You wait the whole of your life for a victory at Elland Road and then two come along at once. Forget the fact that this was two mid-“championship” sides – it was still the lads versus dirty, dirty Leeds and so it mattered to us.
As usual I am in the invidious position of trying to do a report on a game that most readers saw on the telly, getting panoramic views and replays galore. I was in row 2 (at the exact spot Robbo ran to when he scored – ypppee!) so my view of the game was of lots of legs and no perspective whether players were about to clash or were 20 yards away from each other. Apparently in the press this morning last night’s game was not very exciting or entertaining. It just shows you why football is a game for the supporters and not the spectators. In the midst of the huge travelling, vociferous red and white army I was as entertained as I could ever want to be and excited? Any more excited than this and my head would explode.
Friday bloody night mind. I don’t know what the journey was like down from the NE but driving up the M1 from Hertfordshire I can tell you it was hell. Our journey time was longer than it sometimes takes me to get the extra 100 miles or so up to god’s country. What we thought was going to be a leisurely pre-match booze turned into a one hour before kick-off park on the industrial estate the other side of the M621. But then the gods of beer smiled on us. There is a leisure centre on the industrial estate that now has a “sports bar”. I know that sounds dreadful but actually it wasn’t that bad – well when I say not that bad when all you want in life is beer it did the business.
So we got into the ground and saw that we seemed to have sold out our end behind the goal (which I think is close to 4,000), which was bloody good for a Friday night game on telly. I have the sneaking suspicion that most of the crowd had got into bars a lot sooner than us leisure centre drinkers because the support was already rocking both metaphorically and literally.
Got to say a big thank you to the Leeds fans for their observance of the minute’s silence. While we have only wonderful memories (either actual or passed down as part of our ancestral birthright) of Cloughie I can understand Leeds supporters being somewhat more ambivalent. Before it started one Leeds fan shouted out “what did he ever do for us?” and another sang “there’s only one Don Revie”. One complete git of a Sunderland supporter then shouted “shut the f**k up Leeds”, which can only be calculated to cause problems. However, once the ref blew his whistle for the start there was not a murmur in the ground (the inevitable noise from those not yet in the stands but only lazy, immoral journalists (tautology alert) would try to make pathetic capital out of that).
We were defending our end in the first half and never seemed troubled. They put a ball in the net but frankly Deane should have been booked for doing so as the whistle had blown much earlier. Apparently on Sky they were suggesting there was no foul. Well from my excellent view I was looking down the line towards the corner taker and saw got an excellent view of Ormerod brutally assaulting Poom. Frankly Ormerod was lucky not only not to be sent off but to escape a police investigation for his unprovoked attack so don’t give me any of this crap that the goal should have stood.
Second half was great as we were attacking our end and to me we seemed to be bossing the game well and truly. And then that goal! Oh how sweet. I was dubious about buying Robbo. I hadn’t seen much last season to make me excited about him but this season he was already starting to look the business. To then score a goal that Cloughie himself would be proud of. A quick free kick and then a darting run to pick up the lay off from Elliott. As he came into the box only a few yards directly in front of me I knew it was a goal. It shocks me now to see how much work he had to do because I was already celebrating. It seems that he had no opening on goal and if he hadn’t curled it round Sullivan (cheating pseudo-Scots git – should have been send off for stamping on Elliott off the ball) it wouldn’t have sneaked in the far post. To me the goal was gaping and there was never any chance Robbo wouldn’t score. And then Robbo came charging over to the exact spot where I was. The crowd had erupted; people were on the pitch, collapsing over chairs, leaping improbable heights into the air. It is moments like that that make supporting SAFC so great.
Some time later (I’d lost all track of time by now) we conceded a penalty. We said “oh god I hope that wasn’t Caldwell again” but of course you gentle reader know it was. In the land of the newspaper and the television studio it was a weak penalty placed too close to the keeper. From the perspective of the other end it was a pile driving shot that no human could get anywhere near but Poom was across and parried the ball. And then one of those distortions of the space-time continuum that Einstein could never explain. Players are heading towards the rebound. I have no idea who is closest. Poom is getting back up. Seconds pass then minutes, hours, days, weeks. For god’s sake some one clear it. If something doesn’t happen soon I’d accept a Leeds player putting it in just to put me out of this agony. And then when I think I can bear it no longer, a Sunderland player (Robbo again it turns out) clears it.
Best moment after that was Mickey Bridges coming on. I’m not as excited about the prodigal son’s return as some – more concerned as to whether he can meet the enormous expectations of him – but I love it when the red and white army have someone we can hero-worship. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to have the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as we bellowed out “Super Mickey Bridges”.
As the game headed towards a finish we seemed to be spending more and more time down our end, which suited us fine. At the final whistle it was like the goal all over again. Great way to end an evening.
Back on the industrial estate we decided to have a celebratory pint to allow the traffic to go. I generally hate John Smiths bitter but I have to say it tasted remarkably good last night. We were all very impressed with what we’d seen. Not just the three points but the disciplined and sensible way we played. We really are starting to look like a team. Can’t wait for Tuesday and Bramall Lane (the scene of probably Stickman’s best ever performance).