The match-day atmosphere at St. James Park is renowned nationwide. One tends to find themselves shoulder-to-shoulder with thousands of Geordie supporters, but a solitary row of seats in the stadium is encased with a wall on one side and a staircase on tother. I arrived somewhere I had been many times, excited to experience it from a new perspective.
Sat in the lonely row, in the stadium I call my home.
In a setting that is so familiar to me, yet in a way I have never experienced it before. Without the strangers by my side that have always felt like family. Alone with thousands around me.
It was on a chilly December night that I first became acquainted with the lonely row, my area of solitude amidst a flock of Magpies. I arrived in the cathedral early to meet what would become my home for the night, perched on the edge with the Geordie choir in full view.
Five days before Christmas and five degrees in the air, my adventure began in the middle of the Toon. Festive lights and market stalls emblazoned the horizon. The streets waiting to burst into life as the black-and-white faithful kept warm in the hundreds of pubs circling the stadium in the city centre.
Walking past the bustling pubs and approaching my turnstile. The clock ticked towards nineteen-hundred hours; the shirtless Geordie stereotype far amiss. Hats, scarves, mittens and gloves – all adorned, as over 51,000 poured in to their adopted home for the first competitive fixture in over a month.
But, the winter-ready mob I felt a part of would soon be a distant memory when I found it. Area L6E. Row C. Seat 134. My own slice of the stadium to enjoy the battle that was about to begin on the pitch. The knowing feeling that I could remain seated as I pleased, not having to divert my attention for my fellow match-goers to go empty, or fill, their bladder.
Ready for the next 90+ minutes to enjoy at my own leisure, within touching distance of the dark skies above in level six of St. James Park I grabbed my pew. A grey, plastic foldable seat not at all uncommon to those which line the stands around the stadium – with the obvious discrepancy aside.
I used what felt the rare chance to stretch out my legs ahead of me, while resting my head on the cold, grey, jagged wall that conforms? the edge of the stadium. With nothing to see but the sarcophagus of St. James, I began to feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount going on around me in an inescapable arena of passion.
Directly above me the few Bournemouth fans that made the Tuesday night trip to Tyneside were seldom heard – they made up less than 1% of the capacity, after all. I was surrounded with a circle of Newcastle noise, and it felt as though all of it was heading in my direction.
With nobody either side of me, the initial comfort I felt in my isolation turned into just that. Isolation. I had nobody there to share reflections on the match with. Nobody to moan, groan, or laugh with. Just myself. It felt as though everyone had their back to me, the nearest person looking in my direction either the opposition attacking the Newcastle goal. Or the home fans a full-pitch length away jeering them.
I began to not only miss, but crave, the polite “excuse me” and “watch yourself” that I once deemed as a distraction. I grew jealous of the man on the edge of the row in front of me, having to continuously stand to let others pass and diverting his attention from the action.
On the pitch, the second half was underway. Newcastle even took the lead. Where normally I would find myself jumping joyously with my fellow Geordies. I stood, uttered a quiet “get in” and clapped, with a small cheer whittering out of my lips that had remained generally closed since the referee got the game underway. I had never realised how much extra my surroundings added, until I watched the game in relative serenity.
The one goal lead held true, and the final whistle blew. And, as eager as I was to get back amongst the crowds, I stayed in my lonely row looking out across the stadium until all the other rows emptied, now appearing lonely too. The stands that had been in full-voice just minutes earlier, now sat in the silence I had grew accustomed to in my own space.
I ran down the stairs, and joined the home-heading herd towards the St. James metro stop with the buzz of reaching the quarter-finals emanating throughout the crowd. It was only as the packed train arrived, and I was all but shoved in with little room to breathe, akin to a single fish in a tightly-packed tin of sardines, I was reminded of the space and comfort of my lonely row.
nice piece
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