The roar at kick-off, the roar that had been there in most of the previous 18 home games of this season, was maybe given a few extra decibels here. Added to renewed hope, present all season, was a touch of yes, this really is happening.
Then came the moment, with fireworks being wedged into the tops of milk bottles, at the beginning of stoppage time, when Nick Pope was finally forced into some sort of movement to deny Timothy Castagne, to make sure it did happen. It came after one of the Newcastle keeper’s slowest days of the season, after what had often resembled a half-pitch, beat-the-packed-defence training exercise against a Leicester team largely too meek to threaten Geordie dreams.
After the opening roar at St James’ often comes the hush, the tension that describes how much it means in this city. It fell over the stadium after Brighton’s Deniz Undav pulled a goal back here last Thursday night, but this is the way of things here now. That blanket of quiet used to fall over this stadium as a portent of impending calamity. Now it rolls in because there is something to lose. Because there is hope.
That’s what it was always about in Newcastle. If any potential sense of wonder at a gatecrasher to the established order is tempered by misgivings over the club’s ownership in the wider football supporting community, it is not a sentiment widely shared here. In a city that often feels misunderstood by the world outside, it was never about pipe dreams of seeing Kylian Mbappé or Neymar posing for the cameras, stottie in hand. It was about finding a way out from the reviled Mike Ashley. It was about reconnecting with their club.
The transformation on the pitch has, likewise, been about care and attention to detail rather than sweeping, grand gestures. While Bruno Guimarães, Kieran Trippier and latterly Alexander Isak have been major contributors, the real triumph of this season (as with the last) has been in Eddie Howe’s coaching – authentically coaching, improving players who looked perfect only for treading water just above the relegation line.
That Fabian Schär, Miguel Almirón, Joe Willock and company have become decisive players is a huge testament to the work of Howe and his team.
As they crammed into those 52,152 precious places – some of which they were literally giving away in the dark, not-so-distant past of the Ashley reign – minds started to wander to next season, even if this one has been good enough to linger long in the mind.
Where might it be? Milan? Madrid? As Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds sauntered out of the tannoy before kick-off, thoughts of an overnight boat trip to Amsterdam sprang to mind, should Ajax make it. That is another one of those pinch-me aspects to all this. Newcastle have qualified for the Champions League ahead of the Dutch giants, who might not manage it – waiting, working and hoping like Milan, Inter, Marseille and the rest.
It’s going to take a while to absorb. Sat in the front rooms of Longbenton, Gateshead, Gosforth and Coxlodge in late August, these will be a rare set of supporters not shouting at the television telling Uefa to get on with it. They will want to savour every second. On those longed-for Champions League nights this game will quickly fade from the memory, a necessary routine check of photo ID and boarding pass before getting on the flight to glory. If the celebration was to be savoured by these fans this was tough for a set of weary players, who had given everything and more four days before against Brighton and looked dead on their feet at the end of it.
It had been a surprise to see Joelinton, one of those who paid the highest physical toll in that game, in the XI named here and he pulled up in the warmup, to be replaced by Elliot Anderson.
The woodwork may not have wanted to play ball with the stands wanting their gala ending denying Callum Wilson, Almirón and Guimarães. No matter. In contrast with those hardy travelling fans, gamely chanting ‘Leicester ‘til I die’ from up on level seven, Newcastle’s faithful are no longer seeing their beloved team stymied by neglect.
