Dr Gloom

because he is arguably third choice in the two positions where he provides cover and we're restricted by the psr nonsense. doesn't it make sense if shifting him for a decent fee means we can buy a new RW or CF? we are two injuries away from starting Miggy at RW or Osula/Gordon at CF

you're giving up your ticket because you've got to climb a few stairs?

if we can get them up to £12-15m it's a no brainer.

£11m bid for Kelly from Fenerbahce rejected, according to the Athletic

stop watching that shit. it's bad for your health man

no, that was sammy. he argued passionately that isak's best position was winger and that he wasn't a CF.

didn't he play for england at CM at one point?

In Paris streets, beneath the skies, Where wealth and power met his eyes, Lived Chezgiven, a financier grand, With silver tongue and a golden hand. He danced through life with flair and grace, A high-flyer in the city's race, Yet whispers circled, faint and near, Of favours done for sailors' cheer— A box of tobacco, an evening's trade, For promises in shadows laid. But fate, it seems, had more in store, For Chezgiven, the man of lore. In distant lands, a forum called, Toontastic, where the Geordies sprawled. A place for banter, dreams, and rants, Where football ruled, and hope enchants. And there, amid the posts and noise, A new voice rose—Chezgiven’s joys. With sharp debate and wit profound, He challenged minds, he held his ground. In politics, he found his muse, A lover of the fine, the few. From caviar to vintage wine, He spouted thoughts, both sharp and fine, But deeper still, a darker side— For class A drugs, he did not hide. And then, in time, the forum kings, Appointed him with power's wings— A mod, a ruler of the thread, A force to fear, a voice to dread. He wielded bans with iron hand, "New rules!" he'd shout across the land, The members groaned, the trolls did flee, As Chezgiven set Toontastic free. He banned the blasphemers, crushed the fun, With every click, he’d make them run. And soon, the forum, once alive, Lay still, beneath his rule, deprived. His power swelled, his ego grew, Until he’d banned both old and new. And still, he sat, so high, so proud, The king of Toontastic, shouting loud. But fate is fickle, as it goes, And Chezgiven, blinded by his prose, Did not see the danger close, That came in bubbles, soft and rose. A party night, a grand affair, Champagne corks flying through the air. And in a moment of pure jest, He sought a “new way” to feel blessed. A champagne enema, quite absurd, To lift his spirits, so he stirred. But chaos struck, a deadly twist, As bubbles burst, he could not resist. The fizz, the burn, the sudden pain, It took him down, it sealed his reign. The forum mourned, though few were kind, The king had gone, the mod declined. His power now a distant tale, Of champagne dreams and ego’s wail. So, remember Chezgiven’s fall, A man who rose, and then did stall. From Paris heights to Toontastic's seat, His life was grand, but incomplete. The lesson here, though dark and grim— Too much of power can drown you in.

he should stick to rapping

NAME AND SHAME

agree with all of that except the manager point. Eddie can win stuff for us if the other stuff you mentioned comes together

Hayden was a trier. I’ll give him that. Unlike a lot of the other crap who darkened our doors

he did alright at Bournemouth too. Add to a long list of players who were shite for us but went on to have decent careers

it's a social media rumour/lie that i'm choosing to believe. makes you think

willock is a class player when fit and offers something different to our other midfielders. i'd love to see him properly fit and firing again as he's a great option in certain games.

i think we keep him this window, not least because he's injured, and we're bound to pick up more injuries and he'll get another chance to have a run of games at some point. if he doesn't force his way into the first team conversation by the end of the season, i think he could be away in the summer. he's in his peak years and he's good enough to be starting games at a PL club, if not for us.

I heard a rumour, dunno if true or not, that Boehly didn’t know Chelsea wouldn’t automatically play champions league football every season before the takeover

perhaps they’re gambling on finishing top four. It would be a crying shame if they missed out on champions league money again

no stained glass window reference?

raise your pint to this curious gent

The Ballad of TheBrokenDoll In the north, where the Tyne flows deep, Lives a man whose heart won't sleep. TheBrokenDoll, they call him still, A Geordie soul with iron will. From boyhood days by St. James' Park, He’s stood through thunder, hail, and dark. With black and white, his blood runs true, For Newcastle, loyal through and through. The stands once roared, the crowd was loud, His voice, a lion’s, fierce and proud. But in his chest, a fire burns, For battles fought and lessons learned. “Scabs,” he calls them, Nottingham’s shame, Fans who kept Thatcher in the game. And Liverpool, those “murderers” bold, Whose echoes still in his heart unfold. Through decades long, through heartache, pain, He carried hope, though it was slain. For Mike Ashley, the villainous king, Had shackled dreams in a corporate ring. But then—oh then—the dawn did rise, A takeover, a bright new prize. TheBrokenDoll, with fists held high, Watched Ashley fall, and heard the cry: “Rejoice, my brothers, rejoice, my kin! The long dark years, they’re done, we win!” But joy, it seems, is short-lived, too, For the price of hope is pain anew. The ballot, they said, would sort the crowd, A chance to see the Toon, once proud. But hours spent, eyes fixed on screens, Hitting refresh through endless means. “I'm human!” he screams, “I swear it’s true! I’m not a bot, don’t make me blue!” The jigsaw puzzles mock his plight, As tickets vanish into the night. A howl escapes, beneath the moon, A groan of agony, a wistful tune. For in the end, what’s left to say? A lifelong dream still slips away. But TheBrokenDoll remains the same, A Geordie heart that can't be tamed. Through ticket woes, through boardroom games, His love for Newcastle still inflames. So, here’s to you, the broken dream, To every hit, and every scream. Through thick and thin, you’ll fight, you’ll call, A loyal heart, TheBrokenDoll.

it's hard to work out how they're not in trouble with the PSR stuff. i know their commercial revenue dwarfs ours, but they've spend three quarters of a billion on transfer fees alone since the yank took over and started playing football manager in the transfer market. does the dodgy hotel sale and a few outgoings really offset that outlay? perhaps one of the so-called accountants can explain.