As the road sweepers cleared the carnage around Trafalgar Square, bleary Mackem eyes awoke and began their journey to Wembley to face Portsmouth in the Checkatrade Trophy final. A final that didn’t really mean anything other than fun and the pre match party had been a lot of fun. Hangovers gave way to anticipation and nerves and a rousing “Wise Men Say” rattled around Wembley before everyone realised they didn’t know the words to the verses. The rest is history now, but suffice to say that it did actually mean something after all. After the shenanigans at Trafalgar Square the night before the Sunderland crowd were a little subdued; yes they nearly blew the arch off Wembley when McGeady equalised but apart from that it was tame as far as Sunderland atmospheres go. Was it a case of after the Lord Mayor’s show? A theme which is recurrent for Sunderland.
Gillingham was our first taste of playoff action, a game that we had to win to avoid the ignominy of relegation to what would at that time be our lowest ever division. It had been a desperate season; we had even failed to beat Kuwait ‘B’ in a friendly and by the time McMenemy resigned we were in serious trouble. Stokoe’s return ignited fires and we scrambled points together. The match against Barnsley was our moment and our biggest crowd of the season turned up to witness the great escape. We lost and went into a playoff with Gillingham. Stokoe’s appointment was more than just a hero returning to save us, it also liberated us from arguably one of the least liked Sunderland managers of all time. Lifting that cloud and getting some results felt like things were changing for the better. The gloom had gone, Barnsley would be our rebirth. Then along came Gillingham, the Lord Mayor’s show to get to that point had worn us all out and even an almighty rally in the second leg would not save us.
By 1990 of course there was far much more at stake. This was a chance for Sunderland to fight for a place in the top flight. Just before a World Cup summer that would make Gazza an international icon and Lineker the golden boy we had a chance to take our place at the same table. Going into the play offs we had just about managed to scrape in as 6th placed in the division. We had also only won one game against all the other teams in the playoffs all season and so the odds were clearly against us. Also finishing in 6th place meant we had to play the team in third place. That would be Newcastle. Two games against the mags and a massive prize at the end, not only do we get to go to Wembley for the final, but we stop them from getting promoted. Double bubble. The first leg is scrappy, literally, as Hardyman gets his marching orders for booting Burridge in the head after he had the audacity to save his penalty and the match finishes 0-0. That was at Roker, that was our chance. We now had to go to St James and beat them there. Up step the G-Force and we walked away with a scoreline so famous it was sung about for years and was daubed in white paint on the wall of the Fulwell End, along with the words “Ha Ha”. On to Swindon then, we’ve done the hard bit...remember that Lord Mayor’s Show thing. Perhaps one of the dullest play off finals of all time. Never mind we would get to right that wrong eight years later.
On March 21st 1998 Sunderland beat Portsmouth (yes them again) to go second in the league. Automatic promotion was in our grasp. We would then go on a run lasting until April 28th which saw us unbeaten in seven games. We held on to that 2nd spot the whole time, never flinching, never wavering, until we met Ipswich. The table was very tight at the top. Forest looked like they were destined to be champions but Boro were there or thereabouts as well, snapping at our heels like a little Yorkshire Terrier. Ipswich beat us 2-0 but we were still 2nd after that game, at least until the following night when Boro drew with Wolves. For the first time since March we dropped out of the automatics with just one game remaining. We won our final game but so did Boro and we were heading for the playoffs again and a semi final against Sheffield Utd. A 2-1 defeat at Bramall Lane had our hopes dangling by a thread. 40,000 packed into the Stadium of Light for the second leg and, against the odds we pulled it all back. Anyone in that stadium for the match will attest to the noise that reverberated around when Phillips put us 2-0 up. The nerves jangled as the second half ticked by but we were not going to be denied our destiny in our first season in our magnificent new stadium. On to Wembley, mere formality now, we’ve done the hard bit. It seems a bit harsh to call what has been described as one of the greatest football matches of all time as being after the Lord Mayor’s show, but after a brilliant season, the heartbreak of missing out on automatics, the peril of the semi final deficit, it kind of felt like we just needed to turn up. It was there, right there for us to just take. You know the rest.
Going into the Palace semi final was another rebirth moment. The previous season had been our record breaking (for the wrong reasons) 19 point season. Every match had been a weary trudge towards the gallows coming into the 2003/04 season we had lost every match since February and hadn’t won in the league since December. The club felt like it was at an absolute low point. The decks had been swept clean of the players who had brought us so much joy in previous years and highest on the list here was Kevin Phillips. It felt like a real moment and there seemed little cause for optimism at all. Jeff Whitley, Gary Breen, Tommy Smith and a young lad on loan from Boro called Stewart Downing didn’t seem like for like replacements for McCann, Craddock, Phillips and Reyna but Mick McCarthy just rolled his sleeves up and got on with it. Against all our expectations the phoenix arose and we finished in third place. Not only that but we managed to make it through to the FA Cup semi final which we lost to Millwall. Winning that game would have put us in Europe the following season, sadly it was not to be. We lost the first leg against Palace and so needed to turn it around. The same scoreline we had managed to turn around against Sheffield Utd in 1998. Kevin Kyle and Marcus Stewart did exactly that. 2-0! As the clock ticked by in the second half, the nerves grew, expecting a Palace attack. As we edged closer to the 90 minute mark people were getting ready to celebrate, we were going to do it again. A 90th minute consolation sent us into extra time and ultimately penalties, which we lost. The Lord Mayor’s show was the comeback, the penalties happened after.
In 2019 we played Charlton, before that we played Portsmouth. Yes, them again. For some reason we had contrived some sort of rivalry with Portsmouth. It was probably mostly down to the crowing rights over big fish status in a small pond, but certainly the behaviour of some of their fans didn’t help, nor did the Checkatrade defeat. As we went into the semi final this became a grudge match. Victory over Portsmouth meant more than just an opportunity to get out of this godforsaken division, we could laugh at them all on social media. Once again, the semi final became the Lord Mayor’s show. Trafalgar added to this and once again the fans were subdued at Wembley. To be honest that was probably more down to League One fatigue than anything but if you’re reading this you probably already know the outcome.
This time it’s different though. We have limped into the playoffs on a bad run, we’re playing a team who we have no rivalry with per se, we can’t have a Trafalgar party and there are rumours flying around that it might not even be a Wembley final. On top of this there’s a large section of supporters who genuinely don’t believe we are going to win. The stage is set perfectly for The Lord Mayor’s Show on May 30th, just don’t set all the fireworks off in the semi final lads.
