5 mins: Nolberto Solano took Alan Shearer's pass on the right of the box and hesitated before crossing for Stephen Glass to send an unlikely header goalwards. Ian Walker grasped it, but the linesman signalled for a goal before Temuri Ketsbaia bundled in the loose ball to make sure. 1-0.

44 mins: David Ginola's centre from the right was touched on by the outstretched boot of Aaron Hughes, arriving with Geordie Chris Armstrong a couple of yards out. He promptly knocked the ball into the net, with Laurent Charvet standing helplessly on his shoulder. 1-1.

Half time: Magpies 1 Cockerels 1

59 mins: The Peruvian again, this time dropping a corner from "the corner" perfectly for Nicos Dabizas to bang home a headed winner at the Gallowgate End. 2-1.

Full time: Magpies 2 Cockerels 1

Sir Bobby said:
 
To follow

George Graham:

To follow
 

When I was nowt but a lad, football always seemed to be like this.

From my parka-insulated position in the centre paddock, It was always dark and windy, we normally scored first, conceded an equaliser and then got a winner, all to great crowd backing. However, there always seemed to be a "special" something in the air when teams came up from that there London, and I'm not just talking about petrol bombs here...

Many things have changed; great looming stands now replace crappy little bits of terracing, and the Pirate is no more, but Sunday seemed to bring back some of the togetherness between player and fan, lost over years of spiralling wages, exotic but huffy foreign imports and malevolent capitalism (Freddie.) 

Time was that I genuinely believed shouting "encouragement" at a young Chris Waddle and "humorous songs" at the likes of Frank Worthington made a difference, and I still claim credit for the 3-2 Bonfire night victory over Fulham in 1983, by virtue of a quick throw-in return via my left ear which set up the winner.....

While the forces of progress and greed dictate the level of involvement that us supporters, sorry consumers, are now allowed, there is still the odd blood stirring occasion that slips through the corporate net. At times, this match seemed to be engulfed completely by the raw emotion spilling out of black and white shirts both on and off the park. Even the likes of Solano were swept up in this wave of pride and latent endeavour, becoming embroiled in the sort of hand to hand combat he usually studiously avoids. 

The fact that both Helder and Fumaca were making their first starts for the club and Charvet and Glass were easing themselves back into active service cast extra responsibilities on their colleagues to stand firm and resist the temptation to drop them in the clarts.

That they did was partly due to good support from the crowd, both pro-United and anti-Spurs (well, Ginola really) and outstandingly gritty performances from players you would hope to lead by example, Robert Lee exemplifying the positive and ultimately match-winning attitude of the home team. That the only home transgression was a dubiously awarded yellow card to the Peruvian is testament to the gritty but fair way we went about Georgie Graham's preening ponces.

Pre-match comments made by Ginola stoked up the home fans, and an early dive by the Frenchman cast the die for the afternoon, as howls of derision followed his every stumble. Apparently the police were subsequently called in after complaints from fans about the behaviour of both Daveed and Sherwood. This seems nonsensical at first glance, given that a) we won, b) we knew they were bad losers, and c) this isn't a Vicarage whist drive, it's a blood and snots Premiership fight. 

Perhaps those who took exception to alleged naughty words and gesturing were getting an early taste of what they'll be paying through the nose for next year in their corporate chambers of horrors. I can just hear them now, "you never said there would be ruffians playing on the pitch, Mr Wheatley; with common people standing up near me, clapping and singing in time...it's just not the done thing..."

It has been said that on paper we're magnificent, but in reality are nowt more than an overpriced collection of individuals. Not in this game. Synergy they call it in fancy human resource seminars, and Bobby R. seems to be able to conjure it from somewhere within himself. Local pride, luck, respect, experience, voodoo, who cares? I don't expect to see the calibre of football we witnessed when the likes of Ginola were interested enough to turn it on for the toon, but what I demand is evidence that those currently entrusted with the task of fulfilling our hopes and dreams fancy it. 

Producing something watchable is preferable, but when I'm reduced to hoping the mackems can win at bloody Vicarage Road, then fight and passion beats fancy dan posturing every time.

While the injury list still contains millions of pounds of talent, those deployed today were certainly deserving of a win bonus. Granted, an early goal put everyone of a Northern persuasion in good heart, but of two unremarkable teams, the one that won deserved it through sheer force of will. Shearer will play better (hopefully), but in the last quarter when the dangerous Dominguez menaced down the left, the England captain was scrapping away in our own box, alongside his team mates.

So, having found some degree of consistency, in approach if not personnel, where do we go from here? A glance at the teamsheet tells its own story, some 40 shirts being claimed. Clearly there has to be a reduction in numbers for cost-cutting reasons, as well as generating transfer income, allowing youth players like Brian Kerr to get a chance, and vitally, getting rid of some of the tripe we're saddled with. Pistone and Dabizas have battled back into the reckoning - good for them. 

Rumours continue to abound that Marcelino bottled it in Rome and sought refuge in the physio's arms. Get him sold, and anyone else who doesn't fit in to the template for the New Bobby Army.

Bring on the Italians "by the score" as they say in the old song, and a return to those wonderful Fairs.. erm......UEFA Cup nights. Then an FA Cup trip to White Hart Lane beckons.