In the greater scheme of things, Sunderland at home (or herm) to that Bolton was never ever going to be the most interesting of afternoon, seeing as how Bolton have happily or other wise established themselves as the Prem’s most predictable team.

So it was today, as we lined up with Gordon, McShane, Deano, Collins, and Higgi at the back BUT (he said in capital letters) Keyring Richardson alongside Yorke , Etuhu, and Miller in the middle.

That must mean that Jones and Chopra were up front at least we had some shadows to chase, (unlike Boxing day)...and ye knaa what, we actually got stuck into them. We put on a load of pressure, and it bore fruit on about 15 minutes when Richardson, looking as sharp as a very sharp thing, got his leg in there first to knock the ball into the back of the net. Happy days and much cuddling, as you do of a Christmas time.

Bolton continued their predicableness by putting their payers in straight lines across the field, but we for once, looked like taking advantage of their very obvious desire to get a draw. We did look sharp, we did look like we might just do something else, and Richardson as at the hub of most of these nice Christmassy things. In short, we looked the business and Bolton didn’t....but then that’s what they’re good at – being not very nice to look at but quite efficient in the points-gleaning department.

Anyhow, when Jones popped the second away we al as happy as whatever – a big thank you to big centre –forwards with dreadlocks. Especially ones called Kenwyne. Then we went silly and let them, do a Villa and put away a cracking freekick. That’s Sunderland. It’s what I’ve been brought up to expect

Second half, and we all thought we’d pile into the buggers and but we didn’t and allowed Bolton a million miles of space. Surely even the Mags would have made something of their possession, but thankfully no. We took off the obviously knackered Chopra and replaced him with Murphy, while Richardson also left the field for, and we looked like we could really take them apart. Football being football, however, we contrived to make hard work of the day. It was all winding down to the usual last-minute desperation takes hold stuff when Murphy, for possibly the first time in his life, decided that he was a great big Irish twat and barge his way into the box and what in the third.

Like I said, happy days, and Big Kenwyne just sneaks ahead of my usual fave Danny C.

Happy New Year.

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