For all you exiles!


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rocky dennis

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I can't wait until tomorrow, all wrapped up walking across North Bridge St onto Millenium Way and up the incline before you see the ground. ALS sellers holding up the latest issue and the aroma of fast food blowing west to east up your nose. Grabbing a burger before heading into SWC and watch it fill up. The game kicks off and the singing corner quickly fills up with late comers. After 10mins we are in full voice and us at the front are checking behind us to make sure everyone is in.......
 
I can't wait until tomorrow, all wrapped up walking across North Bridge St onto Millenium Way and up the incline before you see the ground. ALS sellers holding up the latest issue and the aroma of fast food blowing west to east up your nose. Grabbing a burger before heading into SWC and watch it fill up. The game kicks off and the singing corner quickly fills up with late comers. After 10mins we are in full voice and us at the front are checking behind us to make sure everyone is in.......

More details! I've never been!
 
..60 minutes of shite later, we're 0-2 down, the team seem never to have met each other before, the wind is cutting through you like midnight in a graveyard (which it oddly feels like, as no-one is even talking) and you can't wait to get home even though you'll get soaked on the way.

Aye. ;)
 
..60 minutes of shite later, we're 0-2 down, the team seem never to have met each other before, the wind is cutting through you like midnight in a graveyard (which it oddly feels like, as no-one is even talking) and you can't wait to get home even though you'll get soaked on the way.

Aye. ;)

:lol: weve all been there. several times.
 
I can't wait until tomorrow, all wrapped up walking across North Bridge St onto Millenium Way and up the incline before you see the ground. ALS sellers holding up the latest issue and the aroma of fast food blowing west to east up your nose. Grabbing a burger before heading into SWC and watch it fill up. The game kicks off and the singing corner quickly fills up with late comers. After 10mins we are in full voice and us at the front are checking behind us to make sure everyone is in.......

We are with you in spirit !!
Good on all who turn out , considering it's a Monday and live on Sky .
I'll be recording it at home and either listening to benno or watching some dodgy stream at work .
 
..60 minutes of shite later, we're 0-2 down, the team seem never to have met each other before, the wind is cutting through you like midnight in a graveyard (which it oddly feels like, as no-one is even talking) and you can't wait to get home even though you'll get soaked on the way.

Aye. ;)

:lol::lol:

Your mind zones out from the game. You begin to wonder what is more numb, your heart which has given in the aching so familiar when losing and given way to apathy at how absolutely shambolic we appear, or your feet, which are solid blocks of ice.

You know the game is lost, but look at the scoreboard to see twenty five minutes remain. It becomes a test of endurance, what can endure the most pain, your mind and heart or your physical body. I turn to my right, my little brother is sitting with his arms folded looking glum, my heart pings again - so young... he didn't ask for this, it was cruel to bring him into the world of SAFC. He suffered the same fate I did, dragged into this mess by my father. I look to my left to see him, sitting with a look of dejected anger on his face, like a man who has seen this too many times before.

I think of the feeling of a win, of a goal. 40,000 of us all standing and shouting at once. There is no me, only the crowd. I am lost in hive mentality that is bigger than all of us. How i wish for that. Now I sit, packed in with 40,000 men who appear to be exactly what they are; strangers. All individuals, feeling isolated and alone. The joy of winning is a mutual joy. The sorrow of a loss is yours alone to bear.

I cast my eyes to the programme, looking to see who their number 6 is as he is tearing us apart. As I read the crowd comes together as one, but not to cheer. To groan. We have conceded again. I look as people beging to leave. I have to stand as a man who sits along from me wants to leave. My first thought is that he should stay to the end, no fan should leave early... But part of me understands, part of me wishes I could follow him.

The game finishes and I trudge home, or on occassion to the supporters bus to go back to Easington with my family. It is here where it kicks in. The silence. Every face you see downcast. Climbing on the bus the relief you feel from the warmth is momentary, the mood here is no higher. The very people you travelled down with in such high spirits sit there, as broken as you are, casting their eyes wearily ahead to the following week where that bastard called hope waits to ensnare us all again.




That's all academic though, because We're going to f***ing stuff Everton!
 
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I can't wait until tomorrow, all wrapped up walking across North Bridge St onto Millenium Way and up the incline before you see the ground. ALS sellers holding up the latest issue and the aroma of fast food blowing west to east up your nose. Grabbing a burger before heading into SWC and watch it fill up. The game kicks off and the singing corner quickly fills up with late comers. After 10mins we are in full voice and us at the front are checking behind us to make sure everyone is in.......

Blue Coats won't like that mate, enjoying yourself and everything....
 
:lol::lol:

Your mind zones out from the game. You begin to wonder what is more numb, your heart which has given in the aching so familiar when losing and given way to apathy at how absolutely shambolic we appear, or your feet, which are solid blocks of ice.

You know the game is lost, but look at the scoreboard to see twenty five minutes remain. It becomes a test of endurance, what can endure the most pain, your mind and heart or your physical body. I turn to my right, my little brother is sitting with his arms folded looking glum, my heart pings again - so young... he didn't ask for this, it was cruel to bring him into the world of SAFC. He suffered the same fate I did, dragged into this mess by my father. I look to my left to see him, sitting with a look of dejected anger on his face, like a man who has seen this too many times before.

I think of the feeling of a win, of a goal. 40,000 of us all standing and shouting at once. There is no me, only the crowd. I am lost in hive mentality that is bigger than all of us. How i wish for that. Now I sit, packed in with 40,000 men who appear to be exactly what they are; strangers. All individuals, feeling isolated and alone. The joy of winning is a mutual joy. The sorrow of a loss is yours alone to bear.

I cast my eyes to the programme, looking to see who their number 6 is as he is tearing us apart. As I read the crowd comes together as one, but not to cheer. To groan. We have conceded again. I look as people beging to leave. I have to stand as a man who sits along from me wants to leave. My first thought is that he should stay to the end, no fan should leave early... But part of me understands, part of me wishes I could follow him.

The game finishes and I trudge home, or on occassion to the supporters bus to go back to Easington with my family. It is here where it kicks in. The silence. Every face you see downcast. Climbing on the bus the relief you feel from the warmth is momentary, the mood here is no higher. The very people you travelled down with in such high spirits sit there, as broken as you are, casting their eyes wearily ahead to the following week where that bastard called hope waits to ensnare us all again.




That's all academic though, because We're going to f***ing stuff Everton!

class :)
 

:lol: I don't really feel like that about tomorrow.

In fact, Burchy's comment on here just made me think, some Exiles won't know about the whole matchday experience.

I think I'm going to pay extra attention tomorrow and post a thread for him detailing what I did.
 
:lol: I don't really feel like that about tomorrow.

In fact, Burchy's comment on here just made me think, some Exiles won't know about the whole matchday experience.

I think I'm going to pay extra attention tomorrow and post a thread for him detailing what I did.

I don't think we want to know anyfuckinthing about villa park tbh :)
 
I can't wait until tomorrow, all wrapped up walking across North Bridge St onto Millenium Way and up the incline before you see the ground. ALS sellers holding up the latest issue and the aroma of fast food blowing west to east up your nose. Grabbing a burger before heading into SWC and watch it fill up. The game kicks off and the singing corner quickly fills up with late comers. After 10mins we are in full voice and us at the front are checking behind us to make sure everyone is in.......
I first went to a match at Roker in 1973. It's just in the blood and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Sunderland AFC was one of the few things that made me think twice about moving to the US. I'd lived in Nottingham for years but drove up and back for the games on Saturdays (work allowing - I travelled a lot abroad). I gave up my season ticket when I moved - it was hard.

Then here I was in San Francisco, getting up at 6.30am every Saturday to listen to the match commentary on dial-up, assuming that I could actually connect and find one that worked. Even though I wasn't at the match the excitement and the nerves never diminished; they never have and they never will.

When we lose my other half who is American just gets out of my way; she says it makes me a miserable bastard for the weekend, but to be fair she watches and listens to the games with me and has become SAFC.

I moan a bit today when the game isn't on the TV, but flash streaming is frankly a
luxury compared with commentary on dial-up!!! I never miss a match one way or another, even if I'm in the middle of China for work and I wear my colours everywhere I can around the world.

When I hear the songs and that roar it makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I just wish I was there. You lads and lasses at the SOL always make me know and feel that I am PROUD to be Sunderland!!!!
 
I first went to a match at Roker in 1973. It's just in the blood and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Sunderland AFC was one of the few things that made me think twice about moving to the US. I'd lived in Nottingham for years but drove up and back for the games on Saturdays (work allowing - I travelled a lot abroad). I gave up my season ticket when I moved - it was hard.

Then here I was in San Francisco, getting up at 6.30am every Saturday to listen to the match commentary on dial-up, assuming that I could actually connect and find one that worked. Even though I wasn't at the match the excitement and the nerves never diminished; they never have and they never will.

When we lose my other half who is American just gets out of my way; she says it makes me a miserable bastard for the weekend, but to be fair she watches and listens to the games with me and has become SAFC.

I moan a bit today when the game isn't on the TV, but flash streaming is frankly a
luxury compared with commentary on dial-up!!! I never miss a match one way or another, even if I'm in the middle of China for work and I wear my colours everywhere I can around the world.

When I hear the songs and that roar it makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I just wish I was there. You lads and lasses at the SOL always make me know and feel that I am PROUD to be Sunderland!!!!

Dial-up? DIAL-UP?? You were LUCKY!!

I had to get up at 6am, go to my office, stand on the desk and hold a short wave radio above my head to catch occasional wafts of the BBC World Service, who might mention our score once or twice over the whole Saturday sports program because we were only in Div 3.

Dunno they're born - the young-uns of today with their broad bands and eyejemaphones.
 
dial-up? Dial-up?? You were lucky!!

I had to get up at 6am, go to my office, stand on the desk and hold a short wave radio above my head to catch occasional wafts of the bbc world service, who might mention our score once or twice over the whole saturday sports program because we were only in div 3.

Dunno they're born - the young-uns of today with their broad bands and eyejemaphones.

By dial-up mate, I mean that I had to dial me mam and she held the phone to the radio ;)

You're right though....

...the youth of today!
 
:lol: I don't really feel like that about tomorrow.

In fact, Burchy's comment on here just made me think, some Exiles won't know about the whole matchday experience.

I think I'm going to pay extra attention tomorrow and post a thread for him detailing what I did.

Please do!

I first went to a match at Roker in 1973. It's just in the blood and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Sunderland AFC was one of the few things that made me think twice about moving to the US. I'd lived in Nottingham for years but drove up and back for the games on Saturdays (work allowing - I travelled a lot abroad). I gave up my season ticket when I moved - it was hard.

Then here I was in San Francisco, getting up at 6.30am every Saturday to listen to the match commentary on dial-up, assuming that I could actually connect and find one that worked. Even though I wasn't at the match the excitement and the nerves never diminished; they never have and they never will.

When we lose my other half who is American just gets out of my way; she says it makes me a miserable bastard for the weekend, but to be fair she watches and listens to the games with me and has become SAFC.

I moan a bit today when the game isn't on the TV, but flash streaming is frankly a
luxury compared with commentary on dial-up!!! I never miss a match one way or another, even if I'm in the middle of China for work and I wear my colours everywhere I can around the world.

When I hear the songs and that roar it makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I just wish I was there. You lads and lasses at the SOL always make me know and feel that I am PROUD to be Sunderland!!!!

Great to see I'm not the only Sunderland fan in the Bay Area. Cheers from San Jose!

PS Planning a trip to Sunderland sometime in the next few years to take in a few matches at the SOL and soak it all in. :)
 
By dial-up mate, I mean that I had to dial me mam and she held the phone to the radio ;)

You're right though....

...the youth of today!

I did that for the second Gillingham playoff game - phoned me mam and listened to the commentary on Metro. $200 for one phone call!

Cheap international calling, another fantastic thing in the modern world!
 
:lol::lol:

Your mind zones out from the game. You begin to wonder what is more numb, your heart which has given in the aching so familiar when losing and given way to apathy at how absolutely shambolic we appear, or your feet, which are solid blocks of ice.

You know the game is lost, but look at the scoreboard to see twenty five minutes remain. It becomes a test of endurance, what can endure the most pain, your mind and heart or your physical body. I turn to my right, my little brother is sitting with his arms folded looking glum, my heart pings again - so young... he didn't ask for this, it was cruel to bring him into the world of SAFC. He suffered the same fate I did, dragged into this mess by my father. I look to my left to see him, sitting with a look of dejected anger on his face, like a man who has seen this too many times before.

I think of the feeling of a win, of a goal. 40,000 of us all standing and shouting at once. There is no me, only the crowd. I am lost in hive mentality that is bigger than all of us. How i wish for that. Now I sit, packed in with 40,000 men who appear to be exactly what they are; strangers. All individuals, feeling isolated and alone. The joy of winning is a mutual joy. The sorrow of a loss is yours alone to bear.

I cast my eyes to the programme, looking to see who their number 6 is as he is tearing us apart. As I read the crowd comes together as one, but not to cheer. To groan. We have conceded again. I look as people beging to leave. I have to stand as a man who sits along from me wants to leave. My first thought is that he should stay to the end, no fan should leave early... But part of me understands, part of me wishes I could follow him.

The game finishes and I trudge home, or on occassion to the supporters bus to go back to Easington with my family. It is here where it kicks in. The silence. Every face you see downcast. Climbing on the bus the relief you feel from the warmth is momentary, the mood here is no higher. The very people you travelled down with in such high spirits sit there, as broken as you are, casting their eyes wearily ahead to the following week where that bastard called hope waits to ensnare us all again.




That's all academic though, because We're going to f***ing stuff Everton!

Bloody great :lol::lol:
 
Watching it with me breakfast in Wellington with family, before leaving for Airport and up to Auckland ,then on to Sydney for a few more nights with other family.
Seems strange watching the lads sober :p

back yem for the next home game tho
 
I did that for the second Gillingham playoff game - phoned me mam and listened to the commentary on Metro. $200 for one phone call!

Cheap international calling, another fantastic thing in the modern world!

Canny cost back then!!!! I had it built into my contract that home calls from the office were included, so I'd go into the office and broadcast the game by phone over the office intercom early Saturday so I could work in the lab. Happy days!!!!

Everyone thinks us exiles have an easy life...

...what do they know :)

Watching it with me breakfast in Wellington with family, before leaving for Airport and up to Auckland ,then on to Sydney for a few more nights with other family.
Seems strange watching the lads sober :p

back yem for the next home game tho

From experience, just because you're up early for the match doesn't mean you have to stay sober ;)
 
:lol::lol:

Your mind zones out from the game. You begin to wonder what is more numb, your heart which has given in the aching so familiar when losing and given way to apathy at how absolutely shambolic we appear, or your feet, which are solid blocks of ice.

You know the game is lost, but look at the scoreboard to see twenty five minutes remain. It becomes a test of endurance, what can endure the most pain, your mind and heart or your physical body. I turn to my right, my little brother is sitting with his arms folded looking glum, my heart pings again - so young... he didn't ask for this, it was cruel to bring him into the world of SAFC. He suffered the same fate I did, dragged into this mess by my father. I look to my left to see him, sitting with a look of dejected anger on his face, like a man who has seen this too many times before.

I think of the feeling of a win, of a goal. 40,000 of us all standing and shouting at once. There is no me, only the crowd. I am lost in hive mentality that is bigger than all of us. How i wish for that. Now I sit, packed in with 40,000 men who appear to be exactly what they are; strangers. All individuals, feeling isolated and alone. The joy of winning is a mutual joy. The sorrow of a loss is yours alone to bear.

I cast my eyes to the programme, looking to see who their number 6 is as he is tearing us apart. As I read the crowd comes together as one, but not to cheer. To groan. We have conceded again. I look as people beging to leave. I have to stand as a man who sits along from me wants to leave. My first thought is that he should stay to the end, no fan should leave early... But part of me understands, part of me wishes I could follow him.

The game finishes and I trudge home, or on occassion to the supporters bus to go back to Easington with my family. It is here where it kicks in. The silence. Every face you see downcast. Climbing on the bus the relief you feel from the warmth is momentary, the mood here is no higher. The very people you travelled down with in such high spirits sit there, as broken as you are, casting their eyes wearily ahead to the following week where that bastard called hope waits to ensnare us all again.




That's all academic though, because We're going to f***ing stuff Everton!

Best I have seen in years, well done mate :lol:
 
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