Why I became a Newcastle United fan (ED: Best thing you will read all day)

A few years ago I wasn’t a well man. I found myself in hospital, nil by mouth, being fed through a tube in the stomach.

One day, a mate comes in to see me and decides to replicate Dennis and Neville visiting Oz in a Dusseldorf Krankenhaus.

From under his coat, he pulls out a can of lager and says: “There you go pal, thought you would like that.”

Suffice to say, I was not in the mood for his practical joke and told him precisely where he could shove his can.

He snaps back at me, oh lighten up you miserable so and so, this is going to end and you will get better. Besides, it could be worse, you could be a mackem.

Now I thought that equating the pains of being treated for Cancer to that of someone who supports Sunderland was a bit extreme, even for him, but his gallows humour did make me laugh.

For many of you, there simply was never a chance you would have become a Mackem rather than a Newcastle United fan. Your older brother, your Dad, your mates, made sure of that.

However, I’m guessing there may be a few of you who could have swung the other way?

Chester-le-street is 10 miles from St James’ Park and 12 miles from Roker Park. The school was mixed, with a very rough estimate being 60% Mags.

However, looking back, I now realise that the kids sort of practiced their own segregation policy.

The lad I sat next to in Maths was a Mag, the lad in French was a Mag, the lad in Physics was a Mag.

Actually, I cant say the last one for certain, because I spent all my years of Physics in a deep coma, while being ‘taught’ about Atomic structure.

I mean, seriously, what the hell was Physics about? It was way way too much for my adolescent brain to handle.

The segregation policy would become most apparent during PE, when the sadistic teacher (Mr Mackem Bell) allowed us to play football, instead of sending us out in the rain to do a cross country run around Chester park.

We would immediately split into Newcastle v Sunderland.

We only had about 30 minutes to play but would waste 10 of those deciding who was to be which player.

Obviously the biggest lad would have to be Supermac, then we would work our way down the pecking order. As I was a dwarf, by the time they got to me, I would get Frank Clark.

No one ever wanted to be Frankie.

If you are old enough to remember the film Kes and in particular the football match scene, that scenario was played out on thousands of school playgrounds across the north east in the 70s.

Anyway, back to why I’m a Newcastle United fan.

Although my mother and her family were from Northumberland, my dad was a Scot with no interest in football. Add to that, my family had been working in Ireland for a few years, which is where I was born.

So there is me sitting in class with an accent like James Nesbitt, standing out like a sore thumb.

I soon realised I needed to mix with my new mates and the best way to do that was to choose a football team.

Forget the 11+ to get into grammar school, the most important decision I had to make back then was Newcastle or Sunderland.

Two of my dad’s workmates said they would assist with the decision process. Sid took me to Roker Park and the next week Geoff took me to St James’ Park.

It really wasn’t a difficult choice to make.

And so began over 50 years of emotions that only football creates. From the utter desolation of losing the 1974 FA Cup final which made me weep, to the euphorbia of winning the League Cup this year, which also made me weep.

And everything in between.

So to all those snotty nosed Newcastle United classmates dressed in their Harrington jackets, Sta Prest trousers and Doctor Martens. Its been a wonderful experience.

Well, most of the time.

Thank you for making me a Mag.

ED: Excellent as always from Jinky Jim. The best thing you will read all day. Please use the comments section below to give us your personal tales of how you ended up a Newcastle United fan.