The King is back! Long live the King! Walking along, singing a song, walking in a Keegan wonderland!

Well I didn’t see that one coming! I feel like a man who’s stepped in the road and been run over by a car - without the hospitalisation and months of rehab obviously (OK, so it was a crap metaphor). I’m numb, shocked, gobsmacked. I’m still trying to work out whether I’m elated or just plain s*** scared for what could happen! It’s been a fairytale few days without a doubt, even if in this instance the wicked stepmother got a multi-million pay off for half a season’s graft (the Board would like to thank Sam for all his hard work, yeah righto). More importantly I wonder if anybody made money from the bookies’ this time? You’d hope the charvas who regularly turn up on Sky Sports News interviews had a few quid on him (Interviewer: “Who would you like to see as manager then?” Street urchin in toon top: “Kevin Keegan, man! Aye and that Josy Moo-reen-yo! As joint managers! We’ll win the league, man!”)

The unceremonious departure of Sam Allardyce – or Sam Araldite as my mam-in-law insists on calling him (and I don’t think she realises that’s not his real name) – left most of us fearing for the future of our great club. It seemed that the mistakes of the past were being repeated when Not-So-Big-After-All-Sam was hoyed out on his capacious arse mid-season, and it became obvious that no definite replacement had been lined up. In that light, I was scared to death we would get another Freddy Shepherd-like appointment like the last three – a mediocre manager, out of his depth, brought in to steady the ship as another season or two of underachievement grinds by before the inevitable sacking.

In retrospect, I’ve probably been through a few emotions over the last few days. I howled in fear when ‘Arry Redknapp’s name was strongly linked, like an abused dog shown its master’s walking stick, and was in outright denial right up to the point he said no. I was bewildered with some of the names thrown out by the press and the rumour mongers which seemed to me beyond our pulling power – Mourinho, Lippi, Van Gaal, Deschamps etc. I was distinctly underwhelmed by most of the others mentioned (with all due respect to the likes of Hughes, Curbishley and the other managers we actually had a chance of recruiting). Most of all I was enraged by the one dimensional, ill-informed and bigoted reportage of most of the Press, including some of the so-called respectable papers.

I was also left scratching my head wondering whether Chris Mort was clueless, a bullshitter or just plain barking mad. As the Redknapp debacle unfolded, I was losing faith in the new Board. Until they appointed Keegan, that is. I’m sorry I ever doubted you Chris, and I promise not to believe the lies of the Press ever again, because they obviously didn’t have a clue what was going on and made most of their stories up (surprise surprise). I should add that most of them also obviously hate us, but let’s not worry about their wind and piss at this joyous time.

And what an appointment by Mort and Ashley! Initially, amongst the excitement, shock and numbness at the Geordie Messiah’s return – despite him being ‘1,000 per cent’ sure he’d never manage again – was a little small voice of calm that said this was a backward step when we should be looking forward with a ‘progressive’ international coach. I was sure when the new Board sat down and carefully considered their options, we would flash the cash in a desperate attempt to attract a top rank European coach. I convinced myself that maybe the likes of Deschamps might give it a go if nice Mr Ashley offered him enough money. If we were lucky.

However the more I think about it, the more this appointment makes perfect sense at a time of huge importance for us. In reality, our club has been in a steep unrelenting spiral of apathy, boredom and decline since the days of Sir Bobby, and I reckon there would have been a flood of supporters calling it a day at the end of the season. In addition, the quality of player and manager we can attract has declined markedly since Sir Bobby and we can’t even offer UEFA cup football to our players. And worst of all, we’ve got used to being a shambles on the pitch and off it, to the extent that there’s no end of toonhaters queuing up to point the finger and hoot with glee, like some kind of redneck rubberneckers at the scene of a car crash. We couldn’t be sure Mike Ashley would spend our way out of trouble either, with no prospect of a return on his money.

Against this backdrop, with confidence on and off the pitch paper thin and any matchday enjoyment and anticipation evaporating for the faithful, who better than to take this piece of road kill, apply the electro-paddles to its chest and jolt it back into life? Who better to get this club back on its feet, to breathe new hope and new life into the supporters and to bring some spark and romance back into the toon experience? Who better to get the players playing football with a smile on their face after Sam Allardyce’s miserable bastard fare? Who better to prise open Mr Ashley’s cheque book and get the major investment this club needs to get back in the hunt for honours? And best of all, King Kev is loved and respected by the supporters and will get the time he needs to build the playing squad back up again and get us challenging the top sides.

Of course, it may all turn to custard in the finest NUFC tradition but now is not the time for gloom mongering and nay-saying. Let’s breathe in the oxygen of a new beginning, put a smile on our faces and raise our glasses to a new dawn, and enjoy some craic for a change! Let’s look forward to the match again instead of dreading it! And let’s get down on our knees and pray this club has bloody well turned the corner at last.

There’s only one Kevin Keegan, one Kevin Keegan…..