Feast of football

Apr 26 2009 by Neil Farrington, Sunday Sun

WITH the council telly menu offering a choice of Hell’s Kitchen or teenage obesity, it was little wonder the nation reached for the Sky last Tuesday night.

Even less so, that such a meal was made of the feast of football duly served up by Liverpool and Arsenal.

But it was too rich for me and, I’ll bet, many others up our way.

Like POWs greeted with a square meal for the first time in years, those of us used to a diet of gruel at St James’s Park found the fayre at Anfield difficult to swallow.

Indeed, during the game’s few quieter moments, like in the lull between big dips on a rollercoaster, my stomach lurched.

For those brief interludes invited reflection on a time when Newcastle were the other ingredient of the recipe for an Anfield special.

A time so far detached from the reality of today as to induce an empty, queasy and (ahem) sinking feeling in Geordie guts. Last Sunday brought its now customary slim pickings for seasoned United watchers. A dog’s dinner at White Hart Lane.

Not Winalot, of course. More Pedigree Chumps.

It compared with what Liverpool and Arsenal cooked up two nights later like a Rustler burger compares with filet mignon. That is, not at all.

A different sport in all but name from the slop at Spurs, the Anfield banquet was a nauseating reminder of Newcastle’s fall from the Premier League’s top table.

And it barked out the message, however unpalatable, that they are probably about to take an even heftier tumble.

But however sour a taste that leaves behind, make no mistake that football maintains an appetite for Newcastle.