Well, that was an interesting experience. My first taste of luxury hospitality at St James’ Park, booked before Eddie Howe’s team turned the second leg of their Champions League play-off tie against Qarabag into what was essentially a dead rubber.
I lost my nerve 10 days ago, when failure in the Mags Member ballot was followed by failure in the ticket resale scramble. Having bought a return train ticket from West Sussex last month, I didn’t fancy watching the match at a city centre pub rather than inside the cathedral on the hill.
A search of the Newcastle United official website on February 16 offered a few options, priced at £300-plus, for a seat with food and drink. I chose the Park Grill Suite, in level six of the Leazes End, hesitated for a couple of hours, consulted Lady R, prevaricated further, then finally pressed the purchase button on the laptop.
With hindsight, the sensible course of action would have been to wait until after the mis-match in Baku.
Why pay a lot of money for what was in sporting terms a non-event? Hundreds of normal-price tickets were made available on February 20 and, as a senior, mine would have cost a mere £45. No food, no drink, but I go to restaurants and pubs for those treats rather than to a football ground.
I was, unfortunately, not sensible and that modern phenomenon known as fomo (fear of missing out) proved too powerful. The details of what you are buying in the Park Grill deal are available online. You can also see what the Heroes lounge offers, apart from a prime padded seat near the halfway line in the Milburn stand. That became more relevant last Friday when I received a club email, telling me I was receiving a complimentary upgrade from a package priced at £415.20 (Park Grill) to one priced at £537 (Heroes). The cost varies from game to game; these were Champions League rates.
The upgrade was in part a face-saving exercise by NUFC. While the Park Grill had almost sold out, the costlier Heroes package was proving hard to shift. By shunting customers from the former to the latter, there was no risk of the television cameras focusing on a lot of empty seats in a prime location. There would also be less catering to organise.
Friends will tell you one of my biggest passions is saving money. Spending the equivalent of a family’s monthly grocery bill on one meal was difficult to swallow, even though the package included a complimentary welcome drink, a match programme, three courses of delicious food, half-time snacks and a post-match cheeseboard. There would also be pre-match and post-match appearances from former black-and-white stars.
One irony didn’t escape me: Newcastle United are flogging these expensive deals at every home match while, in the shadow of the Gallowgate End, charity volunteers are appealing for donations to one of the city’s food banks. Fomo was being replaced by an uneasy feeling of guilt.
Anyway, the deed was done and I travelled up from Worthing on Tuesday, determined to enjoy what was likely to be my first and last experience of what Roy Keane derided as the prawn sandwich brigade.
The fun started at 5.30pm, when I joined a short queue outside a glass atrium in the Milburn stand. After a quick security check and a smooth ride up three escalators I was directed into the Heroes lounge. All rather pleasant and impressive; the many staff seemed happy to be as helpful as possible.
This is no restaurant review so I will keep things brief. The first course offered a massive selection of cold seafood, a massive selection of cold meats and charcuterie, plus plenty of salads. I took a deep dive into the lobster tails, smoked salmon, prawns, tuna and mackerel, because I had already decided my main course would be grilled sirloin steak with a sauce of tarragon and red pepper. Everything was beautifully cooked and presented, including the potato rosti cakes and buttered vegetables.
The third course was a diabetic’s nightmare, majoring on chocolate, sugar and cream in various guises. Forgive me for eating a big slice of apple pie, followed by cheesecake, before the Champions League anthem had even started.
Maybe it was the glass of red wine, maybe it was the excess of food but, when I did take my seat at 7.45, the rhythm in the tweaked version of Zadok The Priest seemed to fit perfectly to the words “Newcastle United”. I’ve heard this tune dozens of times on television since it was unveiled in the early 1990s. I have been lucky enough to hear it four or five times while attending matches in Milan, Dortmund, Leverkusen and St James’ Park. Not until Tuesday night did I detect the spooky similarity between the tune and our club’s name. Perhaps that’s the effect of paying £415.20 . . . .
More than a little excited, despite the lack of jeopardy in the tie (Keith Gillespie told us long before kick-off there was no way his former club would blow it, something he had already told punters in other hospitality lounges) I settled back in my directors seat to enjoy the main event. Two goals in the first six minutes proved our celebrity guest was on the money. They also eliminated any lingering fears of elimination.
After that intense start, everything else was bound to be an anticlimax. The first hiccup manifested itself six minutes before half-time when some of those patrons in front of me decided the food and drink were more enticing than the football. Perhaps they would have stayed seated if the tie had been in the balance. A quick chat with the gentleman to my left confirmed this happens at every match.
As somebody who regrets blinking in case I miss one second of the action, this struck me as bizarre. Also bloody annoying, because my view was blocked over and over again.
Would you miss up to 20 minutes of a match (the second half was 15 minutes old when some “fans” in front of me reoccupied their seats, having missed three goals and a saved penalty) simply to eat more and drink more? The half-time fare was a savoury mince pie and mushy peas. Not my cup of tea, though I did manage to fit in a third pudding, this time a lemon posset, justified as one of my five-a-day.
Inevitably, there were quite a few departures before the final whistle. Not me, even though the post-match cheeseboard was ready and waiting.
Photo by The Mag
As were the trio of former players, with Gillespie joined by Micky Quinn and Rob Lee. An MC lobbed them a few easy questions. Nobody still eating and drinking seemed particularly interested.
The questions I wanted to ask were: how many of those in the Heroes lounge had paid with their own money; how many were on corporate jollies; and how many were dedicated followers of football?
At 10.30 I decided enough was enough and headed to Haymarket Metro. Sherlock Holmes would have been hard-pressed to detect any euphoria on the streets. If this is what reaching the last 16 of the Champions League means, something is amiss. No sense of excitement, no feeling of a great achievement by the club we all profess to support.
The expansion and thus dilution of the tournament is one reason; the 6-1 win in Baku is another; the lack of on-field thrills a third. Then there is the dampener of knowing we had a 50/50 chance of playing Barca in the next round. Or Chelsea, which is not exactly an enticing prospect. Mind, if we had known we might face Bodo/Glimt for a place in the quarter-finals, the excitement would have ramped up.
Perhaps things will be different at St James’ Park when we play in our Champions League Round of 16 tie. There was plenty of noise emanating from the cheaper seats on Tuesday, which presumably will be even noisier next month when Barca or Chelsea come to town.
As for the hospitality areas, I doubt much will change. In summary, Keano was right, for once.