FESTIVE HIGH FIVE

Well, this is where we are — and honestly, it feels awesome to say it. A long trek down to Brighton, end of the country and back, and Sunderland still turned up in numbers. Red and white packed into the away end, singing from the first minute, very vocal all the way through. You could hear us clear as day, miles louder than Brighton’s lot, who never really got going. That away end felt like home, and that matters.

First half, we were really quite good. Not flashy, just honest football. Moving it about, pressing, sticking together. Dan Bollard was charging through people like the Hulk, no messing about, setting the standard. Le Fée buzzed around like a wasp, always showing, always trying to make something happen, waving lads on and getting us up the pitch. Hume looked like he was itching to wipe someone out all afternoon, flying into tackles and loving it.

Just after the break, the moment nearly came. Alderete met one with his head and absolutely launched it — the away end was up, arms half raised, thinking that might be it. Inches. Very close. After that it turned into a battle. Late tackles, big blocks, and every time one went in, lads were up clapping, shouting, dragging each other back into shape. You could see how much it meant to them.

There was a spell near the end where we looked in control, knocking it around, like we might nick it. Then the game swung again - nerves, a bit scrappy, momentum shifting right up until the final whistle. Never straightforward with Sunderland. It never is.

But walking away, there was pride. Real pride. This is where we are now - competitive, resilient, together. Players giving everything, fans travelling everywhere, backing them no matter what. Festive high five to the lot of them. Very proud, like. Til the end....