Reasons to be cheerful, Pt 3: the title of a well-known song by the late, great Ian Dury’s album Do It Yourself.
That’s enough of that: another less well-known song from a later album by the same artist.
Welcome to what will be hopefully an occasional article celebrating three Reasons To Be Cheerful about Newcastle United.
Along with this Polyannaish positivity, I’ll be offering you one thing that’s getting on my wick – see That’s enough of that below.
Without any further ado…
Reasons To Be Cheerful:
1 The new lad.
Matthias Jaissle has a bit of swagger about him.
Clearly a passionate man but looks like he won’t be standing for much nonsense. Touches of Teutonic directness and efficiency too, which you have to like. He’s young, dynamic and ambitious. He’s got a team and a structure around him.
It won’t go all Jaissle’s way but he has something to prove and a bloody-minded streak. I wholeheartedly approve. I hope it gets him through the hard yards.
I was an Eddie-in man but he cooked his goose by working himself into the ground and getting ill. I hope Mrs Howe and the bairns are alright. Take a break Eddie, you deserve it. Maybe send Tindall over to teach Jaissle’s bench how to wind up the Legoheeds of the world.
2 Tidy bit of business.
£100m from Spurs for Sandro Tonali is up there with the £30m or so we got for Moussa Sissoko a while back. There’s something satisfying about fleecing the Fancy Dans of North London.
He’s some talent, Tonali, and he’s got an engine on him. Yet we all picked up the signs of a flawed character while he was here. If you believe the tittle-tattle, he doesn’t really want to be in England at all. I reckon Signora Tonali will be in his ear once the bright lights of London lose their lustre.
That said, I’m always wary of the idea of a “good transfer window”. It’s got the musky whiff of Talksport. We’ll find out how effective our business has been as the season unfolds. Jaissle’s jigsaw has a few gaps and some bits that don’t seem to fit. There’s work to be done over the next windows.
Hopefully the bean counters can juggle recruitment and finance to keep us compliant but effective. Let them get on with it while we enjoy a swashbuckling season of ups and downs.
3 Vertical football.
Really? More jargon? They shook me off a few turns ago, with false 9s, XG and double pivots. Lord preserve us from any more of this.
But if it means playing with Teutonic testosterone, I’m in. If it means rattling the opposition, their manager and their supporters, let’s have it. Let’s get vertical. Especially when we’re enjoying the sight of the rat Isak getting clattered and whinging to the ref, his face like a well-smacked backside while play continues around him. And 50 odd thousand people roundly abusing him. Priceless.
That’s enough of that:
This time, I’ve had enough of Virgil van Dijk. The pouting, preening, entitled, sour-faced, humourless, shiny-haired…in the ear of the ref for nowt, again and again and again. Horribly reminiscent of Manure in the Ferguson days.
I’m shocked at two things: how he gets away with it, and why the media don’t call it out.
There used to be a great cartoon feature back in the quaint days of print media. It was called You are the Ref. Each week it offered tricky on-field scenarios in the form of a few well-drawn cartoons and you were invited to say what the ref should do.
Fast forward to August 2026 and I am the Ref dealing with this gobby workie ticket. Here’s what I say, in the character of Brick Top from the film Snatch.
For the first offence:
“You’re on thin f…ing ice, my pedigree chum, and I shall be under it when it breaks.” I show VVD the yellow card while staring him out like the big Jessie he is. I make a boxer’s feint at him, he flinches like the soft lad he is, and I cackle at him menacingly. Before restarting play, I hoof him up the backside and tell him to get on with the game and keep his cakehole shut.
For the second offence:
“Do you know what ‘nemesis’ means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by an ‘orrible c…, me.” I flourish the red card while twisting VVD’s knackers and winking at the cameras. The odious knacker is jeered from the pitch, weeping and broken. That’s enough of that, Virgil.
We go on to win 3-1. Justice is served. I am the ref.