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Something got up Pete Sixsmith‘s nose when he read Alan Sims’s offering in Who Are They? Was it the confession that Mags found it hard to help a charity if it had the least Sunderland connection? Or the behaviour of NUFC neanderthals who stayed behind to shout idiotic abuse at young players sent out by Keano to train after the derby game at the SoL this season? Salut! Sunderland suspects it had more to with Alan keeping a straight face as he claimed Bar Codes were above tribal rivalry

Having read the views of one Alan Sims it’s amazing how a bunch of hybrids can even string two sentences together let alone have the gall to criticise a perfect football team playing in a perfect football stadium situated in a perfect town.

I won’t try to equal the bile and bitterness of a supporter of a club so clearly inferior to our own beloved Red and Whites – I could surpass it in spades if I wanted to – so let’s have a look at how the rivalry has intensified over the last 45 years.

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The sort of goal every striker dreams of scoring. SuperKev scored it, against Newcastle in the rain as we swept to the first of those memorable 2-1 wins at St James’ Park. But Alan Sims will tell you it was a lucky shot, that only the wet stopped the Mags securing a well deserved victory. Even a visitor from Mars will have gathered by now that Alan is a Mag. the first part of his extraordinarily long homage to Kevin Keegan’s circus appeared in Who are you? We’re N*w*a*t*e (1). These are his answers to Salut! Sunderland‘s questions. He threatens to write a zillion more words if NUFC win on Sunday

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Newcastle fans, let it be said once and once only, stretch from the sublime (Rachel Unthank) to the ridiculous (led by Tony Blair and Mike Ashley but in truth too numerous, or even Toon umerous, to mention). The jury is out on where Alan Sims* fits in the spectrum. The Alan I remember was a young reporter in Bishop Auckland with a weakness for payday beer, pinball machines and dreadful, Marmalade-style pop music. I overlooked the fact that he was a Mag in those days because I thought his allegiance might reflect a mental condition best not talked about, and he seemed otherwise a harmless enough character. He’s also gone on to greater things so probably wasn’t mad after all. Just misguided. But who better to invite to preview this Sunday’s big game from the “other end”? He did so at such great length that I have belatedly decided to split his epic. which may be published eventually as Wor & P*ss, into two parts. See his answers to Salut! Sunderland’s questions at Who are you? We’re N*w*a*t*e (2)

I was born a Newcastle United supporter. There was no element of choice.

My home town of Birtley is divided between Magpies and Mackems and there is no sitting on the fence. You know who you are and you know the enemy.

Apparently when I was a kid just learning to talk I used to get a ball and instead of asking to play football would ask my dad: “Can we play Jackie Milburns.” That’s how entrenched it was – and thank God for that!

The thought that but for a quirk of birth I could so easily have been aSunderland fan sends a shiver through me, just as sight of the Stadium of (Sh) Light does now. Whenever I drive past I feel the sort of tremor that
peasants in Hammer horror movies show when they glance up at Dracula’s Castle. I can hear the distant howl of a wolf, see dark clouds scudding over the sky, sense the faint flicker of bats’ wings on the battlements.

At least that’s how I felt until earlier this year when I joined the great and glorious Toon Army to march onto Mackem territory for the derby match.

I was one of a few thousand warriors who dared to venture across the A19 in a convoy of 50 coaches. I felt like a commando going on a glorious mission, one where failure was unthinkable.

The day started particularly well when we gathered at Shearer’s Bar (tribute to a living legend) at St James’ on the cold, wet morning of the game – only to see Mike Ashley, big belly pushing his black and white shirt forward, and Christ Mort, in usual suit, standing at a table with a pint of lager each. Then we clambered on our buses ready for battle.

A bobby came on board and read us the Riot Act. “The hordes are gathering,
they have banners proclaiming ‘Welcome to Hell’ slung across walkways over
the road. Do not react. Do not get violent. Do not even leave the bus until
we tell you to or you WILL be locked up. We want this to be a good day …
now go and STUFF’EM lads’.”

Policing at its best!

So we headed off with helicopters juddering above, with motorbikes and police vans ahead, behind and alongside. We were waved off through the friendly streets of Newcastle and Gateshead by office girls, pedestrians, grannies and kids, and with Good Luck posters in windows. The deeper we moved into enemy territory the more the animosity grew. Groups on overhead walkways, where we expected bricks to be hurled. They weren’t, but plenty of insults and hand gestures came our way.

At the ground we were shepherded and corraled, with horseback guards, overhead copters, loud hailers keeping us in check, and the general feeling that a sniper’s bullet waited around the corner. Then we were milling towards the Stadium. Up close it looked nothing like Drac’s Castle and I relaxed. Insults flew but little else. As Brendan Behan would have said: “Compliments pass when the quality meet.”

Inside the ground the Mackems opened one hatch with one beer pump to service 2,500 of us. I got right to the bar, within touching distance of a cool beer, then had to abandon it and run for my seat. First blood to
Sunderland.

Suffice to say a draw saved our flagging spirits in a game Sunderland should have won. But we had the final laugh when Keane sent out some lads to run round the pitch afterwards, while we were still penned in an
otherwise empty stadium, and we at least had the pleasure of torturing and tormenting them from the terraces. “You’re shite and you know you are”, along with other intellectually-stimulating comments.

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In Abu Dhabi, the match fell off the edge of the Showtime Sports channels and appeared on Showtime Comedy. It gave me few laughs. Pete Sixsmith could easily have blamed Mike Riley’s extremely harsh penalty award – TV replays cannot seem to decide if there was contact at all – or indeed his predictable failure to see Kenwyne’s shirt being pulled halfway off his back – in the penalty box of course- in the first half. But he identifies other reasons for the unamusing setback in our quest for survival

At my age and with my experience of watching Sunderland, I should have grown wary of making predictions. The feeling after the Fulham game was that we were safe in the comfort zone. After a dispiriting defeat on Saturday, we could well end up in the Twilight zone.

What made Saturday such a disappointment was the fact that if we had shown the concentration and passion of the previous three games we would have blown Manchester City away. That we didn’t causes unnecessary worries after the other results lead to us looking over our shoulders to see if the likes of Bolton, Fulham and Reading could catch us.

I have done a trawl of the remaining fixtures and I am sure that one more win will guarantee safety but more performances like the one against City could well lead to us doing a Sheffield United come May 11.

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Here are a few more photos from Jeff Scott’s Banter & Bustle, the book mentioned in recent postings and copies of which he will be signing at Waterstones in the Bridges, and outside the ground, before the game against Man City on Saturday. Click on each image to enlarge.

The Roker Pie Shop commands its own crusty corner in the chart of anyone old enough to remember the walk to Roker Park.

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After our spoof apology the other day, Pete Sixsmith thinks another is due. To him, for any suggestion that he may have gone over the top in his earlier criticisms of Sunderland preparations and performances

In my life, I can think of many things that I should apologise for. Yes, Mr Newby, it was me and not Dennis Robinson who trampled on your flowers while trying to retrieve a ball that had been hit into your garden.

And yes, Mr Weatherley, Head Master of Bishop Auckland Grammar School, it was me who brought shame on the old alma mater by writing SAFC in the dust on the boot of Don Revie’s Ford Zodiac when he came to sign Peter Hampton.

But I don’t think I should apologise for what I believe has been constructive criticism of our approach to the season.

A trawl through Sixer’s Sevens and Soapboxes has shown that I have been consistently concerned about the lack of genuine quality in the team. Obviously, Roy reads these notes and he went out in January and dealt with this by signing Evans, Bardsley and particularly Reid who have played a major part in turning our season around.

Secondly, one of my earlier criticisms, voiced after the defeat at Upton Park, was that we do not take the game to our opponents by playing with only one forward. What did we do at Villa and Fulham? Did it work? I rest my case.

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There have been some mightily important clashes between Sunderland and Man City (the 1973 FA Cup sixth round, a relegation clincher and the first league game at the SoL spring to mind straight away). Preparing to entertain City this weekend, we found one fan, Craig McGinty*, with a foot in both camps.
Craig, something of a web wizard who has been responsible for much that is good about the various Salut! sites, is a passionate lifelong City fan. But three years in Sunderland as a student established SAFC firmly as his second team. Read what he thinks of the men associated with both – big Niall, Dave Watson. Stephen Elliott, Craig Russell and others – and his thoughts on the less Mancunian of his city’s clubs

Now I know you are not meant to follow two football teams if you are a real fan, but Sunderland’s result is seriously the second I look for after Manchester City’s.

The reason for this is having spent three years at Sunderland Polytechnic between 1988 and 1991, and spending what little grant and money I earned in the summer on watching games at Roker Park.

Football has been an important part of my life since wearing Sky Blue booties as a babe in arms, and having had a junior season ticket for Maine Road throughout most of the 1980s I knew I had to have my fill of footballing action when arriving in Sunderland a few days before term opened.

Fortunately I was not alone, as many of the friends I made in the student accommodation at Williamson Hall in my first year were keen to watch Sunderland play whatever the weather.

Preparations for the game would start on the Friday night in Rascals nightclub as we arranged to meet up next day, usually in the Tap and Spile in Hendon.

Friday night’s excesses were seen off with a large stottie covered in eggs, beans and bacon, before a quick pint in the Tap, a walk through town, over the bridge, bearing right at the traffic lights and picking up a Roker Review at the same programme seller each time.

We usually stood in the Clockstand paddock, although I remember getting a drowning in a game against Arsenal where I was stood in the corner beneath the scoreboard.

And please don’t mention a midweek game against Wimbledon where we froze to death on the Roker End – the highlight of the match was a shot that whistled over the corner of crossbar and post.

The only time I remember seeing City play at Roker Park was in my first year at the Poly. It was the time of inflatable bananas, and again it was a night game which City won 4-2; we all thought promotion from Division 2 was a certainty, but a stumbling run-in meant we needed a point in the last game of the season.

An equalising goal by Trevor Morley away at Bradford, saw me running down the corridor of Williamson Hall waving my banana like a fool.

But by far my most vivid memory of a game at Roker Park has to be the first leg of the promotion play-off semi-final against Newcastle in 1990.

The demand for tickets was massive and somehow me and a pal were able to get into the Fulwell End. I think it was the first time I had been in that end of the ground.

Remembering the atmosphere both before and during the game still makes a tingle run up and down my spine. When the match kicked off, the roar was ear splitting; I just don’t think you get that sort of noise nowadays.

As we all know the game wasn’t great, and I still shake my head at Hardyman’s attempt to kick John Burridge’s head off his shoulders after the last minute penalty save – but it’s those sort of things that make you smile and I know I am preaching to the converted.

And now for your questions…….

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**** SUNDERLAND AFC: an apology ****
In common with “Marty E”, Pete Horan, Colin Randall and thousands of other SAFC fans, Pete Sixsmith may have given the impression that he believed he had pledged his allegiance to a team of honest no-hopers led by a tactically clueless Corkman and bound inexorably for yet another relegation. Pete wishes it to be known that this was a wholly erroneous interpretation of his remarks in Soapbox, Sixer’s Sevens and the East Stand, and that he meant only to recite the mantra: “Keano is God, the Lads are sublime, Sunderland are on their way.”

What a turn up for the book! Who would have thought after successive home defeats that we would go on and win the next three? I didn’t. Looking back to my musings on the Chelsea game, the doom and gloom is there for all to see. So why the change?

Of the three games we have won, one was against opposition in the middle of a sticky patch, one was against opponents who performed well and one was against Fulham.

Fulham are definitely going down. They looked like a side who have stopped believing in themselves and their manager, and they pressed the self-destruct button on a regular basis on Saturday.

We did all that we had to, and Roy’s assessment that we were “bad, bad, bad” was a little harsh. However, they missed a good chance before Collins scored the first of his two goals when McBride took a step off Nyron and planted a header into the arms of a grateful Gordon.

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Hayley Penman – click on the images to enlarge – is starting young. And what better time and place to do so than the Stadium of Light on a day that we secure a crucial last-second win over West Ham? Her dad John, an occasional Salut! Sunderland contributor, takes up the story

Her father had followed the team for 35 years and now Hayley, at the age of three, was to experience the magic of Sunderland FC for the first time, against West Ham.

Things had changed from her dad’s first game on a bitterly cold day in Feb 1982 when Notts County came visiting Roker Park.

It would also be Hayley’s first train journey which would only add to the excitement of the day. Tickets for the third row from the front of the East stand were purchased and her strip was laid out, ready to be worn for her first Black Cats game. Hayley, I should explain, knows Sunderland only as the Black Cats since she can’t get her tongue round the word Sunderland and even struggles to call them ‘Sunlun’.

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