Whaaaaat?!

My reasons for not writing this blog until today, are twofold. Firstly, the Newcastle game interfered with my 40th birthday celebrations which culminated in a few too many at a pub quiz last night, and secondly, I'm still in shock.

Enough about me and the possibility I'm also suffering from the after effects of an uncooked scallop, let's chat about the match. I'll skip the first half, because, oddly, it's not really important any more. Suffice to say, we were winning. Comfortably. And then some.

Where to start? Oh, I don't know. Diaby's sending off is as good a place as any. In Song's absence, he was having a cracking game. A fair tackle (talksport) by the delightful Mr Barton sent him on his arse and he reacted by pulling the little fucker up by his throat, Nolan ran over, Diaby shoved him away. Straight red. Can't really argue with that, although with an injury history that reads as long as War and Peace, his reaction didn't really surprise me. Still, he reacted, and that's what happens when you do. It's how the team reacted that bothered me.

After a massive half time bollocking from Alan Pardew, the geordies had come out with a different mind-set, unsurprisingly. That of stopping any further embarrassment and at least putting up a fight - and I'm ashamed to say, we couldn't really deal with it. We seemed a little taken by surprise by their attitude, went into our shells and struggled to keep hold of the ball or pose any real attacking threat - which are precisely the things we're supposed to be good at. A worrying injury to Djourou to be replaced by Squillaci had already set off the little alarm bells ringing in my head, which became giant NEE NAHS after the sending off. A soft penalty followed. Four one. Best poked in another one after the ball dropped kindly to him. Four two.

Then. Yes. The second penalty. Having watched the replay over and over again I fail to see how it's ever a penalty. My friend, Graham, a rugby fan, tells me there was a slight push from Rosicky. Still can't see it. Someone else suggested that if had happened anywhere else on the pitch it would have been a free kick. No it fucking wouldn't. There was nothing to it. I suspect that Mr O'Dowd was caught up in the madness of the game and simply put his whistle to his moronic potty mouth in reaction to thousands of screaming, sweating, fat, topless geordies. But I'm afraid that's simply not good enough, not at this level, or at any level. It was a terrible, useless and baseless decision. End of.

Barton stepped up and made it four three. The fact he was there to take it perplexes me. After taking out Arshavin in the first half from behind (play on, O'Dowd), he should have been booked. Pure and simple. The tackle on Diaby was a booking, in my opinion (and millions of others), and he should have gone. But no. Booking Alphabetical for holding onto the ball after the second penalty was farcical, especially after the UFC take down by Nolan. The man really is a useless cunt.

Conspiracy theory alert. Am I the only one in thinking that Cesc's words to the fourth official against Everton may have played a part in this? Just a little? I hope not, but based on some of his ridiculous decisions it does make you think doesn't it? A friend of a friend (Mexican Les - he knows stuff) has since told me that not only is O'Dowd a shape-shifting reptilian humanoid (much like George W Bush), he has also been implicated in the death of Princess Diana, the 911 disaster,  is a Freemason and high ranking member of The Illuminati. So if that's not proof positive, I don't know what is.

Tiote, then spanks one in from three hundred yards, as you do, to make it four apiece. At some point during all this madness, Newcastle scored a legitimate goal ruled out for offside, and we scored an illegitimate goal ruled out for offside. Here's the bottom line. It was the same referee for both halves. He didn't help matters, no, but we have to look at ourselves here. To suddenly become a disorganised rabble when losing a centre half and having a man sent off is baffling and unacceptable. Keystone Kops spring to mind.

The news on Djourou is that he will be out for a month, apparently, so call it six weeks to two months so as not to get your hopes up. So we're left with Squillaci and Koscielny as our only two fit centre halves, a knock to one of them will possibly see Song drop back, which will surely unbalance the side, or Ignasi Miquel promoted from the reserves. Bah. We all knew it would happen. All of us, except one, so it seems.

This is all very depressing. The 'soft underbelly' that everyone bangs on about reared its ugly head again, just when we were getting used to not having one. A team that is four one up at half time with any pretensions of winning The Premier League, should not collapse in the fashion we did -. but, curiously, we are a point closer to Man Utd thanks to Wolves, who we play this Saturday. We have to get back on the metaphorical Arsenal horse and get on with it. No wallowing dressed up as psychological damage, let's just put it down as a freak, can we?

A weekend full of surprises, indeed. And if you were with me on Saturday, you'll know what I mean. I'll leave you with a little something that may or may not cheer you up. Au revoir.