SOBS V CHELSEA

The Lads took it to The Bridge and produced one of the best away wins of my life. Smash and grab? Mebbe, but it's part of being a damn good football team. Down early, level before halftime, ahead in added time.

Ain't football great?

Yes. Of course it is. Days like today make it so. Put it in the memory bank and savour it at a later date. Or tomorrow. Or whenever, doesn't really matter - just put it somewhere, because it's worth it, it real is.

The big picture is that engineering works on the railway will mean better services in the future. The small picture meant crazy replacement buses that apparently travel at 35mph, and thus no comfy 7:30 departure. Out of bed at half four, aka "nee such time", and away in the dicky dark, with last night's good wishes from Mal the Mag still ringing in my ears. Apparently they (probably just "he") want us to turn Chelsey over to further next season's European jaunt. Hmm - there you go.

The joy of our players coming through the international break unscathed was spoiled by Alderete's bang on the head against Wolves, invoking the mysterious concussion protocol and bringing Reinaldo back into the squad, presumably with instructions to give over with the rugby and curb his temper, which we discussed between Stanmore and Holborn as Bob & co. broke the world record for can consumption.

After defaulting on what's left of our mortgages to pay for some refreshments, we tubed it to Earl's Court in time to catch up with mates and assess the team...

Roefs

Hume Ballard Mukiele Geertruida Reinildo 

Xhaka (c) Sadiki 

Traore Isidor Le Fee

... and a bench of Patto, Neil, O'Nien, Brobbey, Mayenda, Talbi, Rigg, Jones, and Masuaku.

The absence of Talbi was a shame, as his pace off the bench has been a problem for oppositions so far - but we've got a squad. A good squad, and that's what it's all about.

Away it went, with us attacking the end away to our fans' right. We looked fairly lively in the opening exchanges, but the home side's quality was scarily evident in their sharp and swift exchanges. None more so than in the case of Man U misfit Garnacho, who shaped and shifted to make space that his parent club couldn't use. Down our right, clip across Roefs, 0-1, only five gone.

Bugger, and various other swearings, but we could hardly argue that they didn't deserve the lead. However, we obviously took that as a metaphorical hoof up the arse and simply shored up at the back. Previous Sunderland teams might have crumbled at this point, but not Granit's boys. It might have been backs to the wall, but we knew where our backs were and what the wall was made of.

Ballard and Mukiele, that's what, and enough to withstand owt the dancing feet and feigned injury of the prem could throw at us.

Without panicking, we stuck to our patient plan with Xhaka unsurprisingly pulling the strings and Ballard and Mukiele doing their impersonations of Gibraltar and another big rock while setting Hume away a few times. Isidor had one or two chances to run at the home defence, which they didn't like a bit (especially Cucurella hairy fella) and their cross field passing brought them nothing as big Dan simply waited to see what was coming his way then nutted it, or carried, it away. As discussed with his marra Mukiele.

The first half might have been - ah, I was going to say all Chelsea, but that's nonsense because part of being a damn good football team is to do what we did in the 48 minutes that were played. So it was after twenty minutes or so that Isidor found space from what is becoming a trademark Nordi long throw, and he plonked it home to send the visiting fans tumbling down the rail standing. Girrruppp!

The rest of the half was a case of us defending while Chelsea passed sideways in honour of former captain Butch Wilkins. Then sideways again, and again - thankfully, there's only so much you can do while not attacking the opposition. Therefore we just stood our ground - it's why we recruited really solid defenders. Hume would tackle a tanker and come out in top, while Big Dan and No-nonsense Nordi showed Guiuiuiihu what he's missing.

By the time the break arrived, we in the stands were more than happy but wondered if we could keep Roefs' net empty.

Hell yes, even if the timepieces in the stadium seemed to have stopped. When we broke, we looked dangerous. When we defended, we looked impregnable.

Le Fee, run himself into the ground, Issy, job done, and Traore (who'd put in a decent shift with anything apparently meaningful coming of it) were given a rest with about 15 to go, giving Rigg, Brobbey (don't, just don't), and Talbi a run out as we sought to hang onto that precious point.

We soaked up whatever Chelsea and their SKA backing could throw at us, meaning that us fans were chowing our fingernails in the hope that we'd could hang on for a deserved point.

Aye, well, Mr Brobbey had other ideas in the six added minutes. Out on the right, he collected a long clearance, held it up nicely as we screamed for him to do just that, then laid it into to path of the onrushing fellow sub Talbi, who clipped it in from the edge of the box without faffing about to control it. 

BOOOOOM! 

Absolute mayhem in the away end, upstairs and downstairs alike, and by the time we'd settled (sort of, the bus is still bouncing as I try to type) the ref had run out of reasons to add to the six extra, and we celebrated as if we'd won a trophy.

Which we sort of did. We are second in the league, said we are second in the league. What a simply fantastic win, and proof perfect that we're a bloody good Premier League side.

Man of the Match? So many to choose from, but probably for his persistence and his goal, I'll give it to Issy. Please feel free to disagree, as I ain't gonna deny any of them the honour.

GIRRRUPPP!