All that was missing was rain. And an umbrella. And an owner.
When the final knife went in — Bournemouth’s third goal — two minutes into injury-time, Steve McClaren, who had spent most of the afternoon stood in his technical area, blinked to forget what he was watching, turned on his heels with his hands in his pockets and trudged back to his seat.
All around the stadium the procession began; a funeral-paced march of supporters trudging out of St James’ Park, unable to watch anymore.
It was an X-rated afternoon for anyone with black and white blood. There was none given for the cause from a group of players who now look to have seen off their third manager, following the exits of Alan Pardew and John Carver.
It is a football club without a heartbeat. A team without character. A city without a leader.
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So they joined in when Bournemouth’s supporters started singing, “you’re getting sacked in the morning.” They joined in, and then they shouted, “Attack, attack, attack” and they wondered why it has come to this, supporting a team with no guts.
And when they could watch no more, when Bournemouth’s superiority had finally, and rightly, produced a third goal they walked out.
No one could blame them.
McClaren sat down. Lee Charnley, the managing director who has spent £120 million of the football club’s money in four transfer windows, had left his seat in the directors’ box that had been protected by three bodyguards in the game’s closing stages.
Only Keith Bishop, an apparent crisis management specialist, or rather Ashley’s chief PR advisor, remained in the seats of power.
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The phone call between Charnley and Ashley, the billionaire owner of Sports Direct would have been worth listening to.
Newcastle had nothing ot offer, least of all the pitiful centre forward that is Emmanuel Riviere, bought by committee, picked by necessity, anonymous by talent.
That was the centre forward who had to lead McClaren and Newcastle out of crisis. No wonder it failed so spectacularly.
That team sheet, with Riviere in the place where such giants of football as Alan Shearer, Les Ferdinand or Malcolm Macdonald used to be, told the supporters and Bournemouth and even the Newcastle players that the game was up.
Aleksander Mitrovic was deemed too tired to start after his efforts at Stoke in midweek. Papiss Cisse is injured. Seydou Doumbi, the transfer-window signing, is still deemed not match fit. Newcastle are lumbered with it; a football team built by an ill-equipped committee.
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They fell behind to a Steven Taylor own goal, just before the half-hour mark and with 20 minutes remaining, Josh King crashed a second past Rob Elliot.
Only a Ayoze Perez reply, in the 81st minute, suggested there was a distinct possibility of a fight back. It was put to bed in the 92nd minute, when Charlie Daniels struck the third.
Newcastle United: Elliot, Janmaat, Taylor, Lascelles, Dummett (Anita 31min), Shelvey, Colback, Sissoko (Aarons 69min), Perez, Wijnaldum, Riviere (Mitrovic h-t)
Bournemouth: Boruc, Smith, Francis, Cook, Daniels, Ritchie (Distin 90+1min), Gosling, Surman, Gradel (Pugh 61min), Afobe (Grabban 69min), King