Colin Randall

After the humiliation of a rugby World Cup defeat against Argentina, last night’s superb win by Scotland at the Parc des Princes in the European Championships deepened the sense of national catastrophe in France, leaving le coq crowing a fair bit less proudly.

A Scot who willed England to victory in anything would be regarded by many of his countrymen as mad or beneath contempt, or both.

Scots could retort that the perfidious English way is to cheer on Scotland, Wales and even the Irish, claiming any unexpected success as one for Britain or, in the case of Ireland and how they hate this, the British Isles.

The Frenchness of the family I married into leads me to support France quite often. I was delighted when they won the 1998 World Cup with that sensational un-deux-trois-zéro tonking of Brazil. Even Zidane’s act of stupidity failed to make me pleased that Italy beat France in the final of the same competition last year.

But last night, as when I watched Ireland at the Stade de France in a World Cup qualifier two years ago, I was rooting for the opposition: on this occasion Scotland. Craig Gordon was one very good reason for doing so, but he was not the only one.

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Out of the blue, an e-mail reached me yesterday from a young person in Gloucestershire called Amy, who wanted to know if there were any songs specific to Sunderland AFC. She’d heard Elvis Presley’s Wise Men Say mentioned; was this something the fans sang?

Yes, I said in reply, assuming it had been the subject of a friendly bet, or even – since Amy works in education – something to do with a school/college project on the culture of football songs and chants.

But no, it was for something more serious. Amy was grateful to have her suggestion confirmed: “I can tell my Grandma now! Its for my Grampy’s funeral next week – he was a big Sunderland fan!”

Come the service, if any of Grampy’s fellow SAFC supporters are present, I imagine thoughts will also turn to Ian Porterfield, a name embedded in the hearts of all red and whites, whether or not they were alive at the time of the 1973 FA Cup Final.

Ian’s death, in a Surrey hospice at the age of 61, was also announced yesterday.

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Here’s a tip for all literate Sunderland fans planning to attend Saturday’s home game against Reading.

Forget or delay your pre-match pint. Don’t even think of joining the ridiculous queues at the official club shop. Still less waste your time at the shop’s little satellite stall between the ticket office and the East Stand turnstiles only to be told they have nothing you wanted to buy, or nothing in the right size.

Pop along instead to Waterstone’s in the Bridges centre where Andy Dawson (pictured), the man behind the new SAFC-related website Haway the Lads will be autographing copies of his new book, The Irish Uprising: How Keano and the Mighty Quinn saved Sunderland. It will, says Andy, be the longest hour of his life, sitting in the shop between 12.30 and 1.30pm “wondering if anyone will come”.

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Forgive me for being happy enough to be here instead of Wembley*

Isn’t it relaxing to have a weekend with no game to worry about?

This is what I wrote for the Guardian‘s Comment is Free web pages last time England played Israel. They gave it the headline: Cry God for Niall, Sunderland and St Roy! I’d have stuck to Niall as Saint, but nothing much has changed for England, or indeed for me in the Club vs Country debate:

Cry God for St Niall, Sunderland and Roy!
The sports writers are already building up England’s game in Israel this weekend as a great footballing calamity waiting to happen: lose, we are told, and our hopes of qualification for next year’s European Championships will be in ruins.

So why – daft and English though I may be – will I probably forget to even check on the score? My lack of concern has little to do with living in France, where most people will, naturally, be more bothered about events in Lithuania. When I eventually find out what happened, I will be disappointed if England have lost or drawn, and quite pleased if they have won. But that’s it.

The result from Tel Aviv will have no lasting impact to match the joy of hearing Sunderland have won, or the injured feelings I suffer when they are beaten in a game on which absolutely nothing depends. Come to think of it, Israel 2, England 0 on Saturday evening would be a great deal less disappointing than Leeds Reserves 2, Sunderland Reserves 0 – a score line that denied us the 2001 Premiership Reserve League title.

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Reading at home on Saturday week (I’d forgotten about the internationals, since they mean so little to me – sorry). Then Boro away a week later and Blackburn at the SoL on Sept 29.

What is the least number of points we need from these games? I remember going through the same mental arithmetic during our two most recent relegation seasons, and of course we know how badly they went.

But let us be positive. A one-nil defeat at Old Trafford depresses us only because it was preceeded by those utterly dreadful performances at Wigan and Luton, and the honourable men-against-boys encounter with Liverpool.

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Thoughts of another piece reflecting on our transfer activity vanished into nothing as I read the latest news on Clive Clarke, who collapsed on suffering a heart attack in the dressing room at Notts Forest on Tuesday night. The Irish defender, 27 years old, is at present out on loan from SAFC to Leicester City.

Of course Roy Keane is right to suggest that our bitter disappointment the same evening at Luton pales into insignificance when you hear that one of your players – any player, to be honest – “is lucky to be alive”.

Only at the weekend, the Seville defender Antonio Puerta collapsed during a game against Getafe. A series of heart attacks led within three days to his death at just 22 from mulitple organ failure.

And let us not forget Marc-Vivien Foe, 28, who played on loan for Man City in the season before he died four years ago after collapsing during a Confederations Cup semi-final for his country, Cameroon, against Colombia in Lyon.

Clive, I am relieved to say, is sitting up and chatting in his Nottingham hosptial bed pending the results of tests. An imminent visit from Niall Quinn, and a telephone pep talk from the manager, may cheer him up a little.

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Do we know which way we’re going?
Picture:dkodigital

Roy Keane has just over three days to persuade us that he has won the transfers debate.

His supposed targets – they include the Stoke City defender Danny Higginbotham and Southampton’s striker Kenwyne Jones – do not amount to the “names to excite the fans” billing Keano himself came up with when worries first surfaced about our activity in the market.

Both may, if they come, prove excellent assets. That isn’t the point.

What we have all more or less been saying From Word Go is that we need established Premiership level quality. And on the evidence to date, we may still need it in three out of four areas: back four, midfield, attack.

Leaving aside Higginbotham’s experience in the lower reaches of the division, Andy Cole is the only answer offered to us by this late stage. And he’s not even properly fit.

As I write, we are 3-0 down at Luton, and Greg Halford has added to his unimpressive start as a SAFC player by managing to get himself sent off. I couldn’t care less about the Carling Cup, but I care very much indeed about a performance as desperate as this just a few days ahead of Man Utd away.

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