My dislike goes back, believe it or not, to 1955. Picture the scene, we used to live in a little street where everybody lived cheek to jowl and we were the only ones with a telly. A magnificent piece of technology, black and white, 12 inch screen. Everybody piled in to watch, bodies balanced on arms of chairs, kids lined up on the floor waiting for the action to begin. The unbelievable happened, Newcastle scored within the first minute( the fastest goal record that stood until 1997) scored by the Toon legend Jackie Milburn who just happened to be the Charlton brothers uncle. Parity was restored by a diving header from Bobby Johnstone. We then lost Jimmy Meadows to a career ending injury, so we were down to 10 men. Subs were still to come in the future so we had to try to negotiate the rest of the match with a depleted side and superior numbers told and we eventually went down 3-1 (George Hannah getting there last goal, I don't know if he knew about the agenda then).
So there we all sat or stood wondering what had happened. I was sat crying my eyes out, I was only nine so had an excuse, when my young brother appeared from nowhere and stood shouting Ewcastle, he could not even pronounce their name properly. My Ma noticed that he was clutching Maltesers in his hand. It turned out that the rag from the top of the street had bribed him to do the dirty deed.
My father was out in a flash and fisticuffs ensued, and there you have it my early indoctrination into the twisted world of the scum hordes.
Is it time to let it go? I don't think so, I am enjoying the schadenfreude.