The Diary

18 April 2003: Sunderland Thoughts

Cor, hasn't it gone chilly this evening? Quite a contrast from earlier in the week, when I absolutely baked during the first half of our reserve game versus Sheff Wed. At this rate, I'll be rescuing my winter thermals from the bottom of the drawer for tomorrow's game; not a pretty sight even at the best of times! Having said all that, I've come to realise that shivering when in the North East is an occupational hazard of travelling to away fixtures up there; the last time we graced the interior of The Stadium Of Light, (the FA Cup tie, how could I ever forget it!) there was ice and snow everywhere, and the temperature only clung to the 'right' side of freezing-point by its frost-bitten fingertips. That's a minor quibble, really, because as far as I'm concerned, journeying to that neck of the woods is a real pleasure, mainly because of the genuine warmth and friendliness of Sunderland supporters, and the passion they have for the cause. I still remember their many sincere congratulations and well-wishes as we left the ground following the Cup win. The Stadium Of Light must be a really sad place to be right now, what with their relegation and everything; it doesn't need a great leap of the imagination to visualise both sets of supporters indulging in a mutual 'crying-on-shoulders' session tomorrow. I once heard the North-East described as 'the Australian Outback with coal-mines added'; the pits have been gone from that area some ten years or more now, but if you like your supporters with the capacity for liquid refreshment of a beer-tanker, yet honest, fervent and loyal to a (wo)man with it, those cattle and sheep-rearing Antipodeans would surely recognise some kindred spirits up there.

Believe it or not, the first time I ever travelled to Sunderland for a game was in 1969, for the Youth Cup Final versus the Wearsiders. Albion (who had one hell of a youth team then) were sitting pretty on a 3-0 first-leg home lead, and because of that, the second away leg at Roker Park seemed a formality. Wrong! More proof, I'm afraid, of the existence of the 'Semper Te Fallant' factor that's bedevilled our club ever since the dawn of time. The final score? Sunderland 6 Albion 0! Of course I've been there for League games oodles of times since then, but the ones that really stick in my mind are the most recent. On two separate occasions, we were party-poopers at their promotion celebrations - you may remember one of these as the time Sunderland sneakily equalised late-doors because everyone in blue and white stripes thought the ref had blown for full-time as per the pre-arranged signal and he hadn't - and the third, of course, was that marvellous and unforgettable 2-1 Cup win last year.

A shame, really, that tomorrow's fixture might seem more of a wake to both participants; time for the resurrection of The Lambdon Worm song, perhaps? Before you all say 'Doo wot?' in unison, the Lambdon Worm was a fabled beast - a dragon - that lived underground in the area and did all the usual arson-with-intent-to-endanger-life and molesting-virgins-of tender-years things that dragons are wont to do. There's a folk-song that emanates from those parts about how the Lambdon Worm was fought and finally slain, and that's where a bit of social history comes into it. When the pits were nationalised shortly after World War Two, the Wearside miners sang the song loud and proud; to them, the mine-owners were the Lambdon Worm, and the ending was symbolic of the workers' triumph over the pit-owners.

Right then; back to the footie. The Mackems are relegated, we're tottering on the brink, and it only needs the teeniest shove to push us over the edge as well. No worries; I've been resigned to eventualities for weeks. I would like to think we won't go away empty-handed from this one, as both outfits have trouble scoring and keeping 'em out. Call it a "Battle Of The Perforated Defences" if you want. I've a sneaking suspicion that whoever wins it will escape the indignity of finishing bottom of the heap. There's also the small matter of pride to play for; as things stand, come the end of term, one of us is likely to take on the unenviable role of going down with an unwanted Prem record or two hanging around our necks in similar fashion to the Albatross of Ancient Mariner fame, and I'd much rather it was them not us, thank you very much. I'm sure the lads feel the same way about it and will be busting a gut not to concede tomorrow.

Talking of conceding, I hope Russell Hoult's got over whatever ailed him last time round, and plays to his usual high standard tomorrow. As far as the rearguard's concerned, it's down to (almost) the bare bones again; Siggy, Wally Wallwork, and Clem, unless Ify doesn't participate, in which case he'll be in that berth instead, and Greegs in his place, with Igor in the right-wing-back slot. In midfield, expect little change unless Del Boy and Greegs have to play in different positions to that stated on the tin. Up front, it's a nigh-on cert Jason won't be playing; although I have had my differences of opinion regarding Meggo and his management style, this is one call he's made really well. It's impossible to concentrate 100 % on a game if you're worried about a close family member, so I expect Lee and DD to carry on as before. Surely, after all that hard graft last week, Hughsie's due a goal? As it's DD's old stamping-ground, I anticipate that fact alone would motivate our sideboard-rich striker to turn it on a bit, so fingers crossed, folks?.

And finally.. One. Well done Ipswich Town for giving those bloody Dingles something to occupy their brain-cell with, thanks to that 3-0 win over Pompey this evening. With the clock rapidly running down, it's getting rather sweaty for them out there, and the expectation-level must be approaching near-unbearable limits by now. Roll on the 'bottling season', I say?

Two? Anyone reading this and making the trip up the M1 and A1 tomorrow, make a point of seeking out The Noise, who very recently attained his fortieth year on this planet; not only that, I'm given to understand he's now the proud owner of a rather savage hair-cut that makes him look more like a bloke in his first day of US Marine boot-camp than an avid Baggie, so feel free to make mockery of his coiffure if you so desire!

Three. Something I should have mentioned last night but didn't, anyone getting this diary and knows a mate who might want to indulge also, give me their email address and I'll do the rest. Oh - and thanks to Finbarr Saunders of the mailing-list, I'll be taking up residence on there until the end of the season as well. Thanks, Fin, for putting me up on a temporary basis at such short notice; I promise faithfully not to play my stereo during unsocial hours, or kick footballs into the neighbours' gardens?

 - Glynis Wright

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