition of looking the part just like Barry Venison used to do, it's great to see. Anyway, he chats on about loving the Toon, hating the Mackems and running through brick walls for NUFC, he talks about being a caged lion when he's not getting game time and I'm thinking that this is JUST the type of stuff what our fans want to hear and Ryder delivers it to them yet again.

The secret diary of Lee Ryder aged 44 and a half. 21/10/2014 The morning after the night before so the saying goes, Ah get a text off some researcher for the Sports breakfast telling me that Alan Brazil is concentrating on a different sporting subject this morning to 'hairgel-gate' but they'll get back to me another time though. Result! Ah get ready and hot foot it down to the Presser at St. James' Park where I await the fall out from my HBA- Colo exclusive. Pards smiles and asks "How yer doing?" before it gets under way, Doug Weatherall kicks off by asking if rumours are true about the directors flying out to Turin to make a sensational bid to bring Ian Rush back to England before security take him to the cafe for a cup of tea before the care home come to take him back. Next up it's my turn, I cough and all eyes are on me, "Alan", I start, "What do you want to tell the fans about the bust up betwee....." and that's as far as I get before Wendy Taylor interrupts me, "Sorry Lee, no questions from you." So, I'm still persona non grata at NUFC. I flash my anger at Pards and see something pass between me and Wendy, there's something definitely there between us despite being on different sides of the NUFC/Thomson house divide. It's like that song, 'Nikita' by Elton John, Wendy's the beautiful blonde Soviet officer with 'eyes that look like ice on fire' and I'm Elton John on the other side of the wire. Elton John before he was a puff, anyway. The moment passes though and I head back to the office to tidy up a little filler story from Bob Moncur urging everyone to stick together. Five minutes later I'm goff. Another day another dollar on 'the United beat' as my old mentor Ollie would say. I walk down the street to my Mam's but not before I catch Donnelly from over the road staring. I swear to God, this kid is sailing in dangerous waters, here, like. He's a big lad for 16 but the kid has never had frisk down the Boleyn Ground like the frisk I once saw 100 yards in front of me one year. He needs to watch his step. Mam asks me how my day was before making my favourite dinner, mince and dumplings. When I finish I make an appointment to see Tayls tomorrow as he's a fucking goldmine for NUFC reporters. I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.

I had a fancy dress party once based on emotions and when I opened the door to Paddy and Murphy they were both bollock naked, one had his dick stuck in a piece of fruit, the other had his knob dangling in a bowl of yellow liquid. When I asked them what they were doing, Paddy said, "Well I have just come in dis pear, while Murphy here, is fucking dis custard." Hope that helps?

The secret diary of Lee Ryder aged 44 and a half. 20/10/2014 Things getting pretty serious today, after a slow start, Ah gets a ring off a NUFC snout of mine who, just like me, has had to move underground after being labelled a danger to the regime at the Cathedral on the hill, St. James' Park. He's an ex-NUFC starlet who must remain anonymous as he signed a confidentiality agreement so we meet in the murky world of North Shields in a little Italian restaurant which was recommended to me by Mr Eats in the Thomson house bait room last week. It's late as my nark comes through the door at Sambucas looking agitated. "What you got for me?" I ask him, my mouth full of the potato wedges and garlic sauce, part of the three course £3.99 special. He then tells me of a dressing room bust up between Ben Arfa and Skipper, El Capo Colo. It's pretty explosive stuff which will be on the front and back page tomorrow of the old Ronnie Gill. Apparently Colo was bending to tie his laces up when the former Fontainebleau academie sensation squeezed a tube of the Argentines hair gel straight down the crack of his arse! There was hell on and I quickly realised I had the run on the likes of Caulkin for a change. "Right! great stuff Remi! That was right up my 'Streete', here's the fifty bar I promised, if John Gibson asks, tell him it's just for the tab at The Bacchus." He just tells me to "fuck off you baldy bastard" and not mention his name again. The strain of being on the outside is obviously breaking this kid, Ryder's made of sterner stuff though. I race back to the Cloth Market to write up my latest scoop and pass ex-Toon goal assassin, Micky Quinn on the stairs. "Come 'ead, La" I smile at the Scouse number nine and he jokes back, "Fuck off, son, I've an appointment with Stella and a few of her mates and you're name's not down". Great craic, Quinny, we bounce off each other great. The North East sleeps tonight in blissful ignorance of 'Hairgel-gate' that is awaiting them in the morning, courtesy of former terrace Mag, Lee Ryder of the Evening Chronicle. I set the alarm to go off early when I get home to bed in case I get that call from Alan Brazil first thing as this just has to go national. It's been a good day.

"Paper back Ryder (paperback Ryder) Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my shite? It took me minutes to write, will you take a look? It's based on Henry Winter bowt a scoop he got And I need a job, so I want to be a Guardian writer, Paperback Ryder. It's a dirty story of a dirty man Pards clinging wife doesn't understand. And his nemesis is working for the Ronny Gill, It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback Ryder, Paperback Ryder. Paperback Ryder (Chronicle writer) It's a thousand words, yeah you know the craic, I'll be writing more When Saylor calls me back. I can make it longer, please excuse the shit style, Alan Oliver was my Mentor and I want to be a paperback Ryder, Chronicle writer. If you really like it you can have the rights, It could make your stomach turn overnight. I could be on Sky, on the 'Supplement' But I need a break and I want to be a Guardian writer, Paperback Ryder. Paperback Ryder (Chronicle writer) Paperback Ryder - Chronicle writer Paperback Ryder - Chronicle writer"

Really sorry I couldn't make it, I'll try and get along next time.