It’s dipped to the lower 30s in the Emirates but some of us still find the heat ferocious. Pete Sixsmith, made of sterner stuff, braved a cold night on Wearside to watch the young ‘uns

If it’s Tuesday, there’s got to be football on somewhere. All the better if it’s watching potential stars making a name for themselves at the Stadium of Light where our Under 18s took on Norwich City in Round 3 of the FA Youth Cup.

By going to this game rather than the Ashington v West Auckland Northern League clash, I was able to kill a few birds with the same stone.

First I managed to purchase a new phone to replace the antiquated Motorola that has my class of 16-year-olds giggling and shaking their heads every time I get it out.

Then I was able to buy tickets for the panto at the Empire which, for those away from the North East, stars 83-year-old Mickey Rooney as Baron Hardup and 50-odd-year-old Les Dennis as Buttons.

By calling in I was able to avoid the ridiculous admin charge of £3 a ticket and it also enabled me to reach the SoL shop at 5.30pm and admire a lengthy queue of young and old waiting to have their pictures taken with a smiling and laid back Dwight Yorke.

But the game was the main reason for being away from my fireside and my bottle of Laphroagh.

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Picture: Free-ers

Week after week, good news or bad, Pete Sixsmith faithfully texts scores, results and verdicts to Salut! Sunderland. Saturday was Chelsea avoidance day, and he got his updates from Abu Dhabi

Saturday found me absent from Stamford Bridge, so my observations are for once based on Match of the Day and what I have read in the various newspaper reports.

Colin, thousands of miles away in the UAE, saw it on TV and he was in the interesting position of texting the scores to me. I was dreading the sound of the mobile buzzing, so low were my expectations.

For once I was not disappointed. The reporter on Five Live dismissed us in four words – “hard working but limited” – and then spent the rest of his piece discussing whether Mourinho should manage England.

Sunday’s Observer wasn’t much better and suggested that a return to the Championship was in the offing if we did not sign the right players in January, while this morning’s Guardian focuses on Terry’s attitude and Miller’s foolishness at walking straight into a red card.

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Guided by a refined sartorial sense, Pete Sixsmith has been writing his socks off on Salut! Sunderland in recent weeks. But would a trip to Hetton to see the reserves in action punch a hole in those socks? Decision is yours…..

In between visiting my tailor and popping in and out of work, I have been known to take in the odd reserve game.

I really enjoyed the Monday nights at Ferens Park under Reidy and Ricky Sbragia, but a combination of Mick Mac, who in common with Bob Geldorf didn’t like Mondays, the FA, which wouldn’t sanction the use of a plastic surface, and the Premier League, which kicked us out of their Reserve League after relegation, meant that my reserve watching was curtailed for a couple of years.

So, when I saw that we were at home to Middlesbrough on Wednesday and the only other option was watching Bishop Auckland, I made my way to Hetton to see how the second string would fare.

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Last gasp hero
Picture: Peadar O’Sullivan

At least Anthony Stokes has a sense of humour, with wise cracks about celebrating his long overdue Premiership scoring debut with “a quiet night in”. More of the same – goals, not jokes – and Pete Sixsmith will forgive him all his Glass Spider excesses

Fair play to you, Stokesey

For the last few years I have worn a white shirt and SAFC tie to work after a win. Two years age, the shirt gathered cobwebs in my “wardrobe” while last year the collar and cuffs were frayed as it was worn nearly every Monday from January to April.

So, being the Bertie Wooster of South West Durham I popped along to my tailor (George at Asda) and purchased a new one after the Reading game. Since when it has remained redundant on the clothes rack despite my desperate desire to wear a £6.99 cotton shirt lovingly hand stitched by smiling urchins in Bangladesh.

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Pete Sixsmith goes on the road in search of goals. Unfortunately he finds them in the wrong end.

Colin is wrong. I could think of seven words to describe this shambles but none of them would get past the service provider.

The best way to approach this is to look at the positives of the day. The Globe and The Caernarvon Castle still sell excellent Cains beer, Merseyside taxi drivers still dispense wit and wisdom in equal parts, Goodison Park is still a proper football stadium and Southport is still a most welcoming bolt hole after witnessing a debacle like this.

Had I been a neutral, it would have been a pleasure to watch Everton go about their perfectly legitimate business of taking apart a team so wretched that the Blues fans sat around me were open-mouthed and slack-jawed in disbelief, as they turned it on and we failed to turn up. One guy said: “They’re worse than Tranmere Rovers,” to which his mate replied “Reserves”. An insult to the Prenton Park second team.

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