Last season, only five Premier League clubs won more than half their 38 matches. The same number in 2023/24, though not the same five teams.
In 22/23? Just the three. And 21/22? Five that season.
Eddie Howe became the chief coach (de facto manager) of Newcastle United in November 2021.
His team have won more than 19 of 38 Premier League games once in three completed campaigns since. We were close in the other two: exactly half in the remarkable first full season; 18 in the injury/suspension wrecked 23/24 nightmare; and 20 last time out.
What does this tell us? If Premier League success is measured by winning matches, the Mags have been consistent in the four years and four months of Howe’s leadership. Totals of 19, 18 and 20 should not be dismissed lightly.
This season we can reach the high-water mark of 20 only by winning every remaining game. Even after donning rose-tinted glasses, I admit that is on the almost impossible side of improbable.
Perhaps that is one reason an awful lot of “we are rubbish” messages are emailed, texted and WhatsApped between Newcastle United fans. Every loss is a disaster, every dropped point a calamity, every game that our play is not akin to 1970s Brazil provokes outpourings of negativity.
Honestly, I’ve had more than enough. Not enough of the Mags, that will never happen. More than enough of the bloody moaning.
Don’t get me wrong; a defeat for my football club is no laughing matter, unless Gallowsgate humour is being used as a defence mechanism. After the home defeats by Everton and Brentford last month, when Newcastle’s desire to equalise was exceeded by the inability to defend, I wanted to kick any cat within range. Metaphorically speaking. In reality, I love cats.
The manner of those defeats was particularly galling, rather than the outcome. After all, we have lost 12 times in the Premier League since August. Not exactly a rare event this season. In 22/23 the total was five. An entire season with only five losses in 38 games. Small wonder it felt pretty good. That was followed by 14 defeats, then 12 last season.
Missed chances, sloppy play and weak defending can be blamed but maybe the opposition need to be given a bit of credit.
Every fourth or fifth day our players take the field to represent themselves, their club and Newcastle itself in the best possible light. Facing them are similarly motivated elite professionals.
Some you win, some you lose. That’s football. For those who “can’t wait for the season to end” or who want the manager replaced, I feel a bit sad. What are your expectations? Has one domestic trophy in 70 years altered your outlook that much?
Just look at the latest run of results in the Premier League to see the difficulty of consistently taking all three points. Not one team has more than four wins in their past six matches. Only three have avoided defeat in all six.
Remember, there are “no easy games in the Prem” (obviously the 8-0 we recorded at Bramall Lane and almost every time we play Spurs at home provide evidence to challenge that cliche).
There’s a load more evidence to justify the claim, however. What about Man City failing to beat Forest on Wednesday night? Liverpool losing to Wolves on Tuesday? Wolves beating Villa last Friday? Or Chelsea held to a draw by Burnley the previous weekend?
Listen to some folk and you could be excused for thinking Newcastle United are the only team who drop points from winning positions, concede late goals, make basic mistakes. What planet are they on?
Football is not chess. The beautiful game is highly physical, unpredictable, often chaotic. We all know it’s black and white on the best nights but much more often it is 50 shades of grey without the rubbish plot and dialogue.
There have been some miserable seasons in my lifetime of supporting the Mags. The 1977-78 relegation was the first to hit hard, especially after the promise of the previous campaign. Mid-table mediocrity was the norm when I first started watching. Expectations were suitably modest and the team rarely failed to live down to them.
Years in the doldrums, promotion, another relegation, the occasional revival. Thank you, Kevin Keegan; get well soon.
The life of a normal football supporter will never be unalloyed joy. Unless you are attached, for whatever reason, to the dominant club in any particular era, disappointment is a near-constant companion.
Lynn Anderson was on the right track in 1970, though she underplayed the situation when she sang:
“I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden
Along with the sunshine
There’s gotta be a little rain sometime . . . ”
For the Toon Army, it’s felt more like a monsoon, a biblical deluge at times.
This, however, is not one of those times. All right, statistically we are mired in that familiar old mid-table mediocrity. Played 29, points 39, goal difference minus one.
Numbers are cold, hard facts. What they cannot convey is the dazzling sunshine generated by, for example, the events of Wednesday night at St James’ Park.
Having witnessed the behaviour of the prawn sandwich brigade at first hand last month, I fear a few sorry souls will have missed Will Osula’s fabulous run and strike in the 90th minute. The 8.15 kick-off and absurd amount of first-half stoppage time probably forced one or two early departures. If you had to run for the last bus or train before our Great Dane condemned the Salfords to a thoroughly deserved defeat, you have my sympathy.
Conversely, if you left early just to “beat the queue for the Metro” or to avoid the post-match traffic, for goodness sake get a life.
Did the barely credible Leeds United match in January teach you nothing?
There have been 85 goals in our 29 Premier League games this season. I wouldn’t want to have missed even one of them, for or against, because they make football worth watching. The gravity-defying saves, the defence-splitting passes, the full-blooded tackles (admittedly rarer than steak tartare nowadays) and every other aspect of the game should be appreciated by those lucky enough to be there.
Enjoy the spectacle in any way you can: in person, preferably, on a TV or over the airwaves. For every river deep, there’s a mountain high just around the corner.