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Stuart Young had already been signed up when Brendan Hanrahan* offered a few Memory Man musings on Aston Villa and Sunderland for this week’s Who Are They? And though he spends his working life cutting back the word counts of verbose young reporters, he found that once he’d started, he simply couldn’t stop…….

Her name was Bethany and she asked me to take her picture while she attempted an impression of Kate Winslet in Titanic from the bow of Deck 7 of the world’s largest ocean-going liner on a star-laden night in the middle of the Atlantic.

So I did. Fate threw a Mackem hackette from the Echo and a daily newspaper editor from Devon together on the Queen Mary 2 on its way to Southampton from New York. It was a few years ago, and she was the last Sunderland supporter I met before the man who asked me to write these words.

We have time for Sunderland in Aston. You always fill your end for one thing, as do Newcastle. The same can’t be said for Middlesbrough, which is odd when you are supposed to be so passionate about your football in the North East. (I can’t recall a game in recent memory when Villa did not sell out their allocation of tickets for any competitive away match). You also make a decent noise.

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See also: Brendan Hanrahan, Villa Memory Man, on big wins, record crowds and a redoubtable Mackem lass

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When Aston Villa came to Sunderland, they relied on an atrocious refereeing decision (denying a perfectly fair last-gasp headed goal) for a point. Revenge on Saturday? Not likely, says Stuart Young, we’re in for another awayday defeat. But unlike growing numbers of pessimistic SAFC fans, Stuart* – who lives and breathes Villa and has his own website to prove it – says we’ll still stay up.
What else do we learn? That Tommy was a great disappointment, that Andy Reid could be a top man for us and that when asked about Birmingham, Stuart doesn’t initially even think about City (though he then makes up for it in style). Oh, and surely it’s the Mags he is telling to “get a grip”

Sunderland? I’ve always seen you as the smaller side up north compared with Newcastle. Yes, I know
you guys won’t like it, but that’s just how it is.

But then again the people of Sunderland are so much nicer than Geordies, who constantly seem to believe that the whole world owes them success. Come on lads you have a great support but get a grip.

I will never forget the goal he scored for us against Manchester United in the 1993 League Cup final. And then there’s the cheeky chip he scored from the penalty spot against Sheffield United. I could go on forever, it’s just a shame you guys never got to see the Yorke we did, but at the same time he’s done a great job in his midfield role for you.

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Two sources of inspiration, each concerning Sunderland fans and responses to grave illness, should divert minds briefly from our relatively unimportant preoccupation with Premier League survival.

Salut! Sunderland readers may recall a posting that recorded the death of a remarkably spirited man known as Hazey who used his blog, Dull Ramblings, to chart the battle against cancer that he finally lost just a few days after his last, typically forthright posting, in the first week of January.

Friends of Hazey, real name Graeme Kerton, were already in the process of helping him turn his far from dull ramblings into a book.

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That book, My Dark Friend is now published, and takes the form of a full collection of his blog writings, supported by photos, comments and quotes. Go to the website for the book to buy it.

Limited copies will also be available at a book launch and charity race night, entitled Remembering Graeme ‘Hazey’ Kerton and planned for the Black Cats bar at the Stadium of Light on March 29, starting a couple of hours after the final whistle in the home game against West Ham.

Book sale proceeds will be used by Graeme’s widow towards setting up an animal sanctuary, a project she and her husband had often discussed.

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Hot cross buns, church on Sunday, chocolate eggs to hunt in the garden? Not exactly. Pete Sixsmith, while sharing the hope that this weekend should bring our first away goals of 2008 (and more than Villa can score), reflects on other Easter traditions, sadly no more than a memory

It’s a disappointing Easter holiday this year. First of all, it’s the earliest it’s been since 1913, secondly the weather forecast is for cold, rain, snow and sleet and thirdly the Premier League doesn’t seem to think that Easter deserves more than one game.

In the past, Easter was when promotion or relegation was decided. It usually meant playing the same opponents twice, on the Friday and the Monday, with a Saturday game sandwiched in between.

In my first regular season, 1963-64, we played Rotherham twice, drawing at Millmoor and beating them with two George Herd goals at Roker Park in front of 56,000 which included Colin and me.

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Pete Sixsmith welcomes the praise heaped on the Lads for their spirited peformance against Chelsea, but sternly reminds us that we still lost and are now deep in trouble

Not a phrase that is used very much nowadays. In fact, the only people I have heard it from are Captain Mainwaring in Dad’s Army and John Major, and some might regard those two as interchangeable.

The non-buttering of parsnips came to mind as I listened to the genuine and fulsome praise that Avram Grant and John Terry threw in our direction over the weekend. Phrases like “good side”, “great support” and “they should be ok at the end of the season” are all very well, but once again we took nothing from a game and we slipped a little closer to the Great Grimpen Mire that is the Championship.

It was a good performance, of that there is no doubt. It was good enough to push a very strong Chelsea side all the way and to make Terry and Lampard, who are the heartbeat of the team, show us why they are so highly rated.

There was hardly a weak link in the side that Keane put out. Those whose training was not as intensive as the manager would have liked were not missed. O’Donovan showed real promise and clearly prefers playing up front rather than being stuck out wide where his ability to run at players is hampered by that major inconvenience known as the touchline.

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Anyone who followed my link to the Chelsea FC Blog will know Blues fans were already feeling demonised enough without Pete Sixsmith seeing the need to share cruel memories of encounters with nastier fringes of football support. Meanwhile in Abu Dhabi, Salut! Sunderland perhaps allowed itself to become so confident about the game that colleagues were invited for a meal at 7.30pm, a stupid oversight since it kicks off here at 7pm and can be seen live across town

It’s not exactly the hardest subject to write about, is it? Well about as difficult as explaining as why you don’t like Jeremy Clarkson or why George Dubya isn’t quite as good a President as FDR.

So where to start……

Let’s go back to 1967. I had been to see us at Stamford Bridge on a warm April day. As usual we had lost (1-0, I think it was) and I was heading for Brentford’s Griffin Park for an evening kick off against Workington.

As Don Coupland and I descended the escalator to the Tube, we were surrounded by a group of Chelsea bovver boys who demanded our scarves.

They grabbed Don’s, but they did not get mine. I would like to say that I fought them off and gave them a good hiding. But I didn’t. Being a coward from a very early age, I beat a hasty retreat to the bottom of the stairs while Don gave his trusty scarf over to some Steve Marriott lookalike from Surbiton.

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Salut! Sunderland desperately hopes he is proved wrong, but the punch-free drabness of our performance against Everton confirmed Pete Sixsmith‘s worst fears. Down we go again…………

Weekends are very important for me. After a hard week at the white board face running tombolas, writing articles and spending money on Amazon, the two day break allows me to recharge my batteries, usually through the medium of sport.

This weekend I had four competitive events to watch or participate in. All four were winnable and I had high hopes of achieving a very desirable and much needed foursome. As it worked out, it was an absolute nightmare.

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