Transfer windows for the masses tend to be largely enjoyable experiences. Who’s that new striker we’re linked to? How much do we have to spend? How much better will the XI look in September? It used to be like that at Newcastle United, too. Past tense was the key phrase. Well, whisper it - a bit quieter please - especially with four and a bit days of the window still to go, but are we, err, back?!
You all know the feeling. That burning sense of anticipation, the ifs, buts and maybes, the ticker, turning the back page over in the newsagent, get that radio on, gluing yourself to the box, waiting, hoping, yearning for something to get remotely excited about.
While many work themselves into an almost orgasmic state over deals, net spends and winning the window - I learned to loath it. Yeah, there, I said it. I hated the thought of the transfer window.
From the minute it opened, I wanted it over. Once where there was joy, now an existential dread. The lows are so low. The deal dopamine hit, that high, felt proper dirty in amongst so much doom and gloom - it’s sad to say but that had become my Newcastle United transfer reality. You may, if like me, have started to feel the same - even if you might not be keen to admit it.
Why do I talk like this, then? Well, last summer did it. Last summer and Alexander Isak killed my love of yellow things, Sky Sports News, managers with arms out their car window and strikers at service stations. Football heritage was replaced by the grim reality that maybe my football club, the one which even when in the gutter could always reach for the stars, just couldn’t. It could get out the gutter, yes, but no seat at the table, and definitely no invite for candlelit munchies at the big boys’ banquet.
Was it all a dream, or a lie? Was MY Newcastle United, always capable of punching above its weight, the one which broke world transfer records, fought for titles, just won a bloody cup, produced some of best talent this country has ever seen and signed Kevin Keegan in the second division before leaving in helicopter, yeah that NUFC, was my understood and lived reality, not actually real anymore?
Well, partly, yes. And I have come to realise, now, partly, no, too.
The rules and the want for no one other than the Super League Six to win everything, all the points, sign all the players, score all the goals and win all the trophies, all while collecting all the monies, too, means Newcastle don’t have an easy pathway, like virtually every other club in the history of football who found some cash down the back of the sofa. Cash is king in football and it is concentrated, and largely hived off by those at the top - all sounds a bit Hacienda Napoles, I know. I do get that bit, not that I think it isn’t a complete joke. The bit that made no sense was how my NUFC - like the one I described above - could no longer hang on to players, good ones, and also really struggled to sign players, good ones.
My NUFC, your NUFC, had been in a lot worse pickles than last summer before and had been able to hang on to better players than Isak. And that was probably the hardest gush of ice cold reality for fans - in our lifetimes we could not offer a footballer any more than this - a trophy, actual silverware, and Champions League - and he still didn’t care. He still wanted to go. That stung. Not only did it sting fans, it was a whole lot more damaging for the PIF project, or more importantly, the perception of it. Every man and his dog started saying no to Newcastle, it almost became a social media spectator sport played out among transfer negotiators and aggregators - NUFC want X player, X player rejects NUFC, or ‘insert big six name in here’ hijacks NUFC for X player. We became meme-central, it was an embarrassment.
For all that, Isak went anyway and wasn’t properly replaced. Good money led to bad choices - we all know how that feels. Then that all led into this summer. It would be better, they said, it wouldn’t be the same because there is infrastructure, bodies, expertise. Well, it did. It happened with Victor Munoz, then again with Johan Manzambi. It was the final straw for Eddie Howe, although, in truth, I felt that should have happened sooner, anyway. Time waits for no man, no matter his baubles.
Then came the exits, the planned ones - Anthony Gordon and Sandro Tonali. We can stomach those, especially the latter, who wasn’t really worth much more than NUFC paid, never mind doubling in price. But Bruno Guimaraes, not him, surely? Not this again.
The Arsenal exit of the Brazilian boy with the bucket hat, after a summer of strategy switching away from proven quality and into tomorrow’s Brunos and Sandros, coupled with the managerial exit and no real spades in the ground announcements to appease an increasingly transfer battle-weary fanbase, led many to reasonably question ‘what is Newcastle United anymore?’.
Well, here it is. This NUFC has now thrown its first counter-punch in a one sided 12-month contest. It has gone out and signed a player who could play for any team in the division. It feels much more of a proper, traditional Newcastle United move. And straight off the back of the Woolsington Hall announcement, the securing of gap bridging sponsors and with still room to move in the market, you’re not daft for feeling that our NUFC might just be on the recovery trail.
Maybe I don’t mind yellow after all. I might even turn on the lights, never mind the TV. And right now, if only for the last few days, I really don’t want this window to end.