OTD: 4-3 V GILLINGHAM (1987)

On this day in 1987 Sunderland became the first victims of a play-off relegation tie.

The 86-87 season had got off to a good start for us, with a win at Huddersfield on the opening day putting us top of Division Two. It didn’t continue, as Lawrie Mackemenemy’s tactics quickly fell apart, and when a seven game run from mid-march brought five defeats and two draws, he disappeared into the night and in came Bob Stokoe. It wasn’t exactly mission impossible for a team to get the number of points we required to guarantee safety.

We lost Bob’s first game, at Bradford, managed to conjure up a draw at home to Leeds and a victory at Shrewsbury, then Mark Proctor scored twice against Bradford for the second time in a matter of weeks – but, for the second time in a matter of weeks, they beat us 3-2. We were scoring a reasonable number of goals, but the clean sheet at Shrewsbury was the first in eleven games, and that was why we stayed a whisker away from safety. The next clean sheet came at home to Palace, and Gordon Armstrong’s goal got the points. He repeated the trick at Millwall the next week, and that draw meant that all we had to do to stay out of the clarts was to beat Barnsley at home on the last day of the normal season. Normal for us, unfortunately, meant scoring two and letting in three against a team from Yorkshire beginning with the letter B. Oh, and a Proctor penalty saved on 61 minutes when we were 2-1 up that was quickly followed by a goal from future Lad Roger Wylde.

Shrewsbury beat Birmingham, when any other result would have saved us, so that was it then – the new-fangled play-offs for us, as was the rule in those enlightened times, against the team just below the automatic promotion places in Division Three.

Away to Gillingham for the first time in our history – they were called New Brompton when we met in the FA Cup in 1908 – certain that Bob’s magic wand was about to make an appearance. Proctor opened the scoring with a penalty after half an hour, but Tony Cascarino joined the ranks of Sunderland anti-heroes, as many big centre-forwards did, with a second half hat-trick, as Mr Hesford had a nightmare. Proc got his second withquarter of an hour to go, but we just couldn’t force the draw. Maybe it was because it was on a Thursday, when football was never played, and we could not be expected to adjust to that. Still, we had away goals, which counted double, so we only needed to score once and that was it. Or so we thought.

The following Sunday, 25,470 souls packed themselves into Roker. It was nervous. There was more riding on this game than any other in our history – winning cups and leagues is one thing, but dropping down further than we’d ever been before just didn’t bear thinking about. The nervousness was not that born of excitement, as at Wembley 73 and subsequent promotion parties, but that born of genuine fear of failure – catastrophic failure.

Bob’s team was:

Iain Hesford

Paul Lemon, Gary Bennett, Frank Gray, Alan Kennedy

Steve Doyle, Mark Proctor, Gordon Armstrong

Keith Bertschin, Dave Swindlehurst, Eric Gates

... and Davey Corner on the bench.

You could see our problems immediately – two ageing left backs, one centre half, and a twenty year old midfielder at right back. Oh, and three very experienced forwards might have looked positive, but they just didn’t fit together.

It was one of those games that resembled a grandfather clock permanently stuck at midnight – it just kept going bong, and we were either scared of the next day arriving, or we were desperate for it to do just that. They scored on three minutes to spoil things, then Gatesy scored on 17 and 22 to put us ahead on the night – and, more importantly, on aggregate. Then Proctor did it again – not the two goals, but the penalty miss on 33 minutes that would surely have sealed the win. Still, ahead at the break.

Thirteen minutes into the second half, Hesford tripped an opponent, but saved the penalty only for some defending straight from Carry on Sunday Morning Football that allowed the ball to stay in our area long enough (it seemed like five minutes) for the save to count for nothing as the ball ended up in the Roker End net. Cascarino again.

We went all out for another goal, Corner replaced the clearly knackered Kennedy, Benno joined the attack as we threw caution to the wind, and with two minutes remaining it looked to be all over in their favour. Not quite - up went Benno to add to his already legendary status by nodding over the keeper. The Fulwell exploded with relief –it was 5-5, away goals level, and extra time when it should, to be fair to both teams, have gone straight to penalties. Why give Gillingham an extra half hour to score another goal that would count double? Benno’s goal had raised our on-field spirits, though - surely high enough to take the game.

Yeah, but Gillingham’s were just as high, and Cascarino scored again after only three minutes. Bertschin gave us brief hope three minutes into the second half, and at the very death nearly got another but was booked, along with their keeper, for being a tad over enthusiastic with his challenge. The whistle came too soon, and it was the end of the blackest day in the club’s history (up to that point). We’d won the battle but lost the war.

I’d known relegation from an early age, I’d witnessed it first hand with deep sadness and resignation, and I’d shed tears of joy at our FA Cup triumph – but this was the first time I’d shed tears of sadness at a football match. I wasn’t the only grown man with watering eyes either, not by a long chalk. I was older than more than half of our team, and the club had been part of my life for longer than it had for any of them. I was absolutely devastated, and, as we wandered away from the ground, I, like many others, just didn’t know which way to look, or what to do. A big hole opening up in the street would have been a nice touch, if the council could have managed it. I didn’t even want to go out and drink away my sorrows while contemplating the whys and wherefores of the season. What if Proctor had remembered how to take penalties? What if the defence had remembered how to clear a ball? What if we’d got rid of Mackemenemy earlier? What if Nick Pickering had still been a red and white, instead of collecting an FA Cup Winner’s medal with Coventry the day before? What if the away authorities had actually thought about the away goals rule and extra time?