SON OF SOBS: THEM

10 years in the making. Powered by pink slices, and a decade's worth of pent up passion, Wearside 'welcomed' the unwashed barcodes to the fortress of light.

I don't mention 'them up the road' ever in my write ups, because I don't want them to become anymore a waste of oxygen than they already are. To paraphrase Keano 'an arrogant club who's won f*ck all'. The most inexplicably entitled 'fans' in the land.

I've had a few weeks off due to a new job that has 4am starts, for context I went to bed before the Liverpool match had even kicked off. As I write these live, I try to leave parts out so as not to jinx things. So that's why some of my stuff seems a bit out of context. That's the first and last time I'll explain that, cos that's not what we're here for. Anyway...

With rumours of a tifo the likes of which we'd never seen (since they first appeared at the SOL last season), I'd expected to see a black cat with a bloody magpies head on a platter. We were not disappointed. After the bong eyed bird with teeth and guitar amps with nothing plugged into them that the scum had put on their tifo, we showed them how to do it properly. As I mentioned, I don't say the 'N' word ever on my write ups, so I'll be getting some stuff out my system.

With the extremely sad passing of 'The Mag Slayer' Gary Rowell earlier this week, the opportunity to honour his legacy had also presented itself. A man I'm very proud to say I'm named after. Football aside, cancer is by far the most devastating thing I've ever seen. Look after yourself and look after each other.

2pm kick off. The SOL was an explosion. Deafening the visitors and setting off my tinnitus. The filth looked terrified. I definitely saw a brown stain running down Bruno's leg. But let's not talk about him...

The match began with a rapturous din, as the Mags kicked off. We kept them in their half for the first five as they looked to sit back. It was clear this summer's new additions fully understood the task in hand. Reinildo and Sadiki exploded out the traps and on 6 minutes we won our first corner. After a promising one-two was cut short, the mags countered but RR and the men at the back were ready and organised. The end to end began as we immediately responded with a move that was only let down by the final ball, a cross that went way over the onrushing Brobbey's head.

10 minutes - 'Stand up if you hate the mags!'

Our second corner came after an outside of the boot cross from Traore was almost put behind by their centre half, Thiaw. The freshly-boiled Howe decided to watch some Hey Dougie on his tablet. We dominated with 75% possession well up to the 20 minute mark. Shitty Korean popstar 'Bruno G' ran out of ideas and, despite all his big man arsing about, fell on the floor quicker than a fart in the wind. Dan Burnout responded by running into Enzo, but the ref remained calm.

The scum got their first corner and did naff all with it, despite the best efforts of human lamppost - Woltemade. Granit shot high and wide on the 30 minute mark as we continued to test them. In the build up Ballard had been felled but the game continued its tit for tat theme as Sadiki ran down the other end and clattered an Italian twice his size. Despite the high tempo physicality Mr Brobbey was the only player to have picked a card so far, for being rude.

The first 'proper' tackle came on the 35th minute when a when a 50/50 between Burnt and Nordi ended with a knee to the chest Rodtang would have been proud of - look him up, he's mental. This saw our first real stoppage of the game. Platform to Hogwarts left the field to feel sorry for himself and we cracked on. Nordi inexplicably received a yellow for this, despite the fact either one of them could have come out of it clattered.

Word of the day: Clattered. Definition: When you get more on the player than on the ball, but still a bit on the ball.

Not so big Dan Burnt decided he was too soft and was subbed off to suck his thumb and have a bit of a cry. Tart. Bruno kicked Mr Brobbey in the knackers out of frustration, but our Dutchman walked it off. As half time crept up Ballard decided to be a striker for a bit with a long ball from Granit skimming off his teff, unable to get over the ball. 3 minutes off added time was tacked on and both sides looked to make a mark before the break. Gordon had been told by his Mam he could leave the house if he was wearing his special hat. We pressed right up until the final seconds of the half, with a promising piece of play being cut short by the whistle. Granit wasn't happy about that.

Half time, 0-0. We'd absolutely dominated in terms of possession. The visiting villains hadn't managed a single shot on goal, with their strikers not even managing a touch in our box. Their standoffishness did seem somewhat by design. They hadn't exactly put everyone behind the ball or looked for the counter, but they did look physically rattled. They have a reputation of shouting and giving it charley-big-wotsits (see file marked PICKFORD), but so far we'd shut them up.

We started the second half exactly how you hope. I'd heard Woltemade was good at headers... and I heard correctly. I don't what the lanky Ent was thinking, but for some reason. I don't particularly care!

1-0 Sun'lun. GERRUP!

Sadiki won a corner and got the crowd going. Not that they needed encouragement. The next 5 minutes was an onslaught from our attack. We won every second ball and absolutely threw ourselves at every opportunity to get the ball forward. Nordi even out jumped a 6ft 6 striker. Schar gave big Dan a great big hug and felled him in the box, but its very hard to convince anyone that Dan Ballard can be stopped by mortal man. The visitors got their first yellow of the afternoon, with their cheating Italian being bested by Brobbey. Greasy Eddie made a triple change with 60 minutes to go, but that didn't slow us down. In the 62nd minute they managed their first shot of the game.

Delightful news filtered down the grape vine that Burn had left the SOL in an ambulance. The triple change had changed things up and the scum had found their smelly way into our half on a number of occasions. Brian and others had started to look tired and RLB began to look to our own bench as Hume and Wilson joined the affray, in place of Brobbey and Bertrand.

3 minutes of slinky forward play by us ended with a superb attempt by Issy. Not at all bad for a first crack. Captain Granit showed grace under pressure as the filth got forward resulting in frustration that earned us a freekick. The mags made their last change with 15 minutes to go and we looked to kill things off.

Mundle readied himself as Nordi took one of his now legendary long throws. Romaine swapped for our tenacious Moroccan as Roefs took a dangerous freekick on our halfway line. Into the final five the chitter of nails being bitten all round the SOL could clearly be heard. The Scum pressed but we pressed back.

4 minutes of added anxiety were announced.

Megs from Enzo found Hume, while his cross found space there was no one in it to put an end to things. A corner to the opposition in the final 4 led to Roefs getting clattered and some good old argy bargy ensued. Guimaraes found his voice and rightfully got booked. Xhaka left the field to receive some UFC style treatment.

A Trai Hume classic stamped an end to the game: Sunderland 1 'Vistors' Nil.

10 years in the making, well worth the wait. We cemented our unbeaten streak at home and we now go 10 league games unbeaten against the dafties up the road. No matter how we got the job done - we got the job done. That takes us back up to 7th. Till we meet again...

That ones for you, Gary. We all live in a Gary Rowell world.

KTF,

GPD.