Here at The Mag, we’ve invited a number of regular/irregular contributors to introduce us to their Newcastle United heroes and villains.
Thanks to Tony Mallabar for accepting the challenge.
Tony takes a look at the heroes and villains of Newcastle United during his various decades supporting NUFC.
So, back in 1977, young Mallabar was living a contented life as an eight-year-old with his mother and father and younger brother.
But I always felt that something was missing in my life.
You see, every Saturday Robin would load us into the Reliant and go visit Nana and Grandma Tommy. Every Saturday except for Tommy would be missing as he had something called a season ticket for the old stand. When he returned home after tea, he would talk about going to the “MACH”.
Tales from previous seasons made me listen intently (he believed Len White was a better player than Jackie).
Now, my dad was always a fan who rarely went to the games, but since me and my kid came along, he was definitely a nurturer and a family man. But on October 8, 1977, he took me and the kid to our first game against Derby County, a 2-1 defeat, and I was smitten.
I remember the smells (Condor cigars), the men swearing and how green the field was. In later years, when he came home from the game, my mom asked how the outfield was and said all the kid did was ask for a hot dog/hamburger, while our own Tony was completely enthralled by the action on the field.
So my first Newcastle United hero was Micky Burns (just because of the song, I’ve never heard so many men swear in unison before).
The villain of the 70s for me was Gary Rowell. When we were beaten 4-1 I was at my mum and dad’s house and a neighbor had put a goddamn scarf village in the bay window and when I was nine I cried all the way home and was sent to my room because my mum was embarrassed when she asked if I could go and turn the windows down.
For me, the cult hero of the 70s was without a doubt Alan Shoulder, imagine now going straight from non-league to the Championship.
As for a less obvious villain, I’d say Richard Dinnis, I don’t know why, but every adult supporting toon fan I know hated him.
1980s
In the 80s and growing up I was dying to go to games on my own and finally when I was 13 my parents agreed so I was at the ticket office on my birthday and the proud owner of a season ticket in the East Stand for £25.
So the Newcastle United hero of the 80s, only one man should apply for the job, KING KEV, watching a 13-year-old boy come out of the tunnel in front of 36,185 fans, still remains one of my favorite games and that includes beating lucky money in the League Cup final.
The cult hero of the 1980s must be John Trewick, because later in the 80s I went out with his cousin.
The villain of the 80s is Jack Charlton, who completely destroyed everything Arthur Cox had achieved.
The not so blatant villain of the 80’s is the man who invented them Celtic/Rangers caps.
1990s.
90’s Hero we were six fans when it was suggested by this muck that we decided to sit in the Clock Stand (O’Brien free-kick game) because Sunlun had a few die-hard fans and you don’t dare talk Geordie sh… to these guys. I’ll guess which way it goes that day.
A cult hero can only be one player, Peter Beardsley. When he came back from skuse mackems I thought he would never be able to cope with a player who left… WRONG… he was Lionel Messi before Maradona. Just look at his goal against Pompey and it will all make sense.
Villain of the 90s. Fat Fred and indifferent Douglas.
The not-so-obvious Villain of the 90s, the man responsible for Luche’s security at the Anglo Italian Cup, was absent. With the Panthers Front line waiting for us after the game it looked pretty bad and we asked to hop on the lift on the team bus only to be told you had to come on an official visit so make your own way to Pisa. Fortunately for us, the Panthers Front only wanted to change the badges, not the fists.
2000s
The hero must be Sir Bobby.
Issue 179 – March 20, 2004
A cult hero? My grandmother Tommy who sadly passed away this decade but still had a season ticket just three years before her death.
It would be Johnny Hall for all the great work he took back when you know who sold you for wasting all the money his son and fellow doyle.
Shay Given, who deserted us in our hour of need and is now playing the plastic Geordie card on TV, is not so obvious.
2010s
I can’t remember much of that decade because I was fulfilling one of my lifelong ambitions of turning into 8.5% cornflakes at 7am and keeping Pablo Escobar in the lavish lifestyle he was accustomed to.
The 2020s
We finally got rid of FCB and we have Amanda Staveley to thank for that.
The cult hero could be Bruno, Isak, Tonali or Gordon, but unfortunately they decided to be rats, so step up Dan Burn.
I know The Mag has only asked for one entry per category over the years, but Mike Ashley deserves his own place in hell. The fact that he brought our club down makes me feel like he found two billion pounds in the street and that’s how you got your fortune? He also let us have the best manager we’ve ever had (Rafa is a Geordie).