“We’re all going to Madriiiiiid…” – That’s been going around my head for the last 72 hours after a whirlwind final away day to Chelsea.
We went to London full of song determined to cap off the season in style, and boy did we do it.
For a lot of us, the party started in Islington. I showed up fashionably late to be greeted by this new, ridiculously catchy Anthony Gordon song. It took a few turns to get it right, and I can see it being almost as infectious as “we’ve got Bruno in the middleeeeeee…”
The pub was filled with faces old and new as we all raised a few glasses to one of the best Newcastle seasons in living memory. There was dancing on the table and in the streets. Songs of Europe and songs about being the loyalest football supporters the world has ever had.
I dipped early for a night out in Clapham (strongly recommend), knowing the scheduled boats down the Thames would either make or break me the following day. And make me they did. There are truly few experiences as good as being one of hundreds of Geordies singing my heart out as we zoom down the Thames. The sun beat down beautifully as I handed out factor 50 to anyone I could.
Flags were flying, pints and bottles of fruity cider were going warm in a heartbeat and the music raged on inside. After about two hours, the sun got a bit much – we are northern, after all – so I retreated inside for a bit. And what a moment I chose to do it, because not long after, the bar was turned into a slip-and-slide competition. We roared with laughter as lads ditched their tops and flew chest-first up and down the bar. I caught it and put it up on Twitter, and a fair few Chelsea supporters outed themselves as both lurking on the #NUFC tag and being absolutely miserable as sin.
Once we’d alighted the boat, we found a Spoons with a cracking outdoor area overlooking the Thames. The songs raged on; I don’t quite know how some of the lads bouncing up and down for an hour on end didn’t pass out from heat exhaustion. We kept our harmless celebrations outside, but it still wasn’t enough for the bar staff to continue to serve us as they became yet another pub to refuse service to football supporters.
The match was unusually bland apart from a few beautiful moments. Evidently, the new Gordon song worked wonders because the lively Liverpudlian got his first goal – and in style. That pass from Fabian Schar. Hang it in the Louvre!
As well as a little moment of magic for the goal, Maxi got the crowd right up in our feels with some heartwarming interactions, beating his chest and saluting us. The cynic in me feels like it was a goodbye, but it was touching nonetheless. 17-year-old Lewis Miley made his debut and made us proud – and blimey, he’s TALL, which took me by surprise.
The sun became a touch too much again in the ground and I found myself perched on the safe standing railings because I was too knackered to stand but too stubborn to take a seat. When his effort hit the bar, I went down off the rails like a sack of potatoes. Worth it.
The post-match scenes were short but sweet. We sang our hearts out for the players and they repaid us with raucous applause. I’m sure I saw a few singing along with us again. Eddie Howe’s emphatic rallying of the crowd was a beautiful moment and you could tell how much it all meant to him. We see glimmers of this in the dugout, but it was great to see him let loose and celebrate with us. Sven Botman topped it off by pushing Jason Tindall over to celebrate with us.
It was an almost perfect way to cap off a season that I’m not even quite sure was real. It epitomised the passion our manager and coaches have and we got to shower them with adoration one last time this season.
It’s definitely one of the best weekends I’ve ever had – both with and without football – and now I’m feeling Dan Burn’s melancholy setting in. I can’t believe it’s all over.
What do normal people do on weekends? Asking for a friend.
