New Direction for Friday Falcons
Friday night is the new black for the Newcastle Falcons, obviously not wishing for the away fans to travel. It is a long fecking way to go, lads!This is a venture is to increase the fan base in the hungry footie land, and best of luck to them. Kingston Park is a grand place to play the manlier of team pursuits, so if this were to pay off, then fair play. Still, the travelling Irish fans may well be in the mini-bus marked ‘meagre’.
On a potentially cold Friday evening, the fecking Jacuzzi needs to be made bigger than a swimming pool down at the local gym and filled with more Geordie “burds” than can be found on a student night in Tuxedo Royale in Gateshead.
This club was formed in 1877 in the sunnier climes of Portsmouth. Gosport RFC was then dragged towards friggin’ Scotland by Sir John Hall to create a club on a par with Barcelona! They now have ice-hockey (from the natural weather pattern and played outdoors), basketball, footie and rugby. You’ve got to feel for the locals in Pompey, having to travel every other Friday night to Newcastle; free enterprise fecking works!
It has also been a period of fecking change for the most Northerly of premiership clubs (did I mention the game is on a friggin’ Friday?!), with the supposed chaff now raked away to pastures new. The Falcons wish to get back to the heady days of Championships and Cups and any other fecking things shiny.
Out goes Colin Charvis to Newport, Stuart Grimes to the Borders, the under performing Owen Finegan to Leinster as well as Stuart Mackie to the Irish. Dave Walder had already got his ‘Feck Off’ pass all the way to High Wycombe, where he seems have found some good form with the Pests.
The biggie is at DOR. John Fletcher, a former MP, Head Teacher at Durham University, poet lariat, and Olympic gold medallist, is the new master in freaking chief. He has moved in now that Sir Squeak-a-lot of Whingedomshire has packed his fecking bags and headed to HQ to become King Squeak-a-lot of Middlesex.
His squad consists of more English qualified players than that afforded to the England Cricket team, but it is as huge a task as a task too huge to express in words.
The only two notable signings to replace the exodus has been Kiwi, Brent Wilson from the Cheetahs and John Rudd from the Saints, who will give a bit of fecking bite in the backs.
With the injury crisis currently upon them and the loss of world class performers in the unlucky Johnny Wilkinson as well as the pace and line breaks of Mathew Tait, Fletcher must be having more nightmares than a six year old going to bed after a 440 gram cheese-fest while viewing the Freddy Krueger back catalogue (do kids find that scary any more?). Also, fighting to regain fitness is Anthony Elliot, the exciting back three man, who broke his face in the opening game against the Saints.
Add Joe Shaw, Geoff Parling, Mark Mayerhofler and John Rudd getting over the flu (fecking Southern softy), and selection is as clear as the water from the River Liffey.
But hang a fecking dang here now lads. The Falcons have started the campaign with an impressive bag of tries, although the results haven’t suited the endeavour shown. The much critically acclaimed pack, in a negative way, fronted up after a real mullering at Northampton.
They lost by a couple having looked out of it against the Saintly ones, then won by the minimum against Wuss when they looked fecking out of it, before losing in the RFU’s ‘Andy Farrell; welcome to Union party’. Sorries issued a good fecking by the score of 44-20, but that night was feck all to do with the Falcons.
The Newcastle pack has been given some real fecking shoite from the pundits since the start of the season. The area noted by all fans of this side was the tight five, and a summer of signings hasn’t really changed that feel. Jon Golding has come in from Rotherham as the lone prop and Jason Oakes from Otley added to the second row. Good pro’s both, but class was needed.
Micky Ward, with the real look of a dodgy fella who may break your legs, and Robbie Morris, the English capped former Saint, are the two fat feckers preventing the hooker from eating turf. Matt Thompson, who has played England underage, gets the nod at present, although with his dad on the board, nepotism is a word best served in a paper bag with salt and vinegar.
This unit did finally deliver in the opener, having endured a real fecking, but this was once Andy Long and David Wilson were replaced by Morris and Thompson.
In the second row, two Andy’s have been paired and provide a real grit in contact. Andy Perry is a friggin’ trained killer having served his country as a goddamn Royal Marine, so the Irish locks need to ensure they finish the game alive. Andy Buist is a fecking service brat (‘Daddy was in the RAF, don’t you know’), but seems to compliment Perry … and who the feck wouldn’t? I can imagine the conversation now: ‘Andy, you are really awesome and stuff?’ just to make sure that those deadly fingers don’t end up wrapped around the throat.
For all the perceived tight five failings, the back row is a completely different proposition. Mike McCarthy the London born ex-Connacht flanker and son of the Beirut hostage John McCarthy, is a real handful around the paddock and will win ball. Brent Wilson impressed on his debut, if selected ahead of Cory ‘Bomber’ Harris, the Kiwi born Welsh qualified fecker. With Phil Dowson at 8, then the tackle area is going to get tasty, but not in a homo way.
Any team taking the Falcons apart upfront, the set-piece and at the breakdown have a real chance of taking the fecking spoils. Fail to dominate the fat feckers, and their girls will rip you apart like a little tiny piece of tissue paper in the hands of Geoff Capes. There is more talent out back than that displayed in the windows of Amsterdam.
Okay, one of best 10’s to grace the game is broken once more, and please God let the great Wilkinson play again, but Toby flood is becoming the real deal. With a maturity displayed by grumpy old farts, but legs of a young stallion, hands as soft as cream and a rugby brain ticking quicker than Hong Kong Rolex, he can hurt teams given time and space. If James Grindal or Hal Charlton can secure ball and fire it to the man, defence is the only option.
With Flood now covering the 10 slot, the centre pairing is under some pressure. Jamie Noon, a wrongful scapegoat for England’s faltering, is a talisman for the Falcons and will give more to the cause in a bloody-minded way. Tom May, the chunky winger, may have to slot in at 12 in the absence of Tait and Mayerhofler to give some pace, but may lack the second kicking option when the pressure is applied.
The back three is the key to any success in the attacking stakes. Mat Burke, the 80 plus capped Aussie, has made Newcastle his home, due to his love of mini-skirts and halter neck tops being worn all year round by the hardy Northern beauties. He can win a game on his own when given the space to do so. World Class.
Ollie Phillips has been given the nod during the current injury plight. The fecking word ‘plight’ is shoite by the way. It was used better to describe the Potato Famine in 1845, for fecks sake. Still, Phillips will not let the lads down.
On the other wing, if Rudd fails to shake off his man-flu, the flying Orangeman, Tim Visser should be in with a shout of a start. The 19 year old Dutch born speedster bagged a beauty against Wuss in a thrilling comeback by Newcastle to claim the win by one on match day two.
London Irish have a real chance to get back on track if they really take this to the home side. The pack is fecking key in a big Chubb like dangly bit hanging from a key ring tagged ‘Feck Me the Pack is Key’.
The tight five have the grunt and experience to ask Mastermind level questions of their opposition if they control the tempo and secure set-piece ball. The back row will have to step up a gear and start pinching more lottery balls than Dale Winton. Brian Smith needs to get real 6,7,8 feckers to apply the arts of a dark persuasion.
LI girls will also need to sort their shoite out. Decision making is the crux of the friggin’ second half collapse against Brizzle. Take fecking field position and apply fat fecker pressure. Given space, scorch that Scottish turf, lads!
It’s a big game for both and already a “season forming” points haul available. Tough to call on their current form, but the forwards will decide.
--Master Scribe