A day at the Match(es) in Newcastle – An account of an autistic person’s experiences | OneFootball

This weekend, I was left absolutely broken, physically and neurologically. I put in a mammoth shift at St James’ Park when I watched the lasses and the lads play Atletico Madrid in two separate games of football.

The women’s team (the lasses) put on a valiant and honest performance. But in truth were never really in the game. I enjoyed watching both teams play, especially in the second half. Our lasses gave it everything they had, but Atletico were simply too good throughout.

The lads were competitive right up until Atletico scored early in the second half. After that, their experience really told. I only wish I could have watched a Newcastle United player score a goal in either of the two games. It was not to be.

But I’m not really writing this message to review the football, although I did enjoy the action. If you read any of my previous articles, you may have enjoyed my writing about my experience of the Newcastle United trophy celebrations as a person who is Autistic. About how I knew I wouldn’t have missed that time for the world.

I suppose it was because of that experience that it gave me the nudge to try and have a go at getting tickets for the Sela Cup games against Atletico Madrid.

I got the itch and proudly bought tickets knowing I’d be able to see both games. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since. But I also knew I was putting myself in for another challenge with my Autism.

In my blog about being in Newcastle for the trophy celebrations, I wrote about my fears and hopes for the journey there, and I want to do a similar thing with this one. Because the day stuck in my mind in the same way; my fears manifested in my mind in the same way; where I wanted to have a clear plan about how the day was going to go; planning for scenarios; keeping my mind in focus when I can feel it racing away. The plan was simple: Get into Newcastle early; find somewhere quiet but close to the Stadium so I could get there quickly, come 1pm kickoff. As it worked for me in March, and it was familiar, the Discovery Museum was the obvious choice.

It almost went perfectly, I say almost because in my first faux pas for my day planning. I saw on my phone that it didn’t open until 11. This was the first indication that things might not go all the way that I planned it. At this point, you tell yourself to accept that sometimes things don’t go to plan, and you adjust accordingly. So I spent the next hour or so just walking around Newcastle, taking photos on my phone of anything that took my fancy. Photos, by the way, that I don’t know what I’m going to do with. I took too many.

Then 11am came; after checking for updates on Malick Thiaw news while I waited, I got into the museum and wiled away some time in there. I spent most of the time in my favourite part: “The Story of Newcastle” a thoughtful mix of interactive screens, evocative dioramas, and lifelike figures that trace Newcastle’s evolution through the centuries. I had hoped for a few minutes of quiet contemplation before things got loud and proud at the football.

No, Jonathan. This is the school holidays.

I couldn’t help but notice the same one second of tortured screeching from a Norman jailor or something like that, which was a child having too much fun pressing on the iron bar to “take their punishment.”

This was all in good fun, but I realised I wasn’t getting much quiet in this place. So I may have had a little go and took my own punishment for myself. 🙂

So, after a cuppa and an early lunch in the cafe, it was time to do what I came for. To be in the cathedral on the hill; to be among people in our shared love of Newcastle United.

Readers, before the 9th of August 2025, it had been 14 years since I’d seen a game at St James’s Park. Anyone remember Somen Tchoyi and Tchoyi Story 3 at the end of the season (United leading 3-0 at home in the final match of the season, only for West Brom’s Somen Tchoyi to score a second half hat-trick)? It was May 2011. That’s how long it’s been. And things have changed a lot in terms of access to the stadium.

I had to learn to use Google Wallet for the first time. With a bit of play a few days before, I could see the information which I’d use. On it were the letters “GEC-D” and I checked it when I got to the stadium. Now, I had assumed that this was code for “Gallowgate Corner”… “Gallowgate East Corner” maybe? You see… there was some part of me that was able to reason that I’d come to the right place. But I could not just trust my gut. I had to be physically told by a stadium steward who had obviously seen that I looked lost before I actually snapped into action and found one of the turnstiles I needed to go through.

And when I did get there… well… I did just about everything wrong. If you asked me, did I push through the turnstile correctly, did I show the barcode on my phone to the scanner correctly? Did I come through without dropping anything… Did I not look like a scared rabbit kitten throughout the whole process? The answers to all those questions don’t reflect well on me. But I made it.

Now, I don’t know if this is the same for everyone; for season ticket holders, for example, but the next moment, for me, makes everything worthwhile. For a wonderful moment, I forgot everything else I’d just experienced. Seeing a glimpse of the Leazes and other Stands, even though it was almost blinding in the sunny sky, for the first time in so many years, was wonderful. I don’t think there’s anything that prepares you for that as a sensory experience. It might sound soppy, but I think it’s true. It was like how it feels to see the inside of a Stadium for the first time.

Then, however, it was time to find my seat. And that involved finding a steward. Because even though all the information I needed to find my seat was right there on my phone, my brain could not interpret it to satisfaction. But then, I was there. I was in my seat. It was cold but pleasant… the music was loud and bassy. I kept scanning around as if looking for threats. I kept straining my eyes as if trying to see if I could recognise from that distance people from the press box and the technical areas.

Each sensory input was a drain on my mind and body. But at least I was there. I intended to savour each and every moment that I could because there’s no telling when I could be back here.

After the games, the fun was over, and there were still some challenges to get through before I reached the promised land. Home. I got to Newcastle Central Station and when I did, I that same familiar feeling. What do I actually do while I’m here? I’ve done it numerous times before. I put my ticket in the barrier and then cursed myself for not checking the destination boards for the next train back to Durham.

Thankfully, this time I got lucky and it wasn’t long before an announcement told me a train was not long to arrive. And that within 20 minutes, I’d be free of crowds. I was determined to get on the next available train home, even if it meant standing between carriages with a host of other football punters. And that’s what I had to do in the end. We all had to dodge each other as the movement of carriages shuffled us about. At this point, though, I didn’t much care because I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be smelling fresh, cool Durham air.

Here’s my last point about sensory input. And I think it’s a telling one. The last moment before I knew I’d be free of crowds of people was walking along past the Slug and Lettice restaurant in Durham City Centre, which was packed with people. People who were having a good time. The crowd was lively with good-natured chatter, high spirits and enjoying being in each other’s company. Which was fine. But the noise and the idea of me being a part of that, just the idea that I was in the mix of it, was tremendously overwhelming. How do people do it so easily, I wonder briefly? It wasn’t so much about the feeling of fear. It was more like a longing, a need to be away from those sensory inputs as quickly as possible. Only when I had passed all of that and was out of Durham did it all feel okay.

And it was. Suddenly, I was alone. Suddenly, I was on the Northern Saints train at Frankland Lane. It was peaceful. It was blue and sunny in the best summer evening sunshine. And only then did I feel truly relaxed. The next thing to look forward to was getting home.

If you’ve stayed with me up to now, thank you so much for reading about this one person’s autistic experience.

About what it takes one person on the spectrum to experience what many other people take for granted.

I hope readers will have a greater understanding of the kinds of things their loved ones might be going through, especially on occasions such as this. It’s not the same for everyone, of course, but it’s about understanding everyone’s needs and how they can be accommodated in a way that’s right for them.

Well, it was an epic day and zero Sela Cup trophies to show for it. But it was a rare chance to go to St James’s Park to watch the lads play, and I wouldn’t have missed it even with all of my sensory challenges.