Twin towns and
sister cities are two of many terms used to describe the cooperative agreements between
towns,
cities, and even
counties in geographically and politically distinct areas to promote cultural and commercial ties. Obviously. Everybody know that.
Thanks to the gorgeous Coast Road sign next to the Wills Building railway bridge, I know off by heart that North Tyneside's twins include Halluin, Monchengladbach, some place in Denmark, another place in Senegal, and a few other places too. Newcastle's seven twins include Newcastle, Australia (imaginative) and Atlanta, Georgia, while Toronto's city siblings include Milan, Kiev, Frankfurt, Warsaw and Chicago.
The cities of Newcastle and Toronto, though not twinned officially, share a number of parallels. Both, for example, are world class metropolises shot through with rich heritage, breathtaking natural vistas (Wallsend Burn
et al) and diverse, friendly, handsome populations. But more than this, Toronto and Newcastle share a curse: a giant, region-defining sports team that is at once its supporters' virtue and vice.
The Maple Leafs are the NHL's biggest and most valuable franchise,
weighing in with a market value of more than $500m. They are one of the
Original Six and, behind the Montreal Canadiens, one of the most
successful teams in hockey history. Their fans are loyal to the point of
blindness, games routinely selling out - despite steep ticket prices -
while other franchises struggle. They are also utterly useless: they've
haven't reached the playoffs since 2006, and their last Stanley Cup was
brought home in 1967 (what Pierre Berton called "the last good year",
and the last hockey season with just six competing teams).
Newcastle
United, like it or not, are giants of the English game. Few teams have a
history as illustrious, or a stadium as stunning. Like the Leafs, they
haven't won a major trophy since the 60s (though the 2006 Intertoto Cup
and the 2010 Championship title
are technically silverware). Like
the Leafs, they have their detractors; mardy regional neighbours and
capital-based hacks alike, embittered by envy. Like the Leafs, they
command the total devotion of their large, noisy and passionate fans.
Like the Leafs, they are by far and away the greatest team the world has
ever seen. Allegedly.
It is symmetry that came to a
head yesterday as Newcastle crumbled to a 5-0 shellacking at Spurs and
the Leafs went down 5-0 to the hated Canadiens on the same evening they
honoured their all-time top scorer Mats Sundin. Cue shared,
trans-Atlantic exasperations as the two sides forsook the momentum of
surprisingly good seasons to date; the Leafs looking good for
post-season, Newcastle still sitting as high as sixth despite
comically-inept rivals Sunderland inviting Arsenal to town for a gentle
run-around and three easy points (Sunderland recently signed Bridge, but
what they'd really like is an airport. Or a cathedral).
And
so the beat goes on: the Leafs flatter to deceive, and are more than
likely to be on the wrong end of a playoff whitewash having cruelly
raised the expectations of their long-suffering fans; Newcastle United,
looking down the business end of the season, will ultimately run out of
steam before owner Mike Ashley strips the team of its assets in a Summer
Sale Spectacular. But in a funny way it wouldn't matter if they never
lifted a trophy again: the Leafs and Newcastle United are the lovable
losers that define their cities. After all, anybody can support glory,
but it's not the winning that counts. Not
really. Not if you
think about it. To paraphrase Kipling: "If you can meet with triumph and
disaster, and treat those two imposters just the same; then you are a
Mag/Leaf, my son... Unlucky."
