Newcastle United have denied claims in a national newspaper that Serbian striker Aleksandar Mitrovic is to be off-loaded as part of a deal for Besiktas hit-man Cenk Tosun.
It was a cold day in Newcastle, and the heavy grey skies threatened sleet over the tangled web of cantilever struts at St. James’ Park.
I was sat in a bar, unshaven and hung-over nursing a coffee with a leather jacket pulled tight around my neck for warmth when my mobile rang. It was an agent I knew, a sleazy ten percenter, some cockney wide-boy with a Del-Boy coat and the gold sovereign rings to match.
“Alright, old son, I’ve got some news for you,” he said with a hint of sneer in his voice. “Newcastle United are trying buy Cenk Tosun from Besiktas for £9 million, and they’re going to offer Aleksandar Mitrovic as part of the deal.”
“You lying swine,” I hissed, smiling at the barmaid with long dark hair and pretty hazel eyes that stood in the shadows wiping a glass with a tea towel.
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“Mitrovic will have to get a run in the team soon. Gayle and Joselu are far too lightweight and the fans would turn on Benitez if he got rid of the Serbian striker. They love him up here.”
“Come on, he’s a dirty player and he’s always either out injured or suspended. You know it and so do I,” he replied.
“That’s why they love him,” I growled back. “Because he gets stuck in, because you get the impression that he’d fight and die for the black and white shirt. Because he cares. Now don’t ring me again, you know it’s a Tuesday – the slowest day in sports writing. Call this number again, and I’ll take a Viking axe to your fingers.”
Turned out that the story had been broken by The Sun newspaper but was quickly officially denied by the club in the Chronicle, so I hung up, winked at the barmaid and walked out into a gritty wind that whipped up from the river down by the Tyne bridge and funnelled through the blackened sandstone Georgian streets.
Kick the door open
Maybe I should head up to St. James’, I thought. Stride past the dragon gates of Chinatown, by bronze statue of Sir Bobby Robson and into the plush offices. Search out Mitrovic and hand him a black balaclava, then we’d kick Rafa Benitez’s door open, hooded up with baseball bats, and start smashing things up.
“The kid gets a start in the team now or things will get really serious,” I’d scream in my strange fantasy. “We work for an Eastern European betting syndicate. The Albanian Mafia,” then lob a tear gas grenade under his desk before making a quick exit.
Sure, Mitrovic would be nervous at first, but he’d soon get into it. The 23-year-old striker is aggressive on the pitch, but that’s what defenders need. A bit shaking up, the odd loose elbow to let them know that you’re there. Hell, let them whine and pick their broken teeth up off the turf after, and stand laughing.
Newcastle’s season is in serious danger of derailing; with owner Mike Ashley turning down a take-over bid, his reign stagnant and Benitez frustrated by a lack of funds and no apparent ambition from the top, things could turn as ugly as a sly stamp on a calf after a tackle on Tyneside.
Give Mitrovic a chance to shine
Throw in Mitro, give him a chance to shine, to smash past defenders and put the ball in the net. All the fans want to see is some passion, some desire to win. The Serbian can certainly bring that to the team.
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And if he’s unloaded on the cheap in the January transfer window, I’ll call that sleazy ten-percenter and demand my cut of the deal.
That’s the way things work around here.