Well you didn’t get up this morning,
‘cos you didn’t go to bed
You were watching the whites of your eyes turn red
The calendar on the wall,
Is ticking the days off.

You’ve been reading some old progrrammes
You smile and think how much we’ve changed
All the money in the world,
Couldn’t buy back those days.

You pull back the curtains, and the sun burns into your eyes
You watch a plane flying across a clear blue sky
This is the day - your life will surely change
This is the day - when things fall into place .

Bugger – it’s nine o’clock, the bar awaits, and the bus’ll be here before long.

Doncha just love early kick-offs? All those people that the Polis suspect will be out for trouble will simply say “Oh, I can’t be arsed looking for a fight if it means getting tanked up early. So I won’t bother having a drink.”

Of course. It’s as simple as that. In reality, people try that bit harder to get a drink when the kick-off time conspires to prevent that, so there are probably more folks the wrong side of a good swally at early starts than normal starts. C’est la vie. Me? I forewent my usual Friday night tipple for a pint at tea-time, and a relatively early night. All of which meant that I was up at the usual school-day time of some time before seven. At least I got the papers read and could look forward to my breakfast bevvy.

Any sort of disappointment at the early kick-off was, of course, tempered by the goings-on up the road. Just when you think that they can’t do anything more stupid than they already have, Ashley and Wise jetted off to the Middle East to try and gain an impromptu audience with the sort of people that Gordon Brown and George Bush need to make an appointment for three months in advance. Thick or what? On top of that, the national press has at last seen through the paper-thin Geordie Nation and the broadsheets (and their online versions) have been packed to the adverts with well-written articles on why the Toon Army should basically give their collective head a shake. Always good for a laugh, wor Geordie neighbours and their Nation.

The best part of the week was Thursday for me, when Mock The Week took the piss out of them. At least we only got as far as They Think It’s All Over when we were shite. Oh how I laughed. I spent last weekend on the Quayside (apart from the small matter of the trip to Wigan, of course) as the Uni reunion stayed safely away from potential rioting protests up the hill. There was a lot more talking than at previous get-togethers, probably as a sign of age, but we still shifted a fair bit of grog. As we dispersed on Sunday morning, we discussed moving from meeting every five years to every year, just in case we started dropping off the mortal coil. Miserable but true. Cheers Davey for getting us all together, including some we hadn’t seen in a lifetime and for allowing some proper talking, of the type that should have been done a quarter of a century ago, to be done between certain people. Great weekend – and a point away from home’s not bad, either.

Not funny at all were QPR’s attempts to charge Derby £40 for a Championship game. Derby rightly told them where to stick their tickets at that price, which would be admirable had they not spent last season ripping off visiting fans. Apparently they’ve got a new board now, who aren’t such a bunch of bandits as the last lost, so that’s OK then. QPR boasted, until a fortnight ago at least, of being the richest club in England, so why do they feel the need to charge stupid prices for visiting (and home) fans? Greed, greed, greed, that’s why. So Derby’s response is another example of the worm turning, and one to lead us nicely to a boycott of all things other than match tickets at West Brom. Please folks, they’re charging us £40 a ticket, the bar staff last time were hopeless, so have a drink on the way, take your own crisps and don’t put any more money into the robbers’ coffers. To top it off, while we’re paying a crisp tenner to watch us take on Northampton in the League Cup, today’s opponents will be paying £41 to watch their team of choice at Old Trafford. Defend that one, Ferguson.

So, Boro hadn’t won away, we hadn’t won at home, but I really fancied our chances, particularly with the midfield contest surely going in our favour. Jooolio may or not be involved, we’ve got George back at the SoL (and I can get my George McCartney oven glove back out of the cupboard) and we’re still full of optimism (by Sunderland standards). Roy has decided that the players were, in the past, influenced in a negative way by listening to Abba before games. If it wasn’t Roy claiming that, I’d not have believed it. I’d like to think he’s replaced it with something that another former Forest legend would have preferred – The Clash. Personally, I used to “warm up” for Sunday morning matches by listening to Elvis Costello, but I’d probably have been on the winning side more often had I gone with Strummer and the boys to liven my spirit. Watch for the Lads pogo-ing out of the tunnel.

As I prepared to give the eldest a lift to work, the youngest arrived home. Half eight, so I asked where he’d been. “In the *** all night” (pub name removed to protect the innocent) “I’ve left ****** asleep in the bar” (name of landlady removed to protect the not-so-innocent). Where he gets it from I don’t know.

So it was an early start from the Station, a quick walk down to the King’s (I took them there last time and they fell in love with it) where we wallowed in blazing sunshine, taking in the glorious landscape of bins, barrels, scrapyards, substations, and a rather noisy helicopter, and had a bit chat with the middle-aged Boro posse that had fetched up there.

Gordon
Chimbo Noz Ferdy George
Teemu
Steed Richio Deano Diuof
Cisse

The first few minutes were largely Boro, as the midfield I’d thought would overpower theirs was over-run. As ever, our free-kick ended in a Boro attack. Steed and Diouf combined to produce a cross that went over on four minutes, but they replied with a Downing cross – thankfully too deep. Mido, the intended target, had apparently been withdrawn from the starting eleven just before kick-off with a pie-related injury. George needed good footwork to clear his lines soon after, then Rico and Cisse broke through only for the latter to slice his shot horribly wide. Boro won a corner on their right off Ferdy, which we cleared, but the half continued with the visitors being able to find more time and space in the middle of the field than us. Cisse fired wide again after a bounce on the edge of the box, but it was football in fits and starts for us rather than any sustained passages of play. Deano got the ball out to the left, and the cross was headed for a corner, but there was no finishing touch when it came in. Despite this we won a number of corners and Boro did likewise, ensuring that, although lacking in real quality, the game had a distinct edge to it. Gordon produced a great save after a shot was blocked, then Cisse broke down the left and around the twenty minute mark we at last put in a period of pressure. Diouf broke into the box, found Steed, and the cross found Cisse but he was flagged offside. There was a let-off when Aliadiailaiadiere couldn’t decide what to do and shot wide. Wheater put in his third naughty challenge of the game. Steed and Cisse played a nice one-two but didn’t quite get in, Then Deano put in a great tackle to break up a Boro break, but Teemu was robbed on the edge of the box and Gordon saved the day with his feet.

Anton’s volleyed clearance into the West Stand must have stung somebody, but we broke into their box only to see the ball hacked away on 42 minutes. Another save by Gordon, this time an easy one, allowed us a bit of breathing space and a cross from George saw Diuof win a corner. A clearly knackered Teemu made way for Chops, who’d put in an impressive shift for the reserves the other night, in the last minute of the half and it ended 0-0. I was quite happy with that – they’d had lots of the ball, Gordon had kept out what they’d hoyed at him, but we need to be sharper in the second half.

Was it Cec or was it Len that tackled that winger just then? Half time draw from the full-back pairing with more combined appearances than any other and we were off again. Cisse had changed into his red boots, but his first contribution was to do all the hard stuff down the right and then slice his attempted curling cross out of play. Boro won another corner which Chimbo headed away for another corner, but after this our midfield managed to get a grip for a while and dominate for a few minutes. George’s decent looking cross was taken by the keeper, then Steed and Chimbo combined again to break down the right, but the next big action point was another Gordon save, down to his left. Steed and Chops battled to win the ball down the right and played it in to Richo who shot hurriedly and over with Diouf screaming for it. A knock to Ferdy’s head gave the players a tea-break, then Steed carried the ball brilliantly only to see Cisse’s effort saved. Deano wasted a ball wide, we produced a decent shot which their keeper looked to have saved, but he made an arse of clearing it and we had an effort beyond him cleared.

After Rico got himself booked for a harmless-looking block that Wheater and co. would have sneered at for being too soppy, the subs came thick and fast. Reid and Murphy replaced Cisse and Diouf, and we sort of ripped into them. All appeared lost when a Boro player, who shall remain nameless (‘cos I couldn’t see who it was), appeared to hoy himself to the ground a good yard from Noz, but the ref was fooled and gave a penalty.

Downing, either thankful that we’d taught him all he knows, or recognising someone in the visiting fans that he particularly disliked, thumped the spot-kick over the bar and into the face of a Boro fan. Very hard. How we laughed, and I said then that we’d just won the game.

The South Stand clock having given up the ghost on about 61 minutes, it was down to my trusty Sekonda to keep the time and it was ticking away when Chopra was put through the middle, kept his head (thank the Lord for rehab) and slotted the ball away for 1-0. We’d barely settled when Murph put in a cross with his right foot and Chops saw a good header saved, then Noz headed a shot over and we were screaming for the whistle. When Steed did what we never do, and kept his head to roll the ball to Chops for his and our second, the day was complete.

Man of the Match? Chops was as sharp as a tack, Gordon did what he had to, but for me Steed was the stand-out man in the area that mattered – midfield – and kept it going to the bitter end.

He’s one of our own
He’s one of our own
Michael Chopra
He’s one of our own

And special mention to Jessica Terry, who (it is said) never sees Sunderland lose. Bring her back, please, Dad.

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