Unless you're daft enough to count that cheap bit of glass you win for beating part-time teams in a half-paced summer kickaround, tonight's result equals one more year without a major trophy for Newcastle United, the 38th in a row. Gutless, scared and tactically inept, the team and coaching staff were disgraced, bottling what amounted to their only really important game of another dreadful season, in the context of which it is last week's performance, not this one, that stands out as an abberation. The saddest thing is, like a bunch of Club 18-30 losers on a Benidorm beach, they'll only be back to embarrass themselves again next year.
And make no mistake about it, we are witnessing the death throes of an era at St James' Park, the final dissolution of what little promise remained after the Keegan years. Forget the headline figures of 48,000 attendances for league games, the lack of depth behind those poor, deluded addicts who continue to shell out fortunes to watch spineless mediocrity was made clear by the crowd for last week's first leg, and for every cup-tie this season. The supporters are losing hope, and they are slowly dwindling away.
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