Full time: Magpies 5 Saints 0

Sir Bobby said:
 
"I reminded them about that hammering (2-4 at Southampton last August) and they responded magnificently. I wanted them to take the initiative and we couldn't have done more in the first half. 

"We scored four goals, hit the woodwork four times and missed a penalty, which isn't a bad return."

Dave Jones:

To follow
 

Five months after the departure of the supposed architect of sexy football, the old stager Bobby saw his World XI give Dave Jones a right royal rogering on live TV, and basked in the post-coital afterglow with all the pride of a new father. For once, headlines of the nature of "Robson enjoys Romp" weren't of the sleaze-related variety, thankfully.   

At the risk of plagiarizing oneself, this game was the epitome of what Newcastle home games should against opposition of this stature i.e. a one-sided stuffing. In our early years of Premiership life, the men Kevin Keegan sent out invariably went straight for the jugular of teams from the lower reaches of the league (and above, although that's another story.) Cast your mind back to turning over Swindon and Coventry, Wimbledon and indeed a Southampton side featuring one Bruce Grobelaar in nets. 

The common thread in those victories in my own jaundiced opinion was a superior force of will as well as better footballing resources. The confidence engendered in the team by sympathetic management and the players own performances made us a formidable proposition at home, with or without the alleged "goal start" the crowd give us.

Now, after enduring the non-events of Tomasson and Rush and co. when the players looked as if they'd rather play underground than be subject to scrutiny and ridicule from an unimpressed local audience (and I include Barton, Speed and Pistone in that players category), finally the wheel has turned again. 

In successive games, Roma, Spurs (twice), West Ham, Liverpool, Sheffield United and Southampton have come up here and been forced to fight for everything, except when our occasional profligacy has presented them golden opportunities. Unbeaten in 13, and an average of three goals scored a game, bloody marvellous....

After such an onslaught, it was almost inevitable that we would falter in the second period (even, in the famous 7-1 Leicester stuffing we only got one in the second half), and the one time that Bobby might have made his favoured substitutions, he allowed the team to lose the thread for a while before regaining their focus and staging a late flurry-ette that brought a further goal and good Nobby and Shearer efforts. 

Mention must be made though of the continuing cack-footedness of the Georgian loon, who in his recent fleeting appearances appears to have borrowed some boots from the circus.

Moments to savour today included: the look on Shearer's face when missing the penalty follow-up, as Ferguson chuckled heartily behind his back, Marcelino falling over an invisible obstacle as he made a rare foray into the opposition box, a Dyer/Solano move down the right flank that would have won prizes on "Come Dancing" and the abuse that lazy lardy ex-smoggy Ripley took all afternoon. 

The only disappointments both involved Big Dunc; that he didn't complete a maiden hat trick and failed to maim Mark Hughes. The latter might have been game on as he came to the pitchside and changed footwear, but regrettably emerged with another pair of boots, football rather than divers.

Returning John Beresford got the usual reception afforded to an popular ex-player who doesn't have a jaw easily slackened by media lucre i.e. a standing ovation, and was then ironically booed as he made his long-delayed comeback.

His applauding of the home fans at the final whistle confirmed his appreciation and understanding though (it later transpired he was injured and hid the fact from the Saints management in order to make a farewell appearance at Gallowgate).

If we are as strapped for cash as the club would have us believe, then the far served up by Bobby Robson to the Tyneside public at present will go a long way to ensuring all those 52,000 seats are full of punters eager to see goals scored in a stylish manner, whether they're Chablis-fuelled parasites from PLCs or drunken ex-dustbinmen from Dunston.

So, onward progress up the league to the dizzy heights of thirteenth and above the other Robson muppets with sights set on the monkey-heed mob. The only dissatisfied occupants of Gallowgate were the handful of Saints malcontents and the groundstaff who will have had to check out the Leazes goalposts for structural damage after the Shearer-inflicted battering they received.      

PS: After the match Bobby expressed sympathy for opposing boss Dave Jones, invoking unpleasant memories of the Keegan comments just before he jumped ship. When Robson later revealed that talks over a new deal hadn't even begun, my own personal paranoia leapt to new heights, but this was tempered by the fact that the 5-0 score and performance kept his technical area incursions to a minimum.

Every time I see him charge out of the dugout waving and wailing I think of poor old Jock Stein.

Biffa