STAR Sam Fender whipped Glastonbury into a frenzy singing Hypersonic Missiles last Friday night.
One of his keynote hits, the youth movement’s man of the moment swigged from a bottle of Newccy Brown, wearing his Geordie heart on his sleeve while singing about global injustice and bombs dropping on Gaza.
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Behind young Sam, the band’s saxophonist tootled away decked out in a Newcastle shirt.
Fluttering a few metres above the 200,000-strong crowd packing a Somerset field in June were black and white striped flags, chequerboard standards — banners in Magpie colours.
So, is it me or are there really a load more Newcastle fans everywhere?
Blimey, the takeover by the shady Saudis was only completed in October and already you can’t step outside your front door for being dazzled by a dozen human zebra crossings.
After years of being hidden away in Formica closets nationwide, it’s noticeable how many people are desperate to wear the shirt and tell the world they follow the team which was a byword for incompetence not so long ago.
Whether it’s down to Fender or the sudden flood of millions of pounds from the new owners at St James’ Park is a matter for some debate.
But it’s uncanny how being booted straight to the top of football’s rich list like an emergency goal-line clearance from Paul Dummett has attracted legions of new troops to the Toon Army.
No doubt there will be those who claim to be lifelong devotees who stood on the Gallowgate End, drank in The Strawberry, punched police horses and threw petrol bombs at West Ham fans long before the glory days on the horizon.
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Nobody chooses who owns their football club. And up there in the North East we are told they love Newcastle more than their own wives.
It’s a fact that those who have followed one of the most erratic and inept teams in England all their lives are pretty p****d off at seeing the Geordie-come-latelys get in on the act.
Some even got a perverse enjoyment out of supporting such a terrible team, for being part of a cult of losers. It was a badge of honour to fill any away end in London and succumb to defeat.
Failing to mention that many Newcastle fans actually live in the capital so it’s not quite Mao Tse Tung’s Long March visiting Spurs.
Other clubs have gone through this fashionista phase. Chelsea were the first, Manchester City followed them when people with questionable reputations and vast bank balances transformed the clubs overnight.
The difference with Newcastle is that Roman Abramovich or Sheikh Mansour have not been directly linked to mass executions of prisoners in their home countries or been roundly accused of murdering journalists who speak out against them.
While it’s understandable that the fan in the street might have enough on their plate at the moment to worry about that, it is slightly awkward for those who wore the colours on stage and in the audience at Glasto.
Down there, it’s ban the bomb, ban the burger and rainbow colours in support of liberal diversity. And good for them.
But it doesn’t sit with the theme of the biggest festival of the summer to be lining up alongside dodge-pot owners who back home chuck people in the slammer if they are gay.
Especially as ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ is a cracking rant against global injustice. Just a thought.
FOND FAREWELL
Romelu Lukaku returned to Inter Milan after a disastrous year with Chelsea in the Premier League and declared: “I’m very happy to be back!”
Not nearly as happy as the Chelsea fans you left behind are, mate.
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MEN OF ILL REPUTE RUIN IT ALL
The Women’s Euros kicks off on Wednesday with 15 teams arriving in England for a three-week festival of football.
It’s the second summer in a row where the UK has played the role of host or co-host for a major tournament showcasing the game around the world.
The commitment from the players will be the same, the optimism, the expectation.
All the same ingredients from the girls that went with the boys at Euro 2020.
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England kick-off against Austria at a sold-out Old Trafford with the final in front of a 90,000 full-to-the-brim Wembley.
A similar pathway to the men’s last year, which ended with England losing on penalties to Italy on a tumultuous evening.
But I am going to stick my neck out here and suggest there will be a few key differences between the tournaments.
I’m willing to take a sportsman’s bet that come the final day we won’t see anyone stick a lighted orange smoke bomb up their arse.
Nor highly intoxicated men urinating in the streets around Wembley. No gangs of marauding, ticketless yobs storming the turnstiles to force their way in.
Ordinary paying fans won’t be left in fear of serious injury as mobs of drunken thugs hijack other people’s seats and threaten anyone who dares question their behaviour.
I’m willing to be proved wrong but I reckon it will all pass off peacefully with a less electrified atmosphere perhaps, but one that allows families to enjoy football that might not be as fast-paced or physical as the men’s — but also doesn’t come with the unsavoury baggage.
If so, then it’s not football that is the problem, it’s blokes at football.
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