Colin Randall No one, so far as I know, has tried to tempt Zinedine Zidane out of retirement to spend a couple of years at the Stadium of Light.
But apropos of nothing in particular, I’d like to pass on a great quote about him from Ingrid Betancourt, the recently freed French-Colombian hostage.
In page after page of coverage of her release in Paris Match magazine, including an in-depth interview, there was a mass of important, illuminating information.
But what stood out for me?
Pete Sixsmith resolved to report loyally to Salut! Sunderland from his armchair view of Sporting Lisbon v SAFC. He ended up missing the second and third Sunderland goals, two sendings off and heaven knows what else. What went wrong? Two days on, he was still feeling the effects of a vigorous bout of pre-season drinking in Yorkshire…..
Roy must be feeling a sense of frustration at the moment as he attempts to strengthen our squad.
He works hard to line up players then finds that either they don’t seem desperately keen to come to Sunderland, or managers of lesser clubs think: “Mm, if a class manager like Roy Keane is interested in a Romanian centre half or a Ukrainian midfielder, he must be good, so I’ll see if my owner can sell a few more cheap and tatty Adidas shirts and I’ll buy him instead.”
For a man who has played in the nondescript backwater of Auxerre, the French midfielder Younes Kaboul* must have had …
Mid-July and still the only news on the BBC football website is that West Ham have turned down our offer for George McCartney, an offer many times higher than we got when he went there. We all know big, exciting signings are on the way. Don’t we? Don’t necessarily hold your breath, sighs Pete Sixsmith, getting his despondency in first….
Is being a footballer, I wonder, the same as being a teacher or a newspaper executive.
Perhaps the money isn’t the same (newspaper execs are paid much more than the average run of the mill Premier League player). But do they have the same feelings about work as us?
Sunderland have already organised a pre-season programme that will take in the sunshine of Portugal and – who knows? – the sunshine of SundIreland. So this is just for fun.
There is no prize, but tell me this: how could Sunderland play an overseas friendly and still be at home?
Anyone for cricket? Well, what about Rugby League? Or, of course, tennis? In the almost complete absence of football, Pete Sixsmith was game for most things sportive…
The beginning of July sees the end of the close season and it means that football can start again. It has to mix in with other sports and it is fairly low profile at the moment, but it’s back so a muted three cheers for that.
Over the weekend, I had a mixture of sports on the go, a kind of sporting bouillabaisse with lots of different components. But it ended up giving me a very satisfied and warm feeling, just like a stew concocted by the excellent Keith Floyd.
Euro 2008 is behind us, Wimbledon’s into its last couple of days and…….the season tickets are being sent out. Pete Sixsmith looks back on a lifetime of SAFC worship which this year, as in others, he extends to pre-season friendlies….
You know the close season is over when the season ticket books arrive.
Mine came yesterday (as did Colin’s), and it heralds the beginning of our 44th season as regular Sunderland supporters.
Our first season tickets were in 1964-65 after the magnificent promotion the previous year. They were for the main stand paddock and cost the princely sum of £6.6s.0d – or 6 guineas in posh money. It was my Christmas present for that year and I had to work overtime on my long suffering parents to squeeze a red and white scarf and a pair of chisel toed side fastening shoes from Doggarts as extras on Christmas Day.
Absent from the North East, missing from Euro 2008, Salut! Sunderland is lucky to have Pete Sixsmith to turn to back home. And Pete’s wit and wisdom have been spotted far beyond Coutny Durham; his delicious teacher’s advice* to the geographically and historically challenged David Pleat, already hailed by Shane Breslin of the Irish eleven-a-side site (“brilliant, Pete, love it,” he wrote), was one of three “quotes of the tournament” chosen by my sports colleagues at The National in Abu Dhabi. Perhaps they should have got him to do the “Euro Notables” round-up, too. Here is Pete’s version, his award ceremony verdicts on an absorbing footballing treat …….
Well, what a tournament. I don’t think that I have ever enjoyed a major championship as much as this one. Everything seemed right. The number of teams, the venues, the way the groups worked out – it was just brilliant. Never mind the Oscars and the Grammies, what about some Sixies?
Yes, let us be partisan and say: “Come on Spain.” But – this being running commentary with game in progress …
Pete Sixsmith marvelled, as I did, at the speed and magical fluency of the Spanish team in making a second-half mockery of all the good things said about the Russians. You need only read what follows to see that Pete was rather looking forward to a Russia v Germany final, but the defeat did nothing to stem to tide of memories unleashed by the Russians’ unexpectedly good Euro 2008 showing…
So, Euro 2008 is down to the usual suspect in Germany and persistent underachievers in Spain. It promises to be a good final with lots of outstanding players on show and the distinct possibility of a victory for a country with no words to their national anthem. I’m sure that Motty will have a list of similar nations and will astound his audience by informing us that this is the first time that a major final has been reached by a wordless anthem team. What a surprise.
As I watched Spain on Thursday, I was mightily impressed with their movement and their ability to pass the ball around the Russian defenders. The one time Russia had clearly peaked was when they thrashed the Dutch and against Spain they were much more reminiscent of the USSR teams of the 60s as they lumbered around the pitch, desperately trying to catch the likes of Silva, Fabregas and the outstanding Iniesta.
I speak as someone who was an avid fan of the USSR in the 60s, so much so that I even had an order for Soviet Weekly from Bill Clarkson’s paper shop. I got it for the grain production figures but would occasionally cast a glance at the Soviet League table which was usually headed by Moscow Dynamo. In my naivety, I assumed that they were the works team of the local cycle factory and not the representatives of the KGB.
When the World Cup came to Roker Park in 1966, I was delighted to see that the representatives of the Workers Paradise would be gracing the hallowed turf and I immediately liberated a 10/- note from my paper round in order to buy tickets for the games. The kulak paper shop owner, Jimmy Wilson, would have to do without another plate of caviar in order for me to worship the sporting representatives of Lenin, Stalin and Kruschev.
