If I could pick one day - one match, that I can genuinely say made me fall in love with football all over again – it would have to be the 2019 Checkatrade Trophy final. That fun may have been short-lived, but it was the beginning of what would be a much longer love story, a one I am sure will last a lifetime.
I may, once again, be making a much larger deal out of a ‘Mickey Mouse Cup' final, but the support and sense of togetherness that we as a club feel on those trips to London are incomparable – and I think that is what made me feel the way I did that weekend.
When I was younger, I remember my Dad taking me to the odd match at the SOL, and me only agreeing for a nice lunch, and some time with my Dad– who works away a lot.
Although, in amongst the ambiguity of the atmosphere, there was always a moment where little 6-year-old me would find herself shouting ‘you silly man, get up of the floor’ at someone of whose name I did not know…
There was always a love there, it just needed to be found again – and that it was on the weekend of the Checkatrade Trophy. One thing I was soon to discover was that football would become precious to me. It would become time to spend with my Dad– funnily enough, that was how it all started.
I jumped at the opportunity to enjoy a weekend in London with him, quite frankly. The football was not what drew me to accept his offer. But the idea of a whole weekend just me and Dad was something I could never refuse.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to expect– I was too young to remember much of the 2014 Capital One Cup final, and my Dad’s details of his "Lads’ Trips" to Wembley were rather vague, so I really was unsure as to what I had got myself into.
I vividly recall the moment I stepped into Trafalgar Square. Initially, the noise was overwhelming. It was full to the brim of people in red and white, empty Stella cans and most of all, it was the chants and cheers of the most passionate that rang out in the capital that day.
I really do believe it was that night in Trafalgar Square that brought back my love for the sport, I might have been small, but I felt six feet tall that day – in amongst the most wonderful people – who I would soon call my family.
Everybody in the square that day had one sole vision, their beloved Sunderland lifting a trophy, however ‘small’ it might seem. Of course, as supporters of that beloved Sunderland, that vision was nothing more than a dream; but that didn’t matter to me. I had found my people.
I spent the evening witnessing some sights that part of me wishes I hadn’t seen. But in amongst the breast crawl in the fountains and being covered in middle aged men’s lager, I found myself chanting and singing like I had been there all my life.
Despite my urge to stay out all night. we headed back to the hotel and continued the anticipated wait for the main event. I put my scarf on with a new sense of meaning that following morning, I really did want us to win– I wasn’t just there for the lunch.
Wembley Way was incredible, with a sea of red and white. Fans young and old flocked under the arch that day– I really do wish the football lived up to the support.
The first half was unforgettable, the feeling of being able to celebrate a goal in the home of football was incredible, even for a novice. The ball had barely crossed the line before my Dad had me in the air, I think he had forgotten I was 14 at the time, but soon put me down.
I was seriously engrossed in the match from that moment on. My stomach turned every time the ball entered our half, and the deflation I felt in the 82nd minute of that game was something unimaginable.
My smile had been completely wiped off my face, and innocent little me, still not quite understanding the process, thought that was it, and that it was penalties. To be fair, after a fractious half hour of extra time, I wasn’t far off.
Despite being somebody who, at this point knew very little about football, there was one thing I knew we did not want to happen… and that was penalties.
As a Lee Cattermole superfan since the moment I could walk, I put the utmost faith in him… of which was soon depleted. Although, I do remember amongst the tears reminding my Dad that he was still my hero.
Considering three days prior, I didn’t know the difference between the left wing and the right, and to me, a referee was no different to a linesman- to think that I had got on a train home with tears in my eyes would’ve been completely ludicrous.
I could be cliché, and say ‘the rest is history’, or that ‘I’ve never looked back’, but despite the score line, that weekend has got to be one of my fondest memories. It broke my heart to see us lose that day, but the immeasurable joy I get out of watching Sunderland play (a lot of the time very badly), will forever be enough compensation.
I will always be grateful for Sunderland that weekend and, as daft as it sounds, that is my love story.
