Can I first of all say… Aint football brilliant?

A change of mood at SAFC, with Kenwyne and Carlos first incurring the wrath of the T&T FA, then being let off and thus available for the game against Walford Town. Having said that, the whole situation seemed to have gone a bit radged on both sides, especially when you consider that he majority of players fighting for places in the Old Firm game this weekend were mysteriously unfit for Scotland's midweek outing and nowt was said. To be honest, the "show us yer scans" rule was a new one on me, but perhaps both sides can learn from the situation. T&T should realise that this will probably happen when most of their top players are plying their trade thousands of miles away, and SAFC should have anticipated it.

There's two sides to every story, a second verse to every song,
Every shut- eye isn't sleeping, every broken rule's not wrong,
Every teardrop isn't weeping, every goodbye isn't gone.

Apparently, we've got Dwight to thank for "having a word" so there you go. Life is a lesson to learn. Their availability seemed to spread a feeling of optimism over Wearside, with the Man of Noztanium proclaiming that we can go the rest of the season unbeaten. That'll do for me, like, but two wins off the belt will do nicely for starters.

It took a few days to realise just how nice last Saturday had been, the facts only kicking right in when it took until Monday night to get my cap, jumper, and Sunderland shirt back from the Tut - celebration, I believe it's called. I should have realised that, when the Station was busier than usual for that time on a Saturday night (people having followed the usual tracks down the street to the Market Place, expensive beer, scantily-clad lasses, toxic pizzas, taxi queues, and 2am vomit) and half of the folks in had been at Villa. I also found a photo of Denty the mag's lass dancing at the Grand - wearing my Sunderland shirt. We'll get him converted yet. On Wednesday the Bittermen England Watchers (plus Matthias from Sweden, over to work with Tubby for a few days, and who knew all about Rade Prica) gathered at the Mason's, just for a change of scenery and to reward TallPaul for his years of legging it down the town for such games with a short walk home. Despite the landlord being of the barcode persuasion, his Hobgoblin beer was spot on, and will no doubt be famous in Sweden before long. Beer good, craic canny, but game not so good, probably due in no small measure to several England players being dressed ready for a night on the town long before the final whistle. Never mind, a nice stroll home for half an hour of Sky Sports to see how the other games had gone, and some decidedly dodgy beer. "How, Fatha" shouted our Ian the other day as he was cleaning out his room - I know, I know, it must be love, or he’s misplaced a tenner - "I've found a can of Tetley's and a couple of bottles of funny-looking beer that are out of date."

They'll not kill me, I thought, so I stuck them in the cellar, and dragged one out on my return from the Mason’s. Quite tasty, and it didn’t kill, but did affect the old digestive tract the next day. Still, that's not my problem; it's the problem of those that sit near me at work. A creditable draw for Scotland and Flash Gordon, and a good 4-1 win for the boy Evans and Norn Iron, followed by noises as positive as he can make without upsetting Ferguson about perhaps, just perhaps, moving to God’s Country on a permanent basis. We can dream (especially if we’ve had a bottle of dodgy beer that’s a while out of date ).

One of the other things he found was a Daily Mirror from September 2001, with the back page headline about Reidy warning clubs that greedy folks like Hutchison were holding clubs to ransom. Six and a half years ago? Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?

As there was another rumour that the boy Roy had the team holed up in a hotel last night, and that hotel was the Royal County in Durham, I felt it my duty to stand in the Half Moon and Gillian and keep an eye on things. I can safely report that I saw no Sunderland players hanging out of windows, and when we passed on the way to the Dun Cow, there were none to be seen in the bars and restaurants. So they were either safely tucked up in bed, or not there at all. Safe enough, anyway.

And for the umpteenth (like yer granny used to say) time, we’ve had a game’s kick-off changed. After the expected movement of the game at Sid James to one, on the instruction of the polis, it was moved again, to the Sunday. Surely there should be some rule in place that means that a game can’t have its kick-off changed more than once? I suppose the thoughts behind the original change were that it would keep folks away from the pubs before the match, but in these enlightened times you can get a pint any hour of the day of you know where to go. Now we’re half an hour later but on the Sunday, which means Thinford by nine or so and the SoL by ten (as requested by the club) for the expeditionary force’s convoy to the Dark Side. No lie-in that day, then.

So, after the lucky pies from Brampton at the Villa game last week, it was more of the same with a Taylor’s special from Chittocks. Quinny was in the papers again, spouting the kind of stuff that has me close to tears (that he always manages to come out with) and we were left wondering if he’s the only chairman that isn’t condescending, trite, or just plain stupid. If he doesn’t get a knighthood sometime in the future for just being Niall, then I’ll eat hay with the cuddies.

By way of a warm-up, and thanks to a super-fast bus driver, we tried the Manchester Marble Organic Ginger Beer in Fitzies, and it was good. A swift one at the Dun Cow with the Deerness Valley boys, and it was off to the match in some less than canny weather. Being a bright sort, I looked above the turnstile and produced the voucher that corresponded with the number I saw. Shame it was turnstile 24 and he wanted voucher 16. Ooops.

Gordon
Bardsley Collins
Noz Evans
Whitehead Reid Richardson Chopra
Jones Murphy

With Chops on the right wing-ish, the game was away at full pelt from the off and Jones fed Murphy, who played it to Reid then got it back, and nearly got a shot in, and that was all in the first minute. There was a decent following from the Queen Vic, including the entire security staff from E17, or R&R, or whatever it’s now called, and the atmosphere was good from the start. It was also evident fairly soon that camel-mouth Ferdinand thinks he is his brother when he patently isn’t, and we should have worked on that potential weakness a lot more. Chopra dragged a shot wide of Green and the far post, then Richardson started his mad half hour with a foul wide on their right. For the next twenty minutes, everything he touched turned to poo, but Ashton brought through and hit the post with a clever shot on 9 minutes. Reid, Chopra, and Reid again combined to win a corner, Jones was knocked over but there was no penalty, and the game flew form one end to the other Murphy rode a tackle and shot just wide, then Noz put in a great piece of defensive work before Jones crossed too strongly. Back at our end, for once there was no Danny Collins, and Ljungberg (check me spelling, I can’t be arsed) hit it home from the corner of the box for 0-1 on 17 minutes or so.

The rest of the half was a story of corners (seven) and shots (eleven) by us, and a few less by them. Reid took a pass from Chops and found Richo, who’d decided it was time to play football, and the ball eventually came in from the left to find Jones a couple of inches out, and it was 1-1. Gordon produced a brilliant save after most people around me had said “that’s in” and Evans headed wide at the back post from yet another corner. There were chances at each end, and a penalty shout apiece, but the half ended a fairly breathless 1-1, and a sit down and rest was welcome - unlike the news that confirmed that you can’t trust cockneys or the French (Arsenal being two behind to Bolton).

McCartney being replaced by a twelve year old was the only change for the second half, and the game flew straight into action. We pinged the ball about with some urgency, West Ham tried to do likewise but their main weapon seemed to be Scotty Pokah passing back to Green. Deano crossed and Danny Collins saw his header cleared off the line, Murphy sent in several blockbusters (maybe he should try accuracy above power for a while) and they brought on stinky Solano to a torrent of abuse. And rightly so. Reid tried a few free-kicks without success, then Ferdinand put an elbow in the back of Jones’s head with no punishment other than one of he aforementioned free-kicks. Carlos and Grant came on for Rciho and Chopra with 20 to go, and it was more of the same but without the goal we needed. The young substitute got a knock and spent an age on the floor before being replaced, and Lucas Neill continued his £40k a week job of pushing people for 90 minutes a time. Evans produced a good block to prevent a goal but concede a corner, which we cleared, the Jones won a battle on the left to cross for Murphy. Unfortunately, Daryl chose to hoof it over the bar when the goal beckoned, and 90% of the crowd decide that it was the draw guaranteed. Bugger, it would have been easier to score (said Jonny Stead). Murph went straight off and was replaced by O’Donovan, who did some good work up front alongside Jones. Time ticked away, five added minutes were announced, Arsenal equalised, and the ref still gave us nowt. If it all balances up over the course of the season, as Roy says, then we’ll be due twelve penalties against Arsenal. Ljunberg’s hamstring went with a pop you could here back in Stockholm, and we were settling for a draw when ball flew up in the air and Reid hit a volley that the last minute of every game dreams of – right across the keeper and into the far side of the net.

Bloody Hell (and that’s swearing) – isn’t that just what makes football so bloody great?

A win. Aresnal won 3-2 very late on. We go above the smellies in the league. Tonight, I might just see Denty’s missus dancing in my red and white shirt for the second week in a row. 13 th in the league. A great big rainbow appeared over the south stand as if to join in the jollities, and I had to change my mind about man of the match again. It had gone to Reid, until an awful pass late on, then to Noz, then back to Reid with that wonderful, wonderful, volley.

Free burger and a pint to that man.

As if that wasn’t good enough, I received the following exclusive form the Emerald Isle, brought to you as an ALS exclusive...

Keep the Faith

Graeme Souness has attacked Newcastle United, dismissing Toon Army fans as "customers" and saying he was puzzled by their conviction that the Tyneside outfit were a "big club". Souness, aged 53, said the fans were too unforgiving and said Newcastle United had done nothing since 1969

"They've done nothing so where this opinion comes from that they are a big club and should be winning things comes from [I don't know]. I can't remember going there as a player. I think we went there once because they always played in the lower divisions. They've done nothing since 1969. The last job well and truly sickened me. The Newcastle one was a bad experience. I'm sure if you asked Sam Allardyce he would tell you the same: it was just an unhealthy situation there. I believe Newcastle is a club that gets 52,000 people paying to watch them every other week and they have 22,000 supporters and 30,000 customers. They are extremely critical. It should be a fabulous club and could be a fabulous club. I was there 18 months. We reached the semi-final of the FA Cup, the quarter-finals of the UEFA Cup. I think it was nine consecutive wins which equalled the club record and I can remember going into that period where we had these semi-finals coming up and thinking 'If we lose these they will be calling for our heads' and that's the way it is up there. We were playing Aston Villa at home, I think to break the club record of 10 straight wins or nine straight wins, and there was an incident with Kieron Dyer and Lee Bowyer ended up fighting each other and they both got sent off. And that's typical of that club. It's just, I don't know, there's just something about it. It should be a fabulous club but they all have to take a deep breath and count to 10, the supporters, and say to themselves we've got to give someone a chance. As far as I can see it's only Kevin (Keegan) or Alan Shearer would be given anything like the time needed to turn that club into a powerful club. Modern players are extremely different and in some cases difficult. I never had a problem with Kieron (Dyer) but I certainly had a problem with Craig Bellamy. He's his own worst enemy. One day the penny may drop with him but hopefully sooner rather than later. Players today earn £60 to £70 grand a week (yet) the press today it would appear in England it's the manager they go after first: wrong tactics, training's not right, (and) losing the dressing room is a favourite. When we played if we had a bad game the players got it. It would appear today that the players are even above that."

Sobs' Book click here...