52 mins Craig Bellamy played the ball to Jenas who was chopped down as he tried to cut inside. Shearer stepped and hit a low shot to the keeper's right as Murambadoro went the wrong way - well before the kick was taken. As Alan Shearer hit the ball, two Sakhnin players were virtually alongside him. 4-1

90 mins Rotten opposition and stand-in goalkeeper but regardless this was a classic Alan Shearer strike for his hat-trick. James Milner played it up to Al on the right edge of the box and he shimmied left before hitting a powerful curler that would have beaten any keeper. 5-1

Full time: Sakhnin 1 Newcastle 5

Graeme Souness said:

"I'm relieved we got through and got away with no injuries. They got on us at every opportunity, but we weren't intimidated in the first game and we weren't tonight.

"I think it has come full circle to be honest - our football in England is rated meaty, but there are countries now which are far more aggressive.

"Part of the reason The Premiership is great to watch is because there is protection for flair players. With a Spanish referee, I think we thought we'd get some protection tonight - we didn't, but we've got away with it."

About Kluivert:

"The only doubt about Patrick is his desire. He's a world-class player in anybody's book.

"If Patrick wants it, Patrick will get it because he's got that much class, athleticism and ability that it can only be his state of mind which will prevent him from becoming the best striker in the world in the next four years.

"At 28, he's coming into the best period of his career. He's got the knowledge and the fitness and he's at a great club. In the next four years, whatever he wants he can have.

"I think he's showing the desire he needs and him and Alan are a class act. The longer they play together the better they will become, and I don't think I need to tell anyone that they're world-class strikers.

"I think Alan enjoys playing with Patrick and that feeling is reciprocated - if you're a top player, you want to be playing with other top players."

Hapoel Bnei boss Eyal Lachman said:

nothing that we could understand, but he did have a cracking leather jacket that made him look like the Fonz....

Stats

First appearance of the new "lucky" yellow away kit. Shay Given made his 41st European appearance for the club to extend our appearance record further. A couple of weeks past the 10th anniversary of the last time we hit five goals in a European away game when recording a 5-0 success in Antwerp. Hat trick hero that night was Robert Lee, the only other Newcastle player ever to score three goals away from home in a European match. Alan Shearer became the first Newcastle player to score 20 goals in Europe with his second European treble for the club to go with the one at home to Leverkusen in February 2003.  This was also his first competitive hat trick away from home: he's now netted four hat tricks for us, against Leicester (h), Sheffield Weds (h) Leverkusen (h) and Sakhnin (a) Having doubled his goal tally for the season in this game, but not managed to get that one at Southampton credited to him, Shearer has now netted 179 - Milburn got 200.  45 minute runout for Steve Harper, his first appearance of the season - he was last spotted in first team action at SJP in October 2003 as we lost to West Brom in the League Cup.

Waffle

Reflections on another memorable European expedition.

Newcastle Airport, early morning, Wednesday. A group of familiar faces assembles for check-in at the RyanAir desk, bound for Dublin and another European game. 

However, this was no short hop to the Emerald Isle to reprise our 1977 Bohemians tie in Dublin's fair city - rather a stepping stone (and refuelling point) on the road to Tel Aviv.

Just like the Eurovision song contest, the continued inclusion of Israeli sides in European club competitions is an unexplained anomaly. But once it became clear that this tie wasn't going to be moved anywhere else on safety grounds, plans were made to get to our debut in the holy land, along with accommodation enquiries - just to make sure there would be room at the Inn....

While some non-flyers attempted to plot overland courses to Israel - only to be foiled by Greek ferry cancellations - and others booked up via a variety of scheduled flights, around 50 fans took the Toon Travel option which involved a 6 hour lie-over in Dublin - it's a hard life.....

The mood of the trip was set when the coach taking the party into the city turned up staffed by one Liam O'Brien - but not that one - whose instant straight-faced reply to a daft question about whether Irish time was the same as English time was that it was precisely 14 minutes behind.

Passing the impressive but football-free stadium that is Croke Park before avoiding the brand new trams in the city centre, a slightly damp Dublin provided the perfect excuse to seek shelter on cigarette-smoke-free licensed premises - many of which were coincidentally just opening their doors for the day.

Reassembling in mid-afternoon, a slightly looser crowd returned to the airport in merry mood, albeit lighter of pocket, having been bitten by that pesky Celtic tiger in the form of high bar prices. 

Some enthusiastic questioning by a gaggle of youthful Israeli security officials then tested the faculties of some (sample questions - who scored the goals in the first leg of this tie? who do you play in your next / last game? what do you intend to do in Israel?)

Eventually though, everyone was deemed fit to travel and along with around 30 other passengers we boarded the charter flight for our 5 hour journey to Israel. Food was served, films were shown and there was a ready supply of ice and refreshments, of which the orange juice proved strangely popular amongst the toon contingent - obviously people were intent on keeping their vitamin C levels up through the night......

However, the relatively tranquil mood was to be disturbed in the wee small hours, as in his halting English the Captain informed us that due to fog in the Tel Aviv area we were struggling to land. And having circled over the area for some time, we were then to be diverted to a military airstrip in the far south of the country, for an unspecified period.

Suspicions that had raised as to the true reason for this diversion were partly allayed by the fact there were bona-fide Israeli citizens onboard who seemed as bemused as their geordie counterparts. 

Speaking to the cabin staff revealed that the low-level mist causing the problem was so rare in the region that the pilots weren't experienced in flying in it, regardless of the capability of the plane to do so. 

The fact that one stewardess pointed to an empty bit of a map when asked where we were going was a little disconcerting though.....

Landing at the remote airstrip in the desert, steps did appear after a while (that's the way off the plane, not the disbanded pop group) and access to the empty terminal building was allowed, those who weren't still in deep drink-fuelled dozing mode getting an unexpected first touch of Israeli soil / tarmac in the process - you'd struggle to buy postcards of this place.

No sooner had many dossed down in an odd-looking attempt at a Bedouin tent in one side of the building (carpets on walls, oil lamps dangling from the ceiling, cushions on the floor) though, the pilot reappeared to confirm the mists were clearing and another crack at Tel Aviv was possible.

20 minutes flying time later and we were preparing to land, before having a much easier than expected passage through passport control and customs and finding our transport to the hotel at 5am - minus a few stragglers who had been unable to resist the lure of the open bar and appeared some moments later swigging from bottles of beer in a manner reminiscent of John Mills in Ice Cold in Alex.

Thence off to our nearly-on-the-seafront hotel and sleep for all but the most thirsty or insomniac of the party.

By the time people resurfaced, they were greeting by cloudless skies, scorching sun and a temperature in the mid 90s. Exploring the neighbourhood proved to be thirsty work, but aside from small convenience stores there were only cafes and bars open due it being Sukkot, the Festival of the Booths, a major holiday that commemorates the wanderings of the Israelites (and Desmond Dekker, presumably....)

Walking along the seafront in the refreshing afternoon breeze, flanked by blue seas, beach bars and brollies, manicured white sand and yachts bobbing in the nearby marina was a thoroughly pleasurable experience and provided a memorable backdrop to a pre-match pint or two of Heineken, Tuborg or the local Dark Star brew (all about £2.50 a pint)

And were it not for the watchful security staff and car bombs ramps of the American embassy, the memorial to a suicide bombing in the pub next door or the armed guards outside every bar  it would have been easy to mistake this part of the coastline for the south of France. 

Behind the facade though, the rest of the district of Tel Aviv proved to be a mixture of recent developments and plush hotels, sited next to older buildings that ranged from the tatty and unkempt to the downright decrepit.

The locals were friendly enough though, most speaking English. A visit to a beachside cafe for some fantastic fish brought confirmation from the owner that we were following in the footsteps of Souness & Co. 24 hours previously, but she proved somewhat elusive when asked whether her staff had been well tipped for their efforts....

Meanwhile, efforts to secure football souvenirs from local traders brought forth only a Maccabi Haifa pennant from the Israeli equivalent of a cheapie shop (we couldn't read the Hebrew name on the door, but it may well have been Everything's A Shekel...)

However the apologetic proprietor was able to not only welcome us to his country and wish us an enjoyable stay, but also came out with the name of Len Shackleton totally unprompted when talking about English football. We didn't have the heart to tell him Shack was no more.....

Match time approached and the group reassembled in the foyer of the hotel, in which stood a small bar staffed by one rather hassled young lassie who didn't appear to have encountered thirsty northerners previously in her chosen career. Departure was relatively punctual, although some extra familiar faces had appeared to fill up the bus beyond capacity, meaning it was standing room only for the 20-minute journey to the Stadium.   

Once there, A quick walk around the ground confirmed that the only threats to our safety would come from over-enthusiastic flag-waving youngsters, while many local fans indulged in a bit of good-natured banter or just bade us welcome.

Meanwhile, a fair few travellers opted to minimise the chances of dehydration by popping into the Brasil bar next to the away section for a quick one or three - an apt name given that Sakhnin are known as little Brazil, due to the poverty of the town and the popularity of street football there that's reminiscent of a Rio suburb.   

Tickets were duly collected before access was gained to the ground via a security check far less intimidating than that faced at Birmingham three days later.

 Straight away it became apparent that our estimates of 100 Mags (based on the number of tickets Newcastle sold) were way under and in fact the away section was home to between 350 and 400 people, the toon travellers being outnumbered by supporters of other local clubs, ex-pat Brits and members of the Newcastle supporters club in Israel.

Alongside the black and white-clad Israelis who enthusiastically joined in the singing and offered up some new home-grown variations on traditional ditties, a couple of toon fans from the Ukraine were sighted, plus supporters bearing allegiance to Bradford, Leeds, West Ham, Barcelona, Holland....and the mackems.

 No less than three curious red and whiters were spotted - one gent in our end who opted to take the heartfelt advice given to him to have an early night, one in the adjoining Sakhnin enclosure and another misguided fool in a Lambtons shirt on the far side of the pitch, who at one stage in the second half appeared to be getting chased across the seats by a gang of young Sakhnin fans.

The ground itself was sparsely populated and totally uncovered, the Newcastle fans being housed in one third of the upper tier alongside the pitch and separated from the action by a running track. 

Home fans congregated in the centre sections of both stands, with the ends behind the goal not being used - a decision that was to lead to some daftness, as the two factions were separated by no more than a tall but fairly rickety wire fence and the police / army presence was decidedly low-key.

Around 25 minutes into the game came some activity next to the fence, which was picked up the TV crew broadcasting pictures back to Channel 5 in England and given perhaps a greater significance than it warranted in their coverage. 

From what could be gathered, local fans in the away section got involved in shouting insults at their Arab adversaries on the other side of the fence, from which the verbals graduated to cup throwing and finally led to some to-ing and fro-ing as a few fans leant over the fence to try and swipe an opponent with a hopeful jab.

The inevitable pushing ensued with some travellers getting involved, partly for badness and partly in response to a bit of shoving from the small police presence as they sought to contain the incident. However, things soon calmed down when a squad of solders in fatigues appeared, to reinforce a no-go area on both sides of the fence.

Thereafter, the only disturbances were caused by individuals shouting incomprehensible insults across the divide before being led away, those on the Arab side seeming to get far less of an opportunity to air their grievances before taking an early bath. Each second half goal saw further clumps of fans make for the exits until the final whistle, but which time those still in the ground had calmed sufficiently to applaud the Newcastle players and supporters.

Of the onfield action there's not too much to say: Clad in the new yellow strip, we took the tie by the scruff of the neck in a manner that was missing in the first leg and some decisive finishing quickly made the game a dead rubber. Almost inevitably we slipped up in defence and gave Sakhnin a moment of glory, but learnt the lesson of the Butt experience and greeted a variety of ill-conceived and ill-executed challenges with nothing more than wry grins and occasional  bits of revenge a few moments later.

A short holdback later and we were off, back to the coastal district of Tel Aviv for some post-match libations, safe in the knowledge that there wouldn't be any problem in finding a watering hole - at least one bar within staggering distance of the hotel being of the 24 hour "we never close" variety.

And travelling and local toon fans partied on, with those locals returning home armed with some additional songs to add to their repertoire.

Some sore heads and sunburn were apparent the following day when the coach reappeared, the urban sprawl and concrete constructions we passed on the dual carriageway during the journey back to the airport being of a type seen on countless other similar occasions on these trips. 

Then it was back through security with good humour and losing no more than a couple of toon souvenirs to customs operatives who wanted a souvenir of our visit - although in response to the question "can I have something Newcastle"? came the answer "Jamie McClen" from one cynic.

He settled for a badge though, replacing the Bayern Munich one he'd doubtless liberated in similar fashion a few weeks before.

An almost incident-free return to England was accomplished via scheduled Lufthansa flights to Frankfurt and then on to Manchester, in the company of a large group of German OAPs who appeared to be putting to good use skills picked up when annexing the Sudetenland or sunbeds by sitting in the wrong seats, then feigning a deafness and incomprehension that magically disappeared when the stewardess appeared with food and drink.

It was rather odd though to be a served a meal on the Tel Aviv to Frankfurt flight with metal cutlery including a sharpish knife and accompanied by a glass bottle of beer - two potential weapons that one would have expected to have been excluded, given the heightened security concerns of the country we had just departed.

On the latter leg we also shared the plane with some smoggies returning from Ostrava who seemed unware of aero etiquette (question: "why have we gotta put these belts on?"  answer "so that the pilot will take off".)

One coach journey later via every red traffic light in Greater Manchester and the M62/A1 and a tired but contented party arrived back in toon at around 2am. The fact some of us were still clad in shorts (and a couple of skull caps) did draw the occasional curious look from homeward bound taxi queuers mind, but you should have seen the clip of some of them.....

So, five takeoffs and five landings later (surely some sort of record), we were home, only to be travelling again barely 29 hours later to the slightly less exotic location of St.Andrews, Birmingham, then back up that bloody A1 and across the Tyne for the umpteenth time.

Tuesday's draw will reveal the next two destinations on the never-ending tour, then the planning will start to do it all again.

Can't wait.

Biffa