The recent remarks regarding Dan Ashworth’s leaving serve as a reminder that Newcastle United has never been a stable place.
When I was eleven years old in 1952, my father took me to see Toon play Arsenal at St. James’ Park for the first time.
In 10 days, he would set out again on a six-month journey as Mate on a cargo boat registered in the United Kingdom, which was uncommon even back then, to the Far East and Australia.
in 11:30 a.m., we met up with three of our father’s friends in a big Grey Street pub.
I was taught to observe the “atmosphere” while sitting quietly.
During the three hours I was there, the talk and conversations got louder and louder, but they seemed to focus only on Toon’s bad directors, the players who were supposedly looking for a move, and the low pay.
Looking in the newspaper the following day, it stated that there were more than 61,000 ardent supporters in the stadium, printed beneath the score.
Brennan, Milburn, I saw. Harvey on the wing with the legendary Bobby Mitchell.
Even while carpet baggers and quislings like Dan Ashworth are still around 72 years later, one should never lose sight of the fact that Newcastle United will always exist in Newcastle upon Tyne.
We have made it through the ownership and management of recent Trump-like morons. Ashworth ought to go.
I value the Black and White stripes far more than some Director of Football who may be here today and gone tomorrow.
