This was not a must win game but rather a 'it would be jolly good for morale all round if we won' game. Provided Leicester lost at the Dell and we beat this industry ravaged and seriously depleted lot of Tynesiders we would reach the dizzy heights of sixth (yes, say it again, sixth) in the table. Sixth sounds, and is, as low as you can possibly be and still retain an air of respectability these days. It has been a long time coming and it appears that the Ranieri masterplan is beginning to take shape; an away win (albeit in the cup and against a side from a lower division - but a win all the same), draws with the like of Bumnal at Highbury and a home record second only to that of Spoiltchester United have moved us upwards. Indeed, if you were to take it that Chelsea win their game in hand, they would now be third in the table thanks to a goal difference that, of our rivals, only Liverpool could even attempt to overthrow. With the bookies now paying out on Fulchester United having already won the league, the race is on for second and third and all of a sudden it is blown open.

Newcastle went and scored first - something that must now be becoming something of a tradition for the opposition at Stamford Bridge. The Toon army went mental - if only we had some of that 'dip' as featured in Who framed Roger Rabbit - that melts toons as I recall. Leboeuf must have had some in his super special green boots that he was sporting tonight because every time a toonster got within five yards of him they yielded the ball, not wanting to melt. Melt they did though. Zola equalised with what must be his most audacious goal so far this season. He was sublime; a goal was the last thing we were expecting from him when just outside the 18-yard box and a plethora of black and white around him.

An 'Ipswich' was in the offing and an 'Ipswich' is what we got. Poyet, a perennial thorn in Newcastle's side was gifted the second from a Hasselbaink assist, one in the eye for Jimmy's critics who claim that he is far too single minded and will not create glory lest he can claim it himself. Jesper, well, what can you say? The runs he made down the left were of a quality that has been absent in recent weeks and the opposition were run ragged, only fitting then that he should bag number three and allow we the fans to sit back in our seats rather than perch uncomfortably on the edges of them.

My enjoyment of this match, however, was severely marred by a pair of ungracious, uneducated idiots who cannot even be described as warts on the anus of humanity because that would be unfair to warts. The torrent of abuse that sprang from their mouths, or indeed their arseholes, as it would have been practically impossible to discern the two, was relentless. Never have I listened to so much abuse. What was worse was that this abuse was aimed at the home team and not the black and white visitors.

• Leboeuf (French c**t, fuckin' shit, doesn't want be here so why the fuck has Ranieri put him on)
• Poyet (Useless c**t, fuckin doesn't do any fuckin work, look pretending he is losing his boot now the lazy bastard) - after which Poyet rose from doing his laces, put in a good tackle that required a ten yard run to stop a cross going into our box, and in doing so lost his boot!
• Le Saux (Queer c**t) - I need not go on
• Babayaro (bl**k c**t; worst player I've ever seen; they should bring back slavery; Wisey is worth a team full of that bl**k c**t on his own).

I was, and still am of a mind to reveal the seat numbers of these pieces of pond life. They are not even worthy of being called pond life because I believe most pond life has more than the one cell that these pitiful imbeciles consisted of. I have no fear of writing about them because neither of the pig ignorant bastards will be literate. One egged the other and so it went on - peer pressure has a lot to answer for.

I have worked myself up into a right old lather now so I think it best that we be satisfied with the result. I don't have a ticket for Man Utd because an unexpected school of prawns descended on the ticket office at Stamford Bridge and filter-fed them out from the other five remaining games so they can come and see that nice David Beckham. I will take my leave of you now until March 17th when we entertain the Mackems.

Magpie Mayhem
By our East Stand Correspondent Klaus.

For a minute it felt like playing Juventus in the Champions League....but only until kickoff..... Newcastle had nothing...they were shite...Kieron Dyer was the one bit of class.....how the fuck did they get to sixth place.... like the rest of the Premiership their main asset was organisation, hard running and a lot whingeing and whining, particularly by Barton, who was trying to compensate for his total lack of footballing skills by ranting and raving......