The Second Coming


…Or how to delay doing household tasks by writing about the Ameobi dynasty…

This tweet from @El_Mantis got me thinking about The Ameobis:

To be strictly honest, I am usually thinking about The Ameobis. But, when recalling this tweet this morning, it got me thinking more specifically about the Ameobi breeding programme.

Forget GMF (Genetically Modified Foods). Newcastle currently have GMA (Genetically modified Ameobis).

For simplicity, and as I’m canny lazy, I will refer to the Ameobis as such from now on:

Ameobi 1.0 (Shola, destroyer of mackems)
Ameobi 2.0 (Tomi)
Ameobi 3.0 (Sammy)

Amoebi 3.0 and Ameobi 1.0. Ameobi 3.0 likes boots, and has them in different colours and styles.

Newcastle United have fooled the world. Think of Newcastle’s finances over the last decade or so: Lots of big fees and high wages. In other words, a waste of money on players not fit to wear the shirt.

But one of the smaller recurring costs the club has paid, which is often overlooked, has been to the ‘Ameobi Breeding Programme’. And it is set to pay off big style with Ameobi 3.0, the accumulation of decades of effort to create the perfect footballer.

Ameobi 1.0 ticked most of the basic requirements the Toon’s Ameobi-breeders were given. Tall, strong striker: check. Plays through pain: check. And, of course, top of the list – scores against the mackems: check mate!

However Ameobi 1.0 also came with a number of bugs, as is often the case when a new model is released. Newcastle rushed him onto the pitch, understandably excited to see how their venture into creating the ultimate footballer was progressing. As such, offside control was not included in Ameobi 1.0. Balance was also overlooked, perhaps understandably, in favour of scoring goals against the mackems. And while Ameobi 1.0 had at least a degree of pace at first, the wear and tear on his exterior has had more of an effect on his pace than any of the scientists could have predicted.

Despite his faults, however, science (me) has recently proven that Ameobi 1.0 is the best striker in the world at present in a series of articles here, here and here.

Ameobi 2.0 was the next off the production line. Sometimes scientists get things wrong. In an effort to iron out the faults of the first model, something went wrong. He is still a serviceable model, but not of the quality required of the GMA programme, and as such Newcastle chose not to take him on, but instead release him into the real world to fend for himself.

Ameobi 3.0. Well, after the relative failure of Ameobi 2.0, the scientists were locked in a room and, using the computers left over from Sam Allardyce’s (thankfully) short reign at the club, set about creating the ultimate footballer.

I have spoken to one of the scientists from the GMA programme and, on condition of anonymity, he assured me that Amoebi 3.0 is the most effective Ameobi yet produced. He could even be the perfect human being. They are so worried that they have created a “God among men” that they have sabotaged all of their equipment, so that Ameobi 3.0 could never be replicated.

“Ameobi 1.0 was a great start. He was rushed out, a little, however, I will admit. Some of the bugs weren’t fully ironed out. The main problem with Ameobi 1.0 was the solar panel on the back of his head to power to processor. We failed to realise that his hat obsession (which we added at a late stage to create a sense of personality that was otherwise lacking) would lead to this being covered most of the time, leading to his processor, and him by extension, operating at a fraction of his optimum power.”

“Amoebi 2.0? I think we did try too hard, but he had potential. Those at the top decided we should just move on to the next model. It was a shame, but that’s the way it often works in this line of business.”

“The potential of Ameobi 3.0 is frightening. If this boy wants to, he could bring peace to the Middle East, solve the banking crisis and score four against the mackems with his perfectly created left foot in the same afternoon without breaking a sweat.”

“You seen what happened against Chelsea? He was on the pitch a matter of minutes, and his presence so unnerved the Chelsea team that Newcastle salvaged a late equaliser. If he had been on the pitch longer a few minutes longer, they would have scored again. Easily. He has some kind of powerful charisma that just awes other teams. We’ve combed the notes, and we can’t explain it. He just seems to exude a naked power. The only thing I can think of to explain it is that he was accidentally hit on the head with a bible in the development stage. If I wasn’t a scientist, and I didn’t think God was just a fairytale, I would maybe believe that at that moment he received the power of God. He also ate a copy of the Koran, but you’re not gonna draw me into speculating on that.”

I called him again after last night’s Darlington game, where a pitch invasion followed an Ameobi 3.0 goal.

“You have to remember he is still evolving. He’s like a boy superhero at the minute. He needs to learn to control both his primary and secondary powers. But he is a good boy, and it will come with time.”

The future is bright. Not just for us, but for the world.

Unless he develops a hat obsession.

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Back in Time Again. Again. Again.


…Or how to
wind-up an ultimately disappointing series of repeated articles posted online while there is little football to write about…

Ok. I’m skipping the foreplay and the pleasantries.

Get in my time machine.

Now.

We’re going back one year exactly. And you better enjoy it.

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The temperature in Germany’s capital hit 40 degrees yesterday afternoon. For someone from Whitley Bay (with hair the colour of an African Sunrise), the heat was unbearable, and aside picking up the essentials (beer), I chose not to venture from the house. As such, I have no real interesting impressions on how excited Berlin was about the game with which to start this article. I could make something up, but that would be lying, and probably shit anyway, so, instead, I’ll start with a Paul the Octopus update…

Paul became public enemy number one after Spain dismantled the young German team earlier in the week. Seemingly on the Fan Mile during and after the Spain game, fans turned against their former hero, singing anti-octopus songs. Newspapers reported on threats to Paul’s life. Even the Spanish Prime Minister was concerned, offering to send a protective team to guard the octopus. It’s only an octopus!!

On my beer mission – sorry – I mean, on my journey for the essentials – I did notice that about half of the German flags that had lined the streets were gone (although the giant Holland flag of a neighbour was still proudly draped over their balcony). As I switched on the TV to watch the build-up, the show’s focus alternated between a review of the World Cup (as if it had already finished), and a review of Gunter Netzer’s career as a TV analyst. Some readers may remember him as midfielder for Borussia Mönchengladbach, Real Madrid and Germany (I don’t, although I had heard of him), but he is almost a cult-figure in German football broadcasting. Think Alan Hansen, but even grumpier. He argues constantly with the presenter, and often replies with one word answers. Perhaps his most famous moment in his second career was in 2003, when then-German manager Rudi Völler showered him with abuse live on TV after Netzer had criticised his team following a 0-0 draw in Iceland.

So, I left the house an hour early to go to the KulturBrauerei in the centre of the city. Due to a lack of fore-planning, and running on gut instinct, I took us in the wrong direction several times, trying to connect to public transport routes that only existed in my head. We made it, stressed and hot (the temperature had dropped to 35 degrees), just in time for kick-off.

A lot less German colours on display with Germany not making it to the final. Today. One year ago.

Opened in 1842 as a brewery, and extended in 1878, the KulturBrauerei is now a complex of nightclubs and small businesses. The screening was held in the large open space between several of the clubs. There were only about 400 people there (including a family of Uruguayans), and only about a third of the people there were dressed in German colours, and there were few flags present. There didn’t seem to be the sense of excitement, or even nerves, as there had been at the earlier games. It seemed more of a duty than a pleasure to watch their exciting young team, now that they could no longer win the World Cup.

Anyway, onto the game that wasn’t a game. The match was very entertaining, but there was no real atmosphere at all, aside from when the goals were scored. Gone was the singing of previous games. Obviously everyone wanted Germany to win, but no-one seemed to care that much. The emotions never peaked as high, or fell as low, as they had earlier in the tournament. It wasn’t until around the hour mark until the atmosphere started picking up, with a few songs and more cheering as the crowd seemed to sense that their World Cup would be over in half an hour (although judging by the lack of people there, I would assume many thought the World Cup had already ended when they lost to Spain). At the final whistle there was a cheer, and then people started to leave. It was a very anti-climactic end for the World Cup, for Germany, and certainly not the one many were predicting after the team destroyed Australia (and later England and Argentina). However this is a German team that the country can be proud of, having came 3rd for a second consecutive World Cup (with a runners-up place at Euro 2008), and one that will only get better as the young players develop. Perhaps this is Germany’s Multicultural Golden Generation coming through (although, as an Englishman, the term ‘Golden Generation’ brings back memories of disappointment and embarrassment).

Although Germany will watch the final, Germans will be more concerned with Jogi Löw’s contract situation – his contract has now expired, and talks have been in progress most of this year about extending it. For Berlin, and Germany, the World Cup ended last night, even though Spain and Holland play today. Sports betting is not as widespread in Germany, but I would suggest that Berliners could do a lot worse than put a few cheeky Euros on Spain to win. After all, the octopus says it is so…

The World Cup ended for Germany tonight. One year ago.

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Back in Time Again. Again.


…Or how to disguise journalism as time travel as the News of the World goes through a very public and deserved death after damaging the reputation of the art…

Join me on a trip back to exactly a year ago, when Newcastle were league champions (albeit Second Division – I am still using old terms to describe the divisions after a private trip in the time machine to 1967 to witness the birth of Philippe Albert in person), the news of the World was still mildly respected and Germany were about to play Spain in the World Cup Semi-Final.

Join me as I take you back to Berlin, July 7 2010.

Please note, no telephones were bugged in the making of this column (either the original or this ‘refreshed’ version). However many Germans were distressed.

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There is an interesting phenomenon in German football: Paul the Octopus. In the past weeks I have been re-assured at both work and football that Germany would win their games – not because of their devastating counter-attacking ability, or their team ethic, but because an English octopus at the Sealife Centre in Oberhausen has picked his food from a box with the German flag on it. The fact that Paul picked Spain in the run up to today’s game thankfully diminished the confidence of my colleagues, making them a lot more bearable than they have been for the majority of this tournament. This was, however, the same Octopus that said Germany would beat Spain in the final of Euro 2008 (they didn’t). I assume that he’s spent the past two years he must have immersed himself in football history, perhaps reading ‘Inverting the Pyramid‘ to gain a better appreciation of tactics, as this year he’s running a 100% success rate. Funny that it can have such an effect on the normally robust German national confidence. At the end of the day, it’s a frigging Octopus. Anyway…

As today’s game was a late one, and the venue I’d chosen was only a few stops away from work, there was no chance of me being late for this game (as those who read this meandering stream of consciousness at the weekend will know has happened before). If I had thought that the German fans would be a bit muted after Paul gave Spain a free pass to the final, I was sadly mistaken as I got off the Ubahn to be greeted by a cacophony of drunken singing and vuvuzelas. The inside of the station seemed to be full of idiots dressed in Germany tops and wielding flags, and they all seemed to be reasonably confident. Thankfully, I wasn’t going to the Fan Mile for this game…

Located just off the famous Friedrichstrasse (or Arne-Friedrichstrasse, as someone changed one of the street signs to after his first ever goal for Germany on Saturday), the Admiralspalast was opened in 1910. It was originally an entertainment complex (kinda like Whitley Bay Ice Rink, but on a much bigger scale), and became a famous theatre in the decadent Berlin of the 1920s. We arrived there 90 mins before kick-off, having no idea what time it opened. The outside viewing area was open, but, as I’m getting old and wanted to fully benefit from the theatre ‘experience’ (wey, I wouldn’t go for the theatre!), and not because I’m an ‘old’ 25 (26 (27 now)), we waited to get into the theatre. We spent half an hour waiting by a staircase, indulging in a favourite German pastime – standing still, in front of other people, staring at others.

Anyway, we managed to get onto the balcony (thinking it was the only place with seats), and got a canny place to sit near the screen (though wedged in a corner, making beer runs impractical unless you vaulted over the side of a partition, which I only attempted once. Successfully, I might add. I am a fit 25 (26)). For those who like a bit culture, there was a huge chandelier on the ceiling. For those who don’t, they only turned it on during the game – when the other lights were dimmed – so no one paid it any heed anyway. They’d actually set up tables and chairs in the downstairs part, giving the whole thing a kind-of relaxed atmosphere.

To counter-balance Paul the octopus, Jogi Loew was once again clad in his €199 “baby blue cashmere jumper” (quote from Bild online – English version). Seemingly his Assistant Hansi Flick – the dude who dresses like Loew’s clone – “forced” him to wear it for the knockout rounds, as they’d won the two games he’d worn it during in the knockout rounds. They do make strange pair, that’s all I’m saying…

Sheeeearer! On Jorman telly! Today! Last year.

There were about 1,000 people watching at the Admiralspalast (indoors at least), including about six Spaniards and four Koreans. They were treated to Alan Shearer’s opinions on the German team (after the England game, I assume), before the lights dimmed and the anthems started. The crowd had been loud during the anthems, especially during the Spanish one – although not in a good way – before settling into an almost nervous silence after Villa’s chance in the first five minutes, lasting until about half-time.

The team actually played reasonably well during the first half, but it was clear that Spain were the much more dangerous team. The German fans took advantage of half time to regroup from the shock of seeing Spain play football somewhat approaching their majestic best for the first time in this tournament – at least that’s why I assume the queue at the bar was so long…

The crowd were actually reasonably quiet during the match as a whole, which is probably due to the majority of those being there were probably over 30, although there were a also a lot of annoying school girls, who were obviously not allowed to go to the Fan Mile. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. On the hour mark, however, panic set in on a great, and incredibly audible, level. Spain had three chances within a minute, and everyone present knew that Germany should have been behind by now. A graphic on the screen came on to announce that Germany had had two shots on goal. Spain had had 11. The introduction of Kroos seemed to give the fans a lot of hope (although I did think Trochowski was playing well), and he was immediately involved in the game, always looking lively. Unfortunately, and I’ll admit I was supporting Germany again, he placed his shot gently into Casilla’s grateful arms when presented  with a clear chance. The crowd really picked up in the wake of this miss, singing constantly – albeit the same two songs on repeat – and Germany were in the ascendancy.

Until Spain scored.

A hush broke over the audience. Except for the idiot schoolgirls, who seemed to be singing just to make noise. As soon as Gomez was brought on, it was obvious that Germany were screwed. He’s like Heskey without the good points. How Spain didn’t get a second is beyond me, and I think everyone realised at the end that Germany had been outplayed. Bettered, but not embarrassed.

As I got the Sbahn back, a group of young Germans stood next to us. One of the lads made a big show of rubbing the painted German flag from his cheek, before explaining to his mates who he would be supporting in the final. They can be a cold, emotionless lot, these Germans…

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