As a Newcastle United season ticket-holder since the dark days of the old Second Division under Bill McGarry, then through a succession of managers from Arthur Cox to Kevin Keegan and Kenny Dalglish to Sir Bobby Robson, I have followed the Magpies’ fortunes, first as a supporter and then as a pitch-side photographer.
When work took me away from the North-East I still followed the team from north of the border and still do today, despite being located as far south in the UK as you could possibly get.
Visiting ‘home’ a couple of times a year I’d try and tie those visits to fixtures and return to St James’ Park whenever the opportunity arose.
As match tickets became more difficult to source, there was a gap of around five years where I was an absent supporter. However, under the stagnation of Mike Ashley’s era, I was once again back at SJP, but the change in atmosphere was palpable.
Where a crowd of 28,000 back in the days of a roofless Leazes end could be heard at my home on the opposite side of the Tyne, under Ashley the 40,000-plus seemed muted in comparison.
Was nostalgia colouring my expectation? Definitely not.
Was it simply a disenfranchised fanbase, Newcastle United fans sick of years of underinvestment, or was there another underlying explanation for a distinct lack of noise and what appeared to be supporter disengagement?
Fast-forward to The Takeover. New owners, a young, hungry manager and better communication between club and supporters.
Attending my first game under the new regime I looked forward to this rebirth and hopefully, the resurrection of the Gallowgate roar.
I was underwhelmed.
Despite television pundits regaling viewers with their cliched “cathedral on the hill’ line and its legendary deafening roar, delivered by 52,000 partisan Geordies, the stadium felt soulless.
As much as the displays by Wor Flags are a welcome match day spectacle, it seems to me like a very artificial enhancement of the match-day build-up. Belting out Blaydon Races over the PA system also does nothing when its volume drowns out the supporters who may attempt to join in.
Photo by The Mag
This latest re-imagining of the song just seems like a marketing ploy to give the club an ‘identity.’ The Races has long had its day and in any event the chant soon dies out as there can be few among the younger fans familiar with its lyrics after the first few lines.
There’s certainly a generational divide among the fanbase, which to me is a significant indicator to the lack of atmosphere. Whether there are any official figures to backup my theory, there appears to be many more grey-haired season-ticket holders than at any time in the club’s history.
I don’t begrudge anyone their enjoyment regardless of age, but when taking advantage of a friend’s spare ticket from time-to-time it does feel somewhat like stepping onto a pensioner’s coach outing rather than a partisan football crowd, Any attempt to vocalise among this cosy enclave is met with raised eyebrows and puzzled glances over the shoulder. I’ve no doubt that similar enclaves where fans have grown old together are numerous throughout the stadium.
At the other end of the age scale there’s a very different lack of passion for the game of football in front of them. Glancing at their mobile phones just as much as the action on the pitch and watching it filtered from real life through the six inch screen held up in front of them is no way for individuals to become one with their fellow supporters.
This isn’t just a Newcastle United problem. From my experiences at away matches – where incidentally, the travelling Magpies cannot be faulted for their non-stop singing and support – the hostile atmosphere which once greeted the opposition is similarly muted.
Unfortunately our ageing fanbase, Gen-Whatever voyeurs and artificial attempts to boost supporter participation have all conspired to leave the St James’ Park atmosphere a shadow of its former self.
Is there a solution? I don’t think so.
There’s no turning back the clock and times have changed. Where modern society seems in many ways a much angrier place, on the terraces there’s a feeling of apathy and supporters appear to be unconsciously distancing themselves from their total involvement.
A visit to St James’ Park was once the highlight of the working man’s week, but has it now become a retirement home for ageing supporters and simply a colourful backdrop for the TikTok generation?