On Sunderland docks
They riveted iron & steel
In surrounding villages
Whirred the pulley wheel
Graft and toil made
The industrial North East
Sweat and blood spilled
All with little release
But teaching minds resolved
To mould men into a team
So workers of iron & coal
Forgot the rivets & the seam
And they came to cheer on
Those men at Blue House Field
James Allen laying the seeds
Of a talented crop to yield
It was 1879
Times were hard
And life was short
But a frail nirvana could be found
Through every ticket bought
And they tore up many grounds
Before finding new abode
But it couldn't last forever
For it was at NEWCASTLE Road!
But,
From a distance came a rumble
That would soon become a roar
As Roker lay in waiting
To change all that went before
And, already
‘The Team of All the Talents’
Had 3 league titles in the bag
Tom Watson was the first in charge
Still one of the best we've ever had
And the swarm became a mass
Watching the best team in the land
Grafters on & off the pitch
All standing hand in hand
But, It was time for change
To rearrange
And settle in pastures new.
Somewhere to be loud
A place to feel proud
For the masses not the few
For Almost a century,
It would be our sacred home,
Where, through the ages,
Countless feet would roam
On the terraces, & The Clock Stand
Chanting ‘Ha’way the lads!’
Never hiding , never shying
‘This is our hallowed land!’
And victory over Liverpool
Is what the first masses saw
Jim Leslie with the only goal
To ignite the Roker Roar!
Soon after, another league title
That was number 4
And the filling in between our next
A 9-1 thrashing of a certain foe…
Our 5th came under the guidance
Of a manager of the longest term
Robert Kyle, a fixture for 23 years
Respect deserved & earned
Our fortress saw it all
Many victories & later, falls
And forged deep within foundations
Legends laid their stalls:
Charlie Thomson, defensive rock.
Buchan, always scored.
Shackleton, Ashurst & Hurley
In memory, permanently stored
Cloughie: what could have been?
63 goals from 74
But, if only he'd came to manage…
A fate we'll never get to know
The tenacious Stan Anderson
Captained the big three:
Dirty Mags & Stinky Smogs
But at Roker Park
His heart would always be
Bobby Gurney, record goal scorer
And captain fantastic, Raich Carter
Fired us to another league title
But that was just the starter
We beat Arsenal for the Charity Shield
Then brought home the FA Cup
1-0 down, to 3-1 Victor's
The epitome of ‘never give up’
The manager: Johnny Cochran
A Scot… Lured from St Mirren…
Echoes of recent history
But in a world that's less forgiving
I guess, only time has the answer
For where our fate may lie
But, for now, back to the past
Another cup to raise up high:
From a division below
Came Bobby Kerr's army of ‘73
Slaying the mighty Leeds
Forever heroes they will be
Porterfield's winning goal
Monty’s double save
Stokoe running, arms outstretched
What a performance they all gave!
Later, came the likes of
Bracewell, Bennett,
Gabbers, Gates & Rowell
And Bally, saw Roker Park out
Whilst committing one or two fouls...
But as time eroded years
The years eroded Roker
Like an old friend we said goodbye
Its time with us was over
It ended, how it started
A 1-0 victory over Liverpool
John Mullin scored the very last
Its final ever duel
99 years of history
Was soon raised to the ground
But some who lived nearby
Swore they heard a sound
Of a rumble in the distance
That became a mighty roar!
Then drifted upon a passing breeze
And Roker Park
Stood no more
Pt 2
The Stadium of Light
Bob Murray`s lasting legacy
He modernised an ailing club
And laid the road to longevity
And Soon came a record promotion
By a team of fluid motion
105 points secured
A group playing self-assured
So, ok, the mags were right
He did have a monkey's heed
But he built a team to entertain
So, ‘Cheer up Peter Reid!’
Phillips & Quinn
Get in!!!
The very best I've seen
They knew each other inside & out
A telepathic goal machine
The European Golden Shoe,
The Premier Golden Boot
The only Englishman to achieve it still
The legend of Kevin Phillips took root.
Niall Quinn scored the very first
The stadium would ever see
And in years to follow
On and off the pitch
Our saviour he would be
Between the sticks, Sorensen
Keeping teams at bay
And little Argentinian Arca
Overlapping with Micky Gray
It was a magical spell
With songs & chants
As we all put on
‘Niall Quinn’s Disco Pants!’
But we don't like things easy
So eventually it turned sour
And Relegation came again
The magic lost its power
By now, football had became
A thing of opulent refrain
Established teams could not compete
For those wanting gold laid at their feet
And we're fickle things
In times of trouble
We stamp and shout
‘Who burst our bubble!’
Bob Murray’s tenure
Came to a close
Amidst struggling times
And financial woes
But upon a white steed
An Irishman returned
With consorts of Drumaville
And a fire that still burned
He snared a fellow countryman
All moody & intense
Who made a team
Of his own image
Full of grit & no-nonsense
We were bottom of the championship
But promotion was assured
Roy Keane’s steely demeanour
Getting the best from those he’d lured
And he kept us in the Premier
But his beard grew thick & long
And this enigmatic legend
Like the glint in his eye, was gone
Ten seasons in the Premier
As many managers came & went
A league cup final under Poyet
And a ‘miracle’ escape heaven sent
We didn't want to win the league
We preferred to fight the drop
Excitement & tension to the very last
And we survived - more often than not!
O Shea, Larsson & Cattermole
All great servants to the cause
They wore their heart upon their sleeve
And that, I'll always applaud
We also had a player
Many thought past his best
Just out to fill the coffers
A little something to invest
But there was emotion & passion
Right from the start
A derby-day volley
Showed us he had heart
For his mate, little Bradley:
Every day was a hurdle
But his smile lit up the stadium
He is our mascot eternal
Jermain Defoe scored the goals
Bradley Lowery brought the light
That joyful face,
In our hearts found a place
Such bravery & fight
So let's take his inspiration
And our great history of this game
Time to inhale & re-scale
To look forward without blame
We need the flashes from the iron
And the grit from the seam
We're back at Blue House Field
Forging a brand-new team
And to all who come to join
Under our new regime
Steep yourself in what we are
In your hands you hold a dream
Jordans, Henderson & Pickford
Show what we can achieve
A team of winners can be built
If only they believe
‘The Team of All the Talents:’
Mainly local lads & Scots
Time has come full circle
A new breed to call the shots
To whoever takes the mantle
Take a glimpse at our past
Those foundations still surround us
For this club was built to last
Pt3
The smell of burgers & onions
Pave the way
A Dad & young son
Out for matchday
A sea of red & white
Drift to hallowed ground
The clicking of the turnstile
A satisfying sound
The young boy gets a hotdog
His Dad gets a pint
‘It's tradition,’ he tells him with a wink
Now everything feels right
Up the steps & into the light
Opens up a wonderful scene
The lads are warming up below
Amidst the blanket of green
The butterflies start to flutter
As he heads up to his seat
His Dad says, ‘everyone used to stand’ And he ponders about aching feet?
The noise begins to swell
The starting line-up confirmation
Then blasting from the speakers:
Dance of the Knights/Elevation. (RIP 2018)
The boy mutters under his breath
That which echoes through the ages
His Dad squeezes his hand & hopes
Life doesn't make too many changes
The Ref raises his whistle
The hairs on the boy's neck bristle
His stomach is churning
The passion is burning
For a victory he's yearning
His voice now at one with his Dad's
'C'MON! He shouts.
HA’WAY THE LADS!’
Kick off!
Copyright ©️ Stephen W Atkinson 2018
(Re-edit 2020)
