Well, that wasn’t too awkward in the end. On a night of mannered, slightly bruised reunions at Selhurst Park it seemed fitting that a meeting of Alan Pardew’s Crystal Palace and John Carver and Alan Pardew’s Newcastle United should end up a 1-1 draw, played out in an atmosphere that simmered but never came close to the more profound hostility of Pardew’s time in charge at Newcastle, or indeed the slightly theatrical build-up.
Before kick off as the pitch teemed with its usual pre-match cast – cheerleaders, mascots, eagle – it was almost tempting to imagine Palace’s manager emerging finally from the players’ tunnel on a chariot, or a carnival float or a chrome-plated Segway. In the event he appeared on foot to chants of “Super Alan Pardew” from the home fans, while on the far side Newcastle’s supporters, so often enraged by Pardew’s presence when he was one of their own, offered something close to a mass yawn of indifference.
Perhaps they were just busy reading the manager’s programme notes, which had already brought the first virtuoso performance of the night as Pardew thanked pretty much everyone short of Sting, Gazza and Jimmy Nail and managed both to praise and passive-aggressively chastise Newcastle’s fans for their behaviour during his “fabulous time” in the North-east. “I can assure each and every one of them ... that I bear no grudge,” Pardew concluded, which no doubt came as huge comfort to the three thousand or so gathered here.
“Alan Pardew is full of shit,” the away fans began to sing with 25 minutes gone, only to be drowned out by a more favourable review from the home sections. And if at times it all felt a little forced, a little tokenistic, then Pardew’s departure from Newcastle was always a surprisingly smooth and amicable process, jarringly so given the intensity of his time at St James’ Park.
Here there was the extra cushioning effect of the enduring friendship between the two managers, evident again in the winks and hugs before kick off. Earlier this week Carver had described this as an occasion of fierce fraternal intimacy, a micro-struggle between two men entirely familiar with one another’s ways. What minute, devastating adjustments would he have in store here?
Pretty much the same old same old as it turned out, as Newcastle’s starting eleven contained just one outfield player, Massadio Haïdara, absent from Pardew’s last game in charge. Perhaps this explained the bizarrely sluggish tempo of the opening 44 minutes. Never mind the background intrigue, here was a first half with an almost total absence of ragged edges, a case of Pardew squared, total Alan-ification, as two teams schooled by the same manager played the same way: physical strength in the middle, pace on the flanks, crosses from wide.
It was from here that the opening goal came as Daryl Janmaat, signed under Pardew, crossed for Papiss Cissé, a Pardew-era totem, to escape Damien Delaney, Pardew’s current captain, and head home. “Pardew, what’s the score?” the away fans chanted happily, while Carver allowed himself a broad crinkly smile. Midway through the second half, as Frazier Campbell slid in Palace’s equaliser Pardew’s celebrations were no more over the top than usual, the customary mix of leaps, hugs and bellows given extra feeling by his own decision to bring on the provider Yannick Bolasie,.
And in the end a draw seemed the most fitting result. A point (“Gold dust,” was Pardew’s verdict) made this a decent night for Palace. On Newcastle’s side it was simply another moment of quiet consolidation for a club that will remain content to drift, profitably, in the Premier League doldrums. Whatever the theatre of personalities here, as ever the real winner with Newcastle is always Mike Ashley. It has been clear for some time that what matters to Newcastle’s owner – Pardew, Carver, Parver, Cardew – is not so much doing well in the Premier League as simply existing there, retaining a seat at the greatest bean-feast in club football history. From a certain angle the appointment of his current coach almost looks like moment of Pygmalion-style satire: bring me a man in a tracksuit, he’ll be manager enough for me. Newcastle will drift on safely from here. The rest is really just noise.
