Monkeys Fist

I’ve thought about nothing else on the drive home. That was the best game I’ve ever watched, for so many reasons. The performance was just legendary - intense, aggressive and intelligent, every man on that team knew exactly what their job was when in or out of possession, and every one of them executed it perfectly. First half in particular it was extraordinary to watch, our pressing was so aggressive that the Dippers didn’t know what had hit them. What was excellent to watch was in the few times they had possession and attempted to advance, our men snapped in to their defensive positions in a matter of seconds. I had a good feeling before the game, and by midway through the first half I was daring to think “we might actually do this”, and when Burn buried that header I went fucking mental. My emotions have never been so raw before and during a game as they were yesterday, and it all came out in a guttural mix of joy, relief and bit of grief. Second half, I felt that when Slot just started throwing forwards on, it was an acknowledgement that we had them beat. Howe was ice fucking cold, his tactics were clinical, and then training he’d put the lads through was evident. At the final whistle, I totally lost it- laughing, crying, roaring, smacking the roof and sides of my cab, I went nuts I read the BBC write-up, and the comments, and there was a good few neutrals being very magnanimous and complimentary, and the usual pricks saying “ It’s just the League Cup!” They totally missed the point- it wasn’t “just the League Cup”, it was years of disappointment, learning to temper expectations, seeing our club rise and fall and rise again and fall again, hearing the fucking lines “ it’s been “x” years since Newcastle won a trophy” trotted out by lazy commentators, envy watching tinpot fucking non-entities of clubs winning trophies, becoming almost used to being plucky losers. That final whistle pissed all that away in a split second- replaced by validation, relief, release, sheer, utter, joy! We aren’t the plucky losers anymore, that’s history, we’ve won, and won in a manner that will stay with me until the day I die. Every single member of that team, the coaches, medical staff, catering, all of them, have earned the right to call themselves local heroes, because they fucking are. Howe has pissed on the timeline again, I can not wait to see what the summer brings, and the seasons to follow. (I’m parked up at Ferrybridge just now, when I got out to go for a brew, as soon as I opened my door I heard what I thought was a load of our support, still shouting and bawling, and thought “ Get in, lads!” As I walked up the trucks park though, I realised it wasn’t. Two trucks, parked right in the middle of a row of wagons, with trailers full of cockerels crowing their fucking lungs out There was a Czech lad sat in his cab right next to them, clearly sleep-deprived, in his shorts, looking like an utterly defeated man, thousand yard stare, the lot

It’s been 2 good shites since we last won a trophy

I wonder if Paddy Power are regretting offering 100-1 for our win?

This is Where’s Wally, except we’re looking for a pissed bloke in a paisley shirt. 10 points to whoever spots PL first

Has anyone heard from @Howmanheyman? He’s gone out on the piss hasn’t he?

Sorry- typing on my phone with fingers like pigs tits

Ring 111 on Tuesday and they sort you out with a new liver

I don’t think he bottled it so much as he couldn’t see what was happening from so deep in Toni’s back pocket.

Who’s this cunt?

I know Howe has been fucking immense in the way he’s transformed this club, but I’d like to say that if I’d hit a red light this morning we’d be heading home empty handed.

Nice touch him and Bruno lifting it together

Fuck this trucking shite- I I’m away on the piss

8 minutes COME ON!!!!

I’m welling up here. My Mam was at the 74 final and she would have absolutely loved this. She hated the Dippers