Life’s not fair. As Sunderland fans, we should be acutely aware of that fact. We spend our time, money, and effort travelling the length and breadth of the country to be compensated with performances like those at Burnley, Birmingham, and Wigan. Look at Jedward, those cheeky Irish poster twins. John has contributed just as much to their admittedly awful performances as Edward, but only gets a single letter of his name used, while his sibling gets the whole of his. Surely Joed or Edjo would have been fairer. And then came Fulham. ‘Snot fair. But let’s not be all doom and gloom, let’s look back of the week that was….

At least the reserves exacted a little bit of revenge by thumping Wigan’s very young side 3-0, with another three goals from Ryan Noble. Exciting prospect, that lad. As is ever the case at such matches, you’re only a few feet from the linesman and so can engage in a bit of light hearted banter. You can also irritate the youngsters in the opposing side by shouting “half past eight” every time they shouted “time, time”, and when they have the equivalent of a six-year-old Steve Gerrard, you can have a field day. Wigan’s number eight had one of those squeaky Scouse voices that has bats crashing into lamp-posts and is beyond the hearing of most humans. “Ref, I sheeeeeeeeeeeen it” he kept repeating, and we ripped into him at every opportunity. Just when it looked like he would have, if not the last laugh, then a little giggle when the desperately unlucky Anderson, playing his first game in yonks, was sent off as the last man for fouling him, the resultant penalty was saved. Shame he didn’t take it.

My other match of the week saw Esh Winning losing to Bishop (see what I did there?) in a match that contained probably the funniest sending off I’ve ever seen. Having just conceded what turned out to be the decisive goal, and well into injury time, their number twelve, who’d been on the field ten minutes at most, threw a hissy fit, pulled up a corner flag, and hurled it at the floodlight pylon. It bounced off, and was caught one handed by an elderly Bishop supporter. Red card, with the ref (the magnificently name Mr Dicoco) saying “what do you expect me to do?”

So a quiet night preceded an early start, with only half the City – Chelsea game watched, and only half the set at the Grand. Mind, I’d made up for it on Friday as my lads launched their new CD with a cracking show (PUCKpHUTT, watch out for them) so if you feel the urge for 2009’s return to the concept album, get in touch. So, bright and early, we were off in the luxury of a bus with suspension. Discussion was chiefly about sausages (the eating variety, not the left back variety), the return of Jonesy, and the fact that, based on Thursday’s Europa league showing, if you’re sat in row Z and the ball hits your head, it’s Zamora. Fulham’s 1-0 win should have been at least 4, and rumour has it that large amounts of gravel and several cows, arses to the front, for the purposes of shooting practice. But you know what happens when that sort of forward plays against us…..

Our initial attempt to get to the White Horse in Parson’s Green from Baker Street, which we’d been winding our way along (as is compulsory) was thwarted when we discovered that there are two stations on the underground by the name of Edgeware Road, and we’d gone to the wrong one. So back to Baker Street, and off again, eventually making our rendezvous. It’s not your typical pre-match singy, shouty pub, more of an emporium for connoisseurs of cask and European ales – which buggered up Snoopy’s day, as Carling is his bag. We met folks Sunderland folks from all over England and beyond, with Colin, Mick, Gez, the Rutland Branch, and carefully avoided the Thomas Hardy Vintage ale at 11.4% and £9 a pint, and the Robbos’ Old Tom that the Eastern European barmaid seemed to think was an “ordinary bitter.” After the walk through the churchyard, and the park that gets bigger every year, we saw us line up with

Fulop
Bardsley Ferdy Turner Richo
Steed Cana Hendo Reid
Jones Bent

An attacking formation if every I saw one, but if you thought the first half at Wigan was poor, this was worse. We just can’t seem to cope with teams that close down our space, and it doesn’t help our cause when the whole defence goes to sleep with only seven minutes gone and there he was – Zamora. I was in row U, only five in front of his usual target, but even he couldn’t believe his luck as he was left in acres of space and didn’t even have to jump to nod home. Captain Cana had his head in his hands after that one, and Fulham kept him in their pockets fro most of the game. They knew what they were about. It got worse, as Nevland clattered Ferdy from behind as the ball was being shepherded out for a goal kick. To be hones, it didn’t look that bad, but Anton was obviously knackered and lasted only a few minutes more, being replaced by Noz. While we seemed to struggle at the back, at least Noz flew about like a loony and got the ball away, but then the problems started because we couldn’t do anything with the ball when we got it out of defence. We didn’t know whether to boo of cheer Duff (I cheered, then booed, just to confuse him), and Zamora managed to head off the bar, but we were a goal down at the break.

We were brighter after the break, moving forward with a bit of purpose, but Roy Hodgson is no mug, and he had Cana under pressure all the time and Reid with two markers – which begs the question “where was our back-up?” If there are two on Reid, there is obviously a spare Sunderland player, and with Reid’s full back being the attack-minded Richardson, we should have been able to adapt. Having been ineffective fro most of the afternoon, Steed was replaced by Campbell, then Jones made way for Zenden. In my opinion, Bolo should have been on much earlier, and he almost got something with a shot from distance that Schwarzer had difficulty with. That apart, the former Smoggie showed a positive attitude, getting at least a fist on every ball into the box, and generally commanded his area. We had a number of corners, but they were generally of poor quality, and Quinny, sitting next to Martina Navratilova (investment?) must have been thinking of how frustrated he would have been with such moderate service from the wings. It was never going to be our day as we failed miserably to make anything of the little space we got against a very well organised home side – without Danny Murphy, and unused sub – and it took some desperate defending to keep it to one. Noz cracked heads with an opponent, and spent the last part of the match with a geet big bandage round his heid, charging around and keeping the score down. Even in the four added minutes we couldn’t break them down, and it was yet another miserable result on the road.

Interesting bits? Thirty four cormorants flew over the ground during the match. You could vault the fence at the side and land in the Thames, which seemed a decent option at the end of yet another wretched away display. On a positive note, Jimmy Hill failed to appear, and I managed to get back to Bish via Sixercabs in time for a couple of pints with our Ian. On a negative note, the buses were scattered along a road about a mile and a half from the ground, and there were no ice lollies left a Tibshelf on the way back, and the on-Board DVD played everything in monochrome. Brucie’s post-match comments were understandably along the lines of personnel changes, ours were less printable, but how many will he now feel the need to bring in next month?

Man of the Match? Difficult, but I’ll give it to Reid, as he at least tried to make something of what he got, apart from the corners, but we need to have more playmaking from the centre of midfield.

Keep the faith

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