Local Heroes - From the pitch to the stands!

Owen Peterson describes a lifetime in Black & White and dreams fulfilled at Wembley Stadium!

"There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen" - Vladimir Lenin.

If there’s ever a historical quote that encapsulates the 16^th March 2025 and the still very fresh aftermath, I can’t think of any that are more poignant. Like many other bonny Black & Whites, I still haven’t come down since John Brooks finally blew for full time following an emotionally draining consumption of over 100 minutes of domestic cup final football.

I continue to watch re-runs of both goals, of players and staff running onto the pitch to embrace each other and of course, a euphoric Eddie Howe grabbing the trophy from Tino Livramento to wave it in the air like a victorious gladiator.

Bottle it up, keep it forever.

My relationship with Newcastle United started in the mid to late 80s thanks to my Dad, brother and uncle – all staunch Mags. We used to sit on the concrete bollards in the West Gallowgate corner and strangely, the thing I always used to look forward to was watching the Blaydon Races surge below the scoreboard and the crazy corner thinking, I wish I could stand there.

I’m not sure why, but the West corner of the Gallowgate always seemed safer and more conducive for ‘me fatha’ to access his flask of half time broth that ‘me ma’ used to put up!

After games, I couldn’t wait to sprint down to central station for the train back home to play on the back field with a Minerva supreme pretending to be Davey Mac. I was hooked on this football club.

I was a canny player as a kid. At 14 I was invited to the Middlesbrough FC School of Excellence and represented my district, county and the North of England. Not that I thought it at the time, but I was quite sought after and it seemed like every club, other than my beloved Yanited, wanted me to go there. Then, after a district game, an NUFC scout approached my Dad to see if I would be interested in a school holiday trial.

He deliberately didn’t tell me that night as he knew the impact it would have, so he waited until the next morning. The next morning wasn’t the 25^th December, but it felt like it. The next three weeks were mental as I also trialled at Man United, Nottingham Forest, Middlesbrough and Sunderland – all of whom made various schoolboy and apprenticeship offers.

Sunderland actually sent Jim Montgomery and George Herd to our house so they could speak to me and my parents about what they could offer. I recall them knocking on the door, sitting in our kitchen and my brother not letting me out of our shared bedroom as there was “nee way you’re signing for the fuckin’ Mackems, kid”.

Naturally and without any hesitation, I opted for Kevin Keegan’s Premier League table toppers, agreeing to a two-year schoolboy contract followed by a YTS scheme, which I launched into straight into the day after I left school in July 1996. My dream of running onto St James’ park to Going Home: Theme of Local Hero was underway! By the way, the song is what really inspired me to pen this article.

Not only have I heard it bellow out at St James’ Park, I’ve heard it played at weddings, parties and even an incredibly emotional funeral of a late cousin. Whilst it is a beautiful piece of music, it’s never sat comfortably with me, which I will explain later.

I done alright the first year but it was ridiculously hard to get regular game time as Keegan had famously scrapped the reserves, so the Youth Team was flooded with young professionals requiring minutes. However, to the detriment of my football career I couldn’t care less as I was more interested in playing head tennis and seven-a-sides with Messrs Beardsley, Clark, Ginola, Shearer, Batty and Ferdinand – I was basically a fan living a dream.

During this period I became synonymous with two things that, even to this day, still associates me with my time as a ‘young un’ at the club.

I was Alan Shearer’s boot-boy (only gave me £30 Christmas tip, which you might think is generous, but Les Ferdinand gave his boot-boy £200, therefore goes down as my greatest ever Toon number 9) and a Kevin Keegan cup of tea story, which even now creases my Mam (see below transcript)!

For context, the YTS cohort, a superb bunch of lads from far and wide, were split into groups with associated jobs and mine, on this day, was putting out the coaches kit. Whilst laying out the wonderful adidas/brown ale training attire, Keegan clapped his hands together to mark a cold morning. “Right, lets warm up with a cuppa”, he said. He turns to his staff:

KK – “Terry (Mac)”?

TMc – “Yes please Gaffer, coffee with milk”

KK – “Arthur (Cox)”?

AC – “Please boss, milk black”.

KK – “Budgie (John Burridge)”?

JB – “Go on Gaffer, coffee please”.

KK – “Chris (Chris McMenemy)”?

CM – “Fanatstic, Gaffer. White Coffee please”.

KK – “Owen”!

Me – (just as I’m laying boots on the floor, I look up) “Yes please gaffer, brick red tea with one sugar please”.

Keegan then turns round, pulls his shorts up and says, “No, you’re making them you stupid fucker”!

My second year was ravaged by injury and I was out for about around three months, but Kenny Dalglish took a liking to me and I was offered a one year professional deal – I thought I’d won the euro millions. However, I couldn’t get any momentum, injuries resurfaced and of course, Dalglish was replaced by Ruud Gullit.

My time at the club was up and despite expecting it, when the news was delivered to me by John Carver, I was heartbroken. Facts were, I wasn’t good enough and luck wasn’t on my side with injuries, but still, my world was shattered. I wanted to hate the club, but I couldn’t.

I was at a loss on what to do. I had a few miserable trials elsewhere which I wasn’t bought into and I ended up going back into education, before embarking on a distinctly average non-league career.

Despite playing on Saturdays, I still held a season ticket and would go to matches when I could. Thankfully, due to European football, a lot of games were on Sundays so I could still attend matches.

At those matches, even though my dream was gone, it was hard to let go and I still found it difficult. When Local Hero was played it would give me a mixture of feelings – regret, sadness, letting my family and friends down, shame and disappointment.

My time playing football finished in 2015 after I ruptured my ACL and it was back to following Newcastle United full time – a humdrum malaise under the previous owner (what’s his name again?)

Fast forward to the better times, eh! On the morning of the final there was a canny squad of us who met in a Waterloo pub and whilst most of the lads kept saying this time it felt different, I wasn’t so sure – it’s Newcastle United for fuck sake! Even when I walked into Wembley, there was still that fear of uncertainty and apprehension.

I was doing my hardest to lock away that lifting feeling of exiting the national stadium with our tails between our legs following yet another defeat.

Then, there was a moment my mindset changed and I started to, ever so slightly, believe. Newcastle fans drowning out You’ll Never Walk Alone and swirling scarves – magnificently tribal. We were up for this.

The players looked composed but hungry. Then, there was another moment that consolidated my feeling of it being our day. Joelinton chasing Quansah down, outmuscling him, winning possession, getting fouled and celebrating to raptures - scarves swirling again. It was a PSG at home moment and the volume went up another notch.

We all know what happened next and the feelings we experienced seeing Newcastle United Football Club win the English Football League cup. We had finally done it, it was real. We all have so many takeaways from the game and subsequent on-pitch celebrations, which made the day so magical.

Burn’s glorious header, Isak’s brilliant finish, the sincerity of Bruno’s tears, Schar dropping to his knees, Murphy and Osula acting like school kids with a new toy, the general togetherness of the players and of course celebrating with your ‘choked up’ family and friends.

I was lucky enough to be in a row with my brother and three nephews but there was an element of sadness I wasn’t next to my Dad (recovering from a recent hip replacement), as I had been our four previous visits to Wembley. However, I knew he’d be going his ends back in his living room.

My phone was going wild with a group facetime call from my wife and two daughters (who were watching the game back in town). I couldn’t answer due to network issues for the first 20 times but I eventually managed when walking out the ground. Seeing their faces knowing how happy they were for me is a moment I will never forget and will forever fill my heart.

The carnage of trying to get all the crew back together to celebrate then began.

Thankfully, most managed to get back to Borough Market and the landlord kindly succumbed to a midnight lock-in and a free DJ service of Toon related tunes. Turfed oot, kebab and then bed (still watching videos while trawling through messages etc).

The next morning, I had to get to Gatwick for 6.30 to catch an 8.30 flight to Amsterdam, meeting my wife and two friends as we’d booked to see Sam Fender on the Tuesday (the trip was booked before we’d even played Wimbledon with no consideration to a March final!!).

For the rest of my days I will never know how on earth I made it to the airport, but I did. There were a few other Mags in the airport walking round with their chests stuck out. I still had my scarf on so revelled in the boisterous calls of ‘get in mate’ and high fives as I walked past. A pint in the bar and I was away to celebrate further.

I met the missus and our friends, hugged and raised another drink on a canal in central Amsterdam – ironically enough, right outside a bar called New Castle! The next night we attended the gig, another sea of Black & White – heartwarming stuff. The lights went down and Local Hero played. I’m not ashamed to admit it, when Johnny Blue Hat’s saxophone kicked in, I sobbed pretty heavily which the missus noticed and put her arm round me – I just couldn’t hold back. I’d love to think it was the impact of four days alcohol consumption, but in my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t.

This time, the song didn’t fill me with the mixed emotions I’ve previously alluded to and usually experienced. There was no sadness and no sense of regret. I didn’t feel like I’d let anyone down. I wasn’t hurt or ashamed. For the first time since 1999, I felt an overwhelming release that I’d clearly been waiting years to reach.

Finally, Going Home: Theme of Local Hero was a triumph only.

We love you Newcastle, we do. Oh, Newcastle we love you.

Owen Peterson